#SOME OF IT CAN BE MANDALORIAN BASED BUT DO NOT RELY ON IT AT ALL

[engagemythrusters]

ALSO to further prove my point about CTs not knowing much Mando’a—literally the book series where it’s made canon that any of them know Mando’a at all states that CTs don’t have access to the culture. The ARC Nulls/Alphas and the RC clones do, but not the rest.

AAAND later on there’s this:

THEY ONLY KNOW A FEW WORDS Y’ALL. And they respond to most of it in Basic (aka Sicko earlier in Triple Zero responding to “Vor’e” (thank you) with a simple “you’re welcome” instead of “ba’gedet’ye”)

They pass down a few things, but NOT THE WHOLE CULTURE AND NOT THE WHOLE LANGUAGE

PLEASE allow clone troopers’ own culture to develop! This is so so important! Don’t just rely on Mandalorian culture—they were raised so differently! Let! Them! Have! Their! Own! Culture!

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 6

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Reader is Mando's bounty, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, light angst

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

“Mando!” The rich, gregarious voice of Magistrate Greef Karga crackled through the Razor Crest’s communication channel, his wizened face pale blue and smiling from the holo-projector. “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t expect to hear from you again until you returned to Nevarro. Which should be soon, I hope?”

Almost two standard months had passed since Din Djarin had departed his de facto home base, the worst of the damage done to the Razor Crest on his journey to Trask repaired at Karga’s expense and seven bounty pucks burning holes in his pockets. As his responsibilities to the growing settlement had increased, and as the prominence of Nevarro as a bounty hunter’s haven had decreased, the older man had been spending less and less time on his role as a Guild agent and more time steeped in political endeavors.

“I only have a dozen or so new bounties left, Mando,” he had admitted before Din left for Corvus. “And I don’t plan to accept any more in the coming months – my time is stretched too thin as it is.”

Through his signature mix of flattery and pragmatism, Karga had bid him to take at least half of them with him when he left.

“I didn’t reinstate your status with the Guild for nothing, my friend! I know I can rely on you to deliver on these assets as efficiently as possible. And, if what you say is true and you will be spending some time away reuniting your boy with his people, perhaps you will appreciate having a bit of extra income in the meantime, hmm?”

When he put it that way, Din hadn’t been able to refuse. It hadn’t been long ago that he and the child had been on the run from the Guild, burning through the Mandalorian’s meager savings on fuel and food and ship repairs. He had yet to be able to make up for that extended period of unemployment. And who knew how long it would take him to find the one and only Jedi that he had any leads on locating – the one that Bo-Katan had promised dwelled on Corvus?

At the time, it had felt like a wise financial decision. One last hunt for Karga. Seven bounties, all with generous prices on their heads.

Now, several weeks after landing on Corvus, locating the fabled Ahsoka Tano, and helping her free the oppressed city of Calodan, Din couldn’t help but feel even more grateful for the choice. With every step along this journey, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the moment that he would have to part ways with the foundling in his care. He had expected for that moment to arrive when he found Ahsoka, but her instructions to take Grogu to yet another planet and to find yet another Jedi had unexpectedly brought the bounty hunter a measure of relief.

He had more time with the child. And if he chose to prolong that time by using it to hunt down these half-dozen bounties before he ferried Grogu to the temple on Tython, that was just a good business decision.

Except now, it wasn’t only Grogu he had bought himself more time with. Now, he had a troublesome starship engineer to worry about, as well – taking up space in his ship and in his mind and in his bunk.

And something about you just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Yes,” Din replied, nodding once. “I’m headed there now.”

Karga beamed at him from across subspace. “Wonderful! A successful hunt?”

“Of course.”

“Ha!” The older man clapped his hands together almost gleefully. “I would expect nothing less. So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

The Mandalorian weighed his words carefully before he responded. “I was hoping you might have some additional information about one of my quarries.” He said your full name then, for the first time since he had laid your bounty puck on the bar in your cantina. He hadn’t had much occasion to say it since, but he found he liked the feel of it in his mouth. It suited you.

Karga frowned slightly, and Din watched as he spun in his desk chair to pull his computer console closer to him. “Let me pull up her file… Hm. There’s not much here, I’m afraid. It looks like almost everything I have on her was loaded to the bounty puck.” He looked back at the holo-projector, making eye contact as best as he was able through the comm link. “Why do you ask? You can’t be having any issues tracking this one down, can you? I would have estimated her to be far below your abilities, Mando.”

“No issues. I have her in custody.” Din’s voice sounded tight and curt even to his own ears.

The magistrate’s brow rose in interest. “Then what’s the problem?”

The question lingered in the silence for a moment, and the bounty hunter swallowed thickly. “…I’m not sure. I just have a feeling,” he admitted. “I can’t figure out why someone would put a bounty out on her. My instincts are telling me that something about this is…wrong.”

He had given the issue little thought at the beginning. It had been just another day, and you had been just another quarry, remarkable only in just how far below his skill level you were – it had been impossibly easy to track your location, and with your lack of combat abilities, it had been even easier to capture you. It was why he had gone after you first out of the lot. He had known what a simple, cut-and-dry job it would be.

Over the last two months, however, it had become clear that you were anything but simple. You were brilliant, perhaps the most skilled starship engineer Din had ever met. The Razor Crest had never run so smoothly as it did with you onboard. For a pre-Empire vessel, it was almost unbelievable how many performance gains your work had managed to eek out of her. And you were gentle, with a soft heart and a tender touch. You nursed Din’s wounds with compassionate efficiency, treated his Creed with silent respect, and piloted his ship like one born to it. You cared for Grogu like he was your own, filling the Crest with your children’s songs, your instruction, your easy laughter.

And you were hiding so much. You never spoke of your past unless the situation required it. Din knew nothing about the circumstances that led to you leaving the Chardaan Shipyards. He knew nothing about why that departure would warrant someone issuing a bounty on your behalf. And in those moments that you came close to revealing any more about yourself than was strictly required, you swiftly navigated the conversation in another direction. For someone who prided himself on knowing everything there was to know about his quarries, it was maddening.

For someone who found himself growing dangerously closer to you by the day, it stung more than he cared to admit.

“You know as well as I do, Mando, that it’s not up to the Guild to question why a client would put out a bounty on an asset. Only to deliver it.” Karga’s gentle admonishment pulled Din out of his wayward thoughts. “In exchange for compensation, of course,” he added good-naturedly.

The Mandalorian bit back a groan of irritation. “Believe me, I know.” After a moment’s consideration, he asked, “Can you at least tell me who the client is? Who originated the bounty?”

The other man sighed, the sound buzzing through the comm link, but he offered Din a weary smile all the same. “Only for you, my friend. Let me see…” He tapped the screen on his computer console a few times, his eyes tracking through your file with practiced ease. “It looks like her bounty originated on the planet Chardaan by a man named Orron Halcard.”

Din frowned inside his helmet, considering this. Orron Halcard. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Karga shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s certainly not a name I’ve ever seen before in the system.” He seemed to let that response hang in the silence for a second, and then he asked, “Anything else I can do for you?”

The bounty hunter weighed the offer, wondering if perhaps he was about to push the Guild code a bit too far. Ultimately, however, he knew himself well enough to know that he would feel more regret for not having said anything at all. “I have one more favor to ask,” he said.  

“Be my guest!”

“Can you get in contact with him and ask him to come pick up his bounty in person, on Nevarro?”

The warmth and indulgence with which Karga had been entertaining this conversation seemed to dissolve, and he regarded Din with serious eyes. “Now, why would he want to do that?” There was an edge to the question, a clear warning to word his response with caution.

So, Din chose to tell him a half-truth. “Because his bounty isn’t in carbonite, and she has a penchant for escaping high-surveillance areas. He may want to escort her back to Chardaan himself, to make sure she actually arrives.”

That was a legitimate concern, he reasoned. Karga did not need to know that you bafflingly had not attempted escape since that first chase out of the cantina.

For his part, the magistrate looked taken aback by this answer. “You kept her out of carbonite? You surprise me. What is it that you really want?” He brought a hand to his neatly-trimmed beard, stroking it pensively as he considered the impassive Mandalorian. After a few seconds, he paused with a frown. “You want to meet the man.”

Din did not respond but simply stared back at Karga through the holo-projector. He saw no need to confirm or deny this assertion. The magistrate was an intelligent man, and they had been colleagues for many years. He was one of the few people in the galaxy Din could consider a friend. He had no interest in outright lying to him.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer, the older man demanded, “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here, Mando?”

“Like I said. Something’s not right,” Din eventually repeated. “I can’t just…” He trailed off.

I can’t just hand her over, not like this, he had been about to say. But he knew that Karga would not take well to that admission. Instead, he said, “I need to look him in the eyes. I need to understand what kind of person he is.”

Karga sighed heavily then, massaging the pressure points on either side of his nose. When he looked back up at the holo-projector, his expression was hard with frustration. “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he said seriously. “You are my friend and by far my best hunter. I was willing to move past your stunt with the child because of our long history, and because those damned Imperials were involved, but I will not allow you to put another exchange in jeopardy. It’s a bad look, both for me and for the Guild.” He pointed at Din sharply. “So, whatever it is you’re planning, you must promise me now – if I bring this Orron Halcard to Nevarro, you will turn over the bounty.”

Din released the breath he had been holding and inclined his head at the magistrate. “You have my word.”

“Very well.” Something in Karga’s posture eased, but his voice remained solemn. “Consider it done. He will be here by the time you enter the star system.”

“Thank you. I’m in your debt for this, Karga,” the Mandalorian promised.

The older man shook his head and waved dismissively at that. “Just…please. Don’t do anything stupid?”

Din smirked and permitted himself a small chuckle. “I’ll try. See you in a few days.” With one final nod, he flipped the comm link switch, and the holo-projector went dark.

___

You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bunk watching Grogu roll a small metal ball around the cargo hold floor, killing time until dinner, when Mando dropped down the ladder from the cockpit level with a metallic thud.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a small smile. It had been several hours since he had last emerged from the cockpit – once to clean his blaster, then again an hour or so later to use the privy. A part of you had wondered whether you would climb up there later only to find him slumped over, dozing in the pilot’s chair as he so often did.

“Hey,” he echoed. His voice was soft, with that gentle rasp that had become so familiar over these last weeks. “May I join you?” he asked, and warmth bloomed in your chest, both at the question itself and that he felt the need to ask it at all.

“Of course, by all means. We’re playing an absolutely riveting game, can’t you tell?” You gestured to the kid with a wry smile. Grogu cooed and grinned up at you both from his position on the floor.

A laugh filtered through Mando’s helmet modulator, and your grin broadened in response. “I can see that.”

You hopped down from your perch on the bunk. “I was just about to warm up a couple of ration packs for the two of us. You want one?” you offered, crossing over to the chilled storage locker.

“I don’t – ”

“ – eat in front of others, I know,” you finished for him. “It’s okay. I’ll sit over here and turn around.” You pointed to the gray storage bins, your second favorite place to sit in the cargo hold after the bunk. “No peaking at your face, promise.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head, appearing to consider your words. Despite the amount of time you had spent together at this point, the two of you had never eaten in the same room before. But something told you that as long as you were respectful of his privacy, the invitation wouldn’t be unwelcome.

At least, you hoped it wouldn’t be. Mando had yet to explicitly explain to you the rules regarding his armor and his helmet. Everything you had done over the last two months to accommodate his needs had been pure guesswork on your part, and all you had been able to deduce for sure in that time was that the helmet was a non-negotiable. Perhaps as long as he trusted you not to look, he might allow himself the luxury of letting his guard down enough to share a meal with you.

Just as you were about to offer to send him back to the cockpit with his food, however, he agreed. “Fine,” he said, his voice hesitant, but that didn’t stop the smile from splitting your cheeks.

“Perfect!”

You made idle conversation as you prepared the ration packs – this time some variety of fish in a savory broth with limp, green vegetables and a rehydrated biscuit. You peppered him with questions - whether he had finished cleaning his blaster, if he was noticing a difference in the air quality since you had turned the air recycler upside down and scrubbed it top to bottom, how the day’s navigation had gone, if there had been any major galactic anomalies to circumvent or other ships to dodge. He responded to each one briefly, with one or two-word answers, but you knew better than to ascribe any negative feelings to that. The Mandalorian was a man of few words. The fact that he was conversing with you at all told you that he was enjoying himself.

When the ration packs had sufficiently re-heated, you peeled back their metallic lids and passed one of them into his waiting hands. “Here you go,” you said. You gestured over your shoulder with your thumb. “We’ll go sit over there. C’mon, womp rat.” Grogu extended his little arms to you, and you swooped him up to balance on your hip. The two of you clamored up onto one of the storage bins, and you settled facing the rear exit, turning your backs to the bounty hunter.

“There, see? Can’t see your face, and you can actually have a hot meal for once. Everybody wins,” you said good-naturedly. Grogu squealed with joy as you passed him his meal, and you thought you heard a quiet, modulated chuckle from behind you.

“If you say so,” Mando replied. There was a hint of a smile evident in his voice, and suddenly you were grateful to be facing away from him so that he couldn’t see the color rise in your cheeks at the sound.

And then came a sound you had never heard before – a pneumatic hiss, followed by shifting fabric and a muffled, hollow thump of something heavy being placed on the thin bunk mattress.

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. He had done it. The helmet was off.

The silence that followed was tangible in the air. It felt as though you were both holding your breath, waiting for the other to break it, to acknowledge the monumental step that you had just taken. You may not have fully understood the man’s commitment to his anonymity or to his Creed, but you knew enough to know that you were perhaps one of a handful of people in the galaxy who had ever been in the same room as him with his helmet off, and you were keenly aware that all it would take was a glance over your shoulder, and you would finally, after months of wondering, know what his face looked like.

You were equally aware that doing so would be the height of betrayal, particularly considering that this whole scenario had been your idea. You would never do that to him, no matter how badly the curiosity burned in your gut.

The sound of silverware scraping across the bottom of the ration pack reached your ears then, followed by a soft hum.

“This one isn’t bad,” he said.

His voice was quieter than you had expected, as though he was attempting not to startle you. Your eyes drifted closed at the sound all the same, and you felt goosebumps break out on the back of your neck and down your arms.

Even without the interference of his helmet vocoder, his voice was warm, rich, and deep. You had always found him pleasant to listen to, but with that staticky, mechanical quality gone, it had left in its stead an inviting baritone that was down-right irresistible. Without even bothering to look at what you were grabbing, you scooped a bite of your meal into your mouth to stop yourself from doing something truly foolish, like moaning.

“‘M glad you like it,” you replied around your mouthful of fish. A bit caught in the back of your throat then, and you coughed into your fist as a fierce blush stained your cheeks.

“Are you all right?” Mando asked.

You coughed again but nodded vigorously. “Mm hm. Fine,” you managed, hoarse.

I’m a kriffing idiot, but yeah, I’m fine.

Desperate to direct the attention anywhere but yourself, you asked, “Did I hear you talking to yourself up there?” You gestured vaguely in the direction of the ladder up to the cockpit. Just before he had joined you in the cargo hold, you could have sworn you heard his voice having an extended conversation up there behind a closed blast door.

“No,” he said. You could hear his utensil dragging through his meal once again, and his next statement was delayed as he swallowed another bite. “I was communicating with my Guild agent on Nevarro.”

In that moment, the intrigue and the embarrassment of the last several minutes evaporated, and another heavy silence descended upon the Razor Crest. You glanced off to your left, where the bodies of six quarries hung suspended in time, frozen in an instant between two sheets of carbonite. He had told you weeks ago – he had six additional quarries after he captured you, a total of seven beings to take back to Nevarro to be distributed according to their bounties. You had lost track of how many were left to apprehend, but it seemed that there were…none. This lot was it.

He was finally turning you in. Your time was up.

You sat your meal down on the storage bin in front of you, suddenly losing your appetite.

“Oh,” you eventually uttered. “Guess that makes sense. We’re on our way back now, I suppose?”

“Yes.” You couldn’t discern anything from his voice – whether that fact made him happy or sad or angry. You wondered if perhaps he was indifferent about your inevitable departure. You wondered if the camaraderie, the respect, the…fondness you had developed for him over the last two months had really been one-sided.

You wondered if he would miss you, after he handed you over.

Instead of asking any of these questions, you instead asked, “How far out are we?” How many more days do I have before I have to go back to that place? Back to him?

“Three, four days,” he replied.

“I see.” You paused then, considering. “Before we land, I’ll put together a progress report on all of the upgrade projects I’ve been working on. There’s a few I won’t be able to finish before then… And one or two I didn’t get to start.” You could hear the hint of bitterness in your own voice as you spoke, and you fought to push it down. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t known this day was coming, and something about allowing the Mandalorian see how affected you were by this rankled.

You wanted him to think you stoic, unmoved. Brave, like him.

“If you want to show that report to Peli, she can take it from there. When…when I’m gone,” you added, trailing off a bit at the end.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

You nodded at the wall. “I know. But I want to. I’ve gotten…a little attached, I guess. To the Crest.” You reached over Grogu’s head, still bent over his dinner, and gently patted the nearest bulkhead. “She’s charming, in her own way. I want to make sure you have what you need to keep her performing her best.”

Mando didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He eventually settled on, “That’s very generous.” His voice was thick with warmth, making him sound sincere and perhaps a touch melancholy. Perhaps he would miss you, after all.

A long silence stretched between you then, and you took the opportunity to bring your now-cold ration pack back up your face, scooping bite after bite into your mouth. You didn’t have a taste for it anymore, but you knew you would wake up in the middle of your sleep later with an angry stomach if you didn’t at least try to finish your portion, so you ate as quickly as you could to get it over with.

Grogu finished at the same time as you, announcing he was done with a small burp and a giggle. The sound broke the tension in the room, and you huffed a breath of laughter of your own as you scooped him into your lap to wipe his mouth with the back of your sleeve. All the while, you were certain you could feel the gaze of the Mandalorian on the nape of your neck.

“I can feel you thinking back there,” you said after a minute. “What is it?”

The bounty hunter sighed, and you could hear him shift to lean back against a bulkhead. He seemed to carefully consider his words before he spoke. “It’s been weeks since I captured you. And other than when I first found you in that cantina, not once have you tried to escape.”

Your eyebrows rose at that. “No, I haven’t,” you agreed.

“Why not?”

You looked down into your lap, occupying yourself with running your fingers through Grogu’s fine, white hair. “That’s a good question,” you admitted softly. “I’ve asked myself the same thing more times than I can count.”

“And?” he prompted.

You contemplated the question, chewing on your lower lip in thought. From the first moment Mando had left you with Peli Motto, you had questioned it. Why you weren’t running, why you weren’t plotting ways to escape, why you didn’t slip out and lose yourself in the crush of Mos Eisley or in the dense forests of Ryloth or in any of the other various places you had docked over the last two months. Now, you had officially run out of time – he was going to turn you in.

So why were you still here?

“I don’t know,” you said out loud.  

Mando made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded something like frustration, like dissatisfaction, at that response. “The girl I chased halfway across a major port city, who broke a whole cantina’s worth of liquor bottles over my head, who laughed at me when my carbonite unit busted would have stopped at nothing to get away. She would have found a way.”

His tone was accusatory, meant to inflame, but you couldn’t seem to muster any irritation in the face of the truth.

“Yes. You’re right.” You didn’t even try to deny it.

“What changed?” he demanded, and you scoffed humorlessly.

“I wish I could tell you,” you said with a shrug. “I definitely thought about it. Several times when we were on Tatooine. A few times when you were out on a hunt. But…I guess I always came up with a reason not to.”

“Such as?”

“At first?” You shrugged and stared at the rear blast doors. “I think…I didn’t want you to get angry at Peli. I liked her, and at the time, I didn’t trust you not to take it out on her if I got away on her watch.” You thought you heard something close to a chuckle at that, but you continued. “And then it was the Razor Crest. I haven’t had the opportunity to get my hands on pre-Empire technology in years, and it’s been even longer since I’ve been able to do restoration work. It was more rewarding than I expected.”

“Restoration work?” Mando echoed, incredulous.

You smirked in spite of yourself. “Hey. This thing has got to be well over 30 years old by now. That makes it vintage. Repairs on vintage starships are considered restoration. That’s just how it works.”

The bounty hunter sighed loudly, and you swore you heard him running his gloved hands over his face in exasperation. “‘Vintage,’ she says,” he muttered under his breath. “Not kriffing ‘vintage.’ We’ll come back to that.”

Laughter bubbled up in your chest, and you allowed it to spill over, permitting yourself the moment of good humor. “Sure, Mando. Whatever you say.”

You sobered up a bit then before continuing, “But most of the time, when I thought about running, it was Grogu that stopped me.” You looked down at the bundle of brown robes in your arms and found that the tiny, bat-eared boy had dozed off, his little cheek resting softly on your thigh. A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “He was just…sweet. Pure. Attached to me.”

“He likes you,” the Mandalorian asserted.

“Yes. If I was going to have any hope of escaping, I would’ve had to have done it when you were away. But even if I managed it, then what would happen to him?” You hated to even consider it. You couldn’t bear the idea of abandoning the kid. “You trusted me to care for him. I couldn’t just leave him on his own like that.”

“There are others that would have. Without a second thought.”

The certainty with which Mando spoke sent a chill down your spine, and not for the first time, you wondered what trials the child and his caretaker had been put through before they met you. The latter seemed convinced that there were many in the galaxy who would wish harm upon Grogu, and even after months in his company, the thought still did not compute with you. Still, you supposed you could see how an average quarry might be willing to sacrifice the well-being of a child to save their own skin.

“I’m sure you’re right,” you said.

The bounty hunter hesitated for a moment then, and instead of a reply, you heard another airy hiss followed by the truncated sound of a seal activating, and you realized that he had put his helmet back on. Heavy footfalls echoed off the durasteel deck, and a streak of silver flashed in your periphery as he came to stand before of you, bracing his hands on the storage bin you were perched on.

His shoulders solemn and tense, he met your eyes as best as he was able through his visor, and he said, “The kindness you have shown my foundling will not be forgotten. You have chosen his well-being over your freedom, and you have cared for him better than I could have expected. There is much you do not know about him, much I have kept from you, and that is for a reason, but trust me when I tell you that your selflessness is not for nothing.”

His tone carried a significance you had never heard before, and it squeezed something in your chest, something that made your breath catch. You couldn’t claim to understand what he meant, what he could possibly have been keeping from you about Grogu. All you knew was that whatever it was, it clearly weighed on him, and you felt an inexplicable urge to offer him a measure of comfort, to take some of that burden for yourself. Before you could think better of it, you found yourself reaching out and settling your hand on top of one of his.

The Mandalorian startled at the unexpected touch, but he did not pull away. You could feel the vital warmth of him through the soft, worn leather of his glove. You could feel the breadth of his palm, the length and thickness of his fingers, the strength he carried there. Your pulse quickened at the sensation, and you allowed yourself to continue to stare into his visor, willing him to see that his revelation didn’t scare you.

“And I would do it all over again,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Mando inclined his head at you, his shoulders seeming to lose a bit of their rigidity. “This is the Way.”

[gffa]

The latest ending of Ahsoka really made me realize one of the big problems with Felony's writing and why so much of the Masndo-verse and Felony's modern writing falls flat compared to OWK and Andor. Shock value. A BIG twist cliffhanger that leaves us all mouth open and HYPING up the next episode in hope and filling the forums with discussions in anticipation. Understandably, he can't write what we wrote in our heads for 7 days and top that. 1.

2. But once that shock is gone when the story has moved onto the next big thing, or you watch it again when you know what it pays off in, or watch the whole series or season again, it just doesn't hold up. It's empty. Vapid. Because it's all about the shock. The twist. The discussion. The hype fodder. It's not saying anything or adding anything. OWK and Andor was a lot better at that, without the use of the nostalgia baiting that Felony relies on. 3. It becomes an endless circle of low lows and high highs, while OWK and Andor both slowly built up to the crescendo of discussions and speculations and both have stayed in the fandom consciousness alot longer thanks to that. And because they have something to say, both to the world and to the viewer. While with the Felony and the Fraudrou verses, it's just a constant barrage of oh wow, moving on, what's next? ehh, it's over, let's move on.

I feel like one day I'm going to do a longer analysis on why exactly Filoni's writing feels weak to me (where I try to be more fair than I'm usually feeling about his writing), because I don't think he's without a lot of talent and there's certain things he really does get about Star Wars, but I think so much comes back to that he's a writer who is caught in a difficult position--playing in someone else's sandbox but has to now establish his own new corners of that sandbox and I'm not sure he's strong enough to be a big picture kind of guy when he works better in smaller focus. His work on TCW and Rebels is content that we do come back to again and again for analysis, during my rewatches of both those series, those shows hold up! But I think they're ones where he had stronger guardrails up, and he was forced to stick to things in one place. I think live action has been bad for Filoni's writing because of the way so much is structured, that there are multiple series going on and I feel like his writing doesn't have the patience to actually tell a story in a single space, that's why we get Grogu's story being split between The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett, that's why we get Mandalore's story being splintered across Rebels, The Mandalorian, The Book of Boba Fett, and now Ahsoka. We still haven't even seen half of the events that happen in the Mandalore bigger story! And you're right that he and Favreau both lean too hard on the cameos and echoes/rhymes for nostalgia's sake. And those reference points are often extremely fun in the moment! And I'll grant that the Luke episodes are ones I go back to fairly often, because I think there's some really good content in there about what attachment actually means. But I don't think it's that surprising, looking back, how quickly the Favroni shows fell apart for us and how it doesn't feel like they're establishing anything that can support a bunch of books and comics. I suspect that Disney's not allowed to have books/comics/etc. based on Favroni's shows because they want creative control over those characters while they're still actively writing for them, but also I look at the OT and the PT and look how much was built off those movies+TCW as a foundation, I look at how much you're able to still watch those and find new things to analyze, and I just don't feel that with Filoni's writing anymore, not since Rebels, not to that level, anyway. (I'll grant that I've been a lot more excited about the Ahsoka series and what we can say about it/find in analyzing it than I expected, I expected nothing but shitposts like we did with Mandalorian s3, but I've had fun with serious meta in Ahsoka! I was genuinely excited to come on-line after episode 4 and talk about themes and structure and how well Filoni did with that there!) Ultimately, I think Filoni (and Favreau) both have a lot of talent, but I think they're being pushed too hard to make too much too quickly and that it shows that they're making this up as they go along, rather than that they had a vision they've been crafting for years and any kind of idea of where they want the end goal to be. Like, yeah, Lucas wrote some stuff on the fly, he changed his mind about things along the way, but he had an end point in mind for his story, so the echoes/rhymes felt more resonant for me. Favroni don't feel like they have any idea where they're going and so much winds up feeling like shock value and self-reference for nostalgia bad for me instead of something that's Going Somewhere.

[high-fantasy-sw]

On the subject of Lightsabers:

I have lightsaber references! All on heroforge obviously, because I cannot draw blades, and with notes that mark their most distinguishing trait. SOme of these are colors, others are blade type, it really just depends on the most interesting thing about the blade. I'll put notes on how they differ from how they look in the AU in the notes, because obviously Heroforge only has so many blade options and they don't all look exactly like I see them in my mind. Enjoy!

The Disaster Trio

Obi has a sword and shield because Soresu is a defensive form. His shield and the crossbar of his sword are both based on the crest of the Jedi Order. In AU Canon, this is more obvious.

Ahsoka has twin daggers because her fighting style is highly acrobatic, and full length swords would make that... rather dangerous; to save space I only put one of the pair. In season 7, Anakin replaces the Kyber Crystals in her original daggers, so they are technically the same daggers but now they burn the same blue as his saber.

Anakin's sword is a dual-handed greatsword, because his form is very aggressive and relies a lot on hacking away at your opponent and physically overpowering them. Also something something dual-edged sword, something something foreshadowing.

Male Jedi

Kit's flame is less a flame and more of watery magic. This is because he is of an aquatic race, and I thought it was cool :D

Yoda has a rapier because his form is very acrobatic and rapiers lend well to that.

Not going to lie, I struggled with Ki-Adi's saber, so I made his really unique in that his blade is darker than the flame that burns by a drastic amount.

MACE okay so. My guy has an executioner sword, because he is the Arbiter Of Justice (tm). Also, these kinds of swords have blunted ends and aren't meant to be used in combat, meaning that for Mace to actually use it as a weapon he needs incredible skill. Which he has. I love Mace Windu :D

Lady Jedi

Shaak's blade is supposed to be wavy like Ahsoka's daggers; wavy blades are a symbol of the Togruta in this AU. However, Heroforge didn't have any good options for this >:(

Barriss's and Luminara's swords have hilts made of Mirialan metalwork- Mirialan metal is fired with special potions that turn it special shades of red and green and gold. It is almost as valued as Mandalorian stained glass in the Galactic Archipelago. If you look closely, the little you can see of Luminara's bracers is also made of Mirialan metalwork.

Grievous's CoLlEcTiOn *cough hack whEEZE*

My favorite is the midnight blue one >:)

I have nothing else to add, I literally just designed sabers I thought looked freaking cool. If you want to make up lore for them, PLEASE do, I'd love to see it :D

Sith

THE DARKSABER okay so it has lightning instead of a flame because I wanted to replicate those crackles that it has. Anyway I think it looks really cool :D Also the serrated edge? *chef's kiss*

Dooku's saber is a rapier because it's the Gentleman's Fire Sword. However it does not look exactly like this in AU canon; I have a Dooku drawing ref in the works and when I post that I can explain it better. Also it is modeled on Yoda's because I really want to play up that Fallen Jedi Angst >:)

Ventress's sickles (much like Ahsoka, I only put one here to save space) is highly based on her Nightsister heritage. Even when she was a Padawan, I think she had that inspiration in her Jedi blade. Their blades are shaped like moons, and even her force signature is tinged with Nightsister Green (because her dark side powers also incorporate Nightsister Magick; if they didn't, they'd be pure blood-red, because it's important to me for Lore Reasons (tm) that while Jedi can have this whole array of colors, Sith all have the same shade of red).

Original Trilogy Bois

Luke's green force signature is tinged with blue because I will always associate Luke Skywalker with blue. Don't ask me why. But Luke is BLUE and I will DIE ON THIS HILL. FIGHT ME.

Vader's saber is based on his greatsword from when he was Anakin, because I think he got attatched to the design. Also because I want that visual motif of "Anakin is still buried in there" because I am a sucker for symbolism and metaphors. But you know that already ;)

I don't have Anakin's original (and by original i mean like his umpteenth) saber, AKA Luke's first saber, because it's basically the same as we saw earlier, and these swords were TIME CONSUMING to render. However, I will note that the very tips of the flames on that saber begin to be tinged with sith red because of the atrocities Anakin committed with it. Someday I'll have a picture of it for you and you'll see what I mean

I don't have Old Obi's either, because again, TIME. CONSUMING. TO. RENDER. But it's basically the same as it was in the Clone Wars, just more corroded because my man was living in the desert.

If I cared enough to make Palpatation's saber (see i call him that because he gives me heart palpitations of rage) it would be here. But I do not. So it is not

(Okay. Yes he has a Saber in this AU I just haven't made it yet because I am Mad At Him)

Tagging: @whyoneartheven @majorproblems77 @anime-obsessed @lilliesandlight

[burnwater13]

Concept Art by Christian Alzmann

Grogu mentioned to his dad that he would like a pet. Every time he mentioned that to his dad, Din Djarin replied with a very simple word, ‘no’. According to Grogu’s running tally, his dad had told him no approximately one thousand, two hundred and forty two times, give or take. He sometimes asked so many times in a row that he found it hard to keep track. 

The Mandalorian had all sorts of reasons that he would trot out when Grogu got annoyed or upset with him over the subject. The N-1 wasn’t big enough for Grogu and a pet. They didn’t have time to spend training a pet. A pet would make messes and create problems that they weren’t suited to fixing and on and on and on. 

Grogu’s answer to those objections were pretty straightforward. Step one, get a bigger ship. Step two, train the pet during hyperspace jumps because there was nothing better to do. Step three, have a dedicated pet area on the new ship, so it didn’t matter what the critter did. Step four, learn to relax because a pet was the best thing ever to help you do that.

His dad said that they were in the wrong order and until Grogu could figure out what order they should be in, the answer was still ‘no’.

Dank Farrik! Why did Mandalorians have to be so focused on their work? Why couldn’t they just have some fun? Why not take the time to figure out the solution to the problem with his son, instead of just saying ‘no’. ‘No’ was not a solution. It was just an attitude. A bad attitude as far as Grogu was concerned. 

It wasn’t like Grogu wanted a rathtar as a pet. He didn’t. He didn’t even want a barghest or a massif as a pet, at least not yet. He just wanted something small like that critter Cara Dune had found down in the abandoned Mandalorian covert on Nevarro. Was that really asking too much?

The critter was small enough to find a small crate satisfactory. It didn’t eat a lot. It knew who its friends were. It didn’t smell bad. And as far as Grogu had been able to work out it had only bit Cara a couple of times. That wouldn’t be a problem for them because his dad always wore gloves and Grogu could heal himself. Easy peasy.

He supposed it would help if he learned more about that critter, like what it was called as a species and what its habits were and stuff like that. He’d thought about asking Cara but she was off doing some sort of super secret special mission thing and was unavailable. 

That meant he just needed to go to the new Nevarro City library and civic engagement center. Greef Kar… High Magistrate Greef Karga really wanted Nevarro to be a successful, well respected, not-founded by pirates and bounty hunters, kind of world and was adding all the features and attractions that you might expect to find on Chandrila or Coruscant, while still having a couple of spots that were more like Canto Bight tucked away in the highlands. 

Whatever, Grogu just knew that the library was the place to go to learn about things that he didn’t know about already, particularly when you were trying to avoid going to school or having another argument with your dad about critters and the state of cleanliness of your room. Din Djarin never said no to a trip to the library. 

Grogu waited for the opportune moment to ask his dad to make the trip and that just happened to be right after the Mandalorian left the ‘fresher, but hadn’t had his caf yet. He was always eager to get back into his armor and all that and Grogu knew he could be relied upon to agree to almost anything (just not the acquisition of a pet). 

“The library? Sure. We can go there. After we have breakfast and you clean your room.” 

Well, he agreed, right? You had to make some sacrifices for knowledge. 

Grogu trudged off to get a start on cleaning up his room while the Mandalorian went off to get dressed. Grogu knew, based on vast experience, that Din Djarin would take his time getting dressed so everything was just right. Then he would take even more time making his caf because that was a thing every Mandalorian worth their beskar was taught to do at some age and then they never cut corners doing it because Mandalorians. Eventually they’d have something to eat and then they could take the speeder bike into Nevarro City. 

It would probably be lunchtime by the time they got there, Grogu thought, annoyed at his dad and at the amount of cleaning he had to do in his room. But, even if it was lunchtime, Grogu could go straight to the information desk at the library and ask the library droid to help him out. Then, once he came back from lunch, the information would be ready and Grogu could bring the data card home with him and peruse it at his leisure.

Things worked out pretty much that way. Grogu ate his breakfast as fast as he could and then helped clear the table and wash the dishes and utensils. 

“Buddy, thank’s for the help, but they don’t sell pet’s at the library.” His dad thought he was being either funny or accurate, but Grogu didn’t agree. 

The library held the knowledge that would give Grogu the advantage in the battle that he was waging with his dad over what kind of pet Grogu was ready to manage. That his dad didn’t recognize the trip for what it was gave Grogu a good deal of pleasure, and made up for how annoyed he’d been cleaning his room, mostly. Grogu collected his goggles, his own bag of holding and his datapad and was ready for the journey to begin. 

“Is the library holding a special event I don’t know about?” His dad asked with a laugh. “You never move that quickly unless there’s a frog in view.”

Ha ha! So funny. Not. 

Grogu chirped at his dad that he just wanted to get to the library to acquire some new reading materials. He wanted to practice his Gal Basic more.

“Okay, buddy, but you could just start attending the school. I know it’s not as much fun since the droid learned about your powers and keeps the snacks away from you, but if you really want to improve your Gal Basic that’s one way to do it.”

Grogu dropped the subject and headed for the door. His dad made that suggestion anytime Grogu commented that he wanted to learn about something. As if Grogu didn’t know enough about piracy, smuggling, and the arts of dodging the law. 

“I just hope you’re not thinking that you’ll trick me into getting you a pet when you learn everything there is know about the care and keeping of rancors. It would just be easier to visit Boba Fett and spend sometime with the rancor keeper.”

Grogu sighed and shook his head. He had no intention of having a rancor as a pet. Even he knew that he needed to work his way up to a critter like that. He had a hard enough time managing one Mandalorian!

Only Fennec had the patience to manage a Mandalorian and a rancor and she did that while basically running Tatooine. Maybe he should have asked to go to Tatooine and then he could have consulted with his friend? He bet that she could convince his dad to let him have a fire weasel as a pet, if anyone could. 

Grogu chirped a question to his dad as the Mandalorian started up the speeder bike. 

“You want to go to Tatooine now? I shouldn’t have said anything about rancors, should I? Maybe next week. I have somethings to work on here. That’ll give you all the time you need to conduct your research on rancor care and feeding.”

Din Djarin was laughing again and this time Grogu laughed as well. Let his dad think that’s what he wanted to do on Tatooine. It was all for the best. If the bounty hunter had realized that he wanted to consult with Fennec on a strategy for acquiring a fire weasel, Grogu was sure that his dad would have said ‘No!’. 

[magnetarbeam]

So based on people's reactions, the most interesting part of all the shit I've thrown at the wall in terms of Voices of the Force is relativistically-time-travelled almost 17 year old Ahsoka sharing a room with Ben and Vestara, so here's some more about that little dynamic. And some headcanons about the Jedi at this point.

When Ahsoka first shows up, she asks about the fact that the word "padawan" doesn't really seem to be in common use anymore, and it's revealed that while the rank is technically called Apprentice, everyone is taught what "padawan" means and some choose to be called by that for various reasons. Vestara, for example, prefers "Padawan Khai" because "Apprentice Khai" is what she was called by the Sith, and this helps her distance herself from that.

For equal and opposite reasons, Ahsoka is fine with being referred to as "Apprentice Tano." I am very much trying to establish that the Jedi of this era have changed, and I think finding out from history about what was happening behind the scenes with Sidious and stufff would make it easier for her to let some things go, it's still, like. If nothing else, "padawan" is associated with "commander" in her traumatized flashbacks.

They're the first people she tells about the Daughter's essence after she finds out. The only other people who knew before that are whatever Council members were at the meeting where Ahsoka herself finds out about it.

Ahsoka drags them both down with her into the depths of reverse grip lightsabers.

Since Vestara knows the lightsaber styles of the Lost Tribe, Ahsoka trains against her a lot.

Ves and Ben pick up some Mando'a profanity pretty quickly. I'm trying not to emphasize that too much, because I don't like a lot of how Mandalorians are portrayed by the books in this period, but Ahsoka was at least one-third raised by... at least half-Mandalorians. I have to acknowledge it in some capacity.

My headcanon about Ahsoka in this period is that instead of having a standard-length lightsaber and a shoto, she has two dual-phase sabers, which can switch between a standard-length and shoto blade. (Instead of stereotypical dual-phase blades like, for instance, Corran's, which have a standard length blade and an extremely extended one.) Ves and Ben helped her figure out how to design it so that the dual-crystal ignition process or whatever it is that means the extended-blade activates faster in a regular dual-phase, also works in reverse here, so it changes from standard to shoto length faster than a common saber would take to deactivate that length of blade.

Finding out about O66 sends Ahsoka into an existential crisis about the relationship she had to the clones, and Ben shows her how to flow-walk so she can find out about the inhibitor chips and take comfort in the fact that they didn't do it on purpose and that it was just as genuine as she thought.

You can't get a holonet connection in the Transitory Mists, which is kind of a problem in terms of receiving requests for Jedi assistance. I guess they have to rely on courier ships or probe droids that just pop out and collect data or something.

None of these three have anywhere near the experience they need to qualify for StealthX combat missions (although Ben technically has the rank) but they definitely try to get a head start on understanding the mechanics of the things.

A random but vaguely relevant headcanon I have is that Ahsoka already knows how to do a Dathomiri blood trail, which she learned from Ventress when they ran into each other and had some time to kill at some point before or during Ahsoka's time with Spar's Protectors leading up to the Legends version of the Siege of Mandalore.

Ahsoka still has the TCW-style wrist comlink, and Vestara and Ben decide they like that idea and come up with similar setups for themselves.

One of my favorite TCW fic tropes/popular headcanons: Togruta purr when given physical affection.

[ranahan]

The whole ramble about #the cin vhetin problem makes me want to expand to other colours, but there we’d quickly run into planet-specific or species or colour vision specific associations.

On Earth, the most common metal ion used for oxygen transport is iron, which makes red the most common colour for blood (but not the only one: there’s also green, blue, and colourless blood). Which then follows that red = colour of blood, bloodletting, often life, perhaps war or action; in different cultures the colour of weddings, war, or bravery.

Blue = the colour of skies and seas/water, but that’s because of Earth’s oxygen rich atmosphere and abundant water. Planets with different atmospheres or less abundant free water (desert or ice planets) might disagree.

Green = colour of leaves and living things because of chlorophyll, but nothing says that chlorophyll is the molecule for photosynthesis on other planets (unless green plants were popular in ancient terraforming efforts).

Yellow = the colour of sun (our star is actually white, but can appear yellow/orange/red because of Rayleigh scattering), fire (because the carbon-based biomaterials we have historically burned for heat and light burn mostly yellow), or gold (which many historical cultures used as a medium of exchange).

There might be some universality to some of these, just based on chemistry. Oxidation is a powerful way of releasing chemical energy, and so far as we know, the only way to produce enough biochemical energy for complex life (but that could be our sample size of 1) and iron is particularly well-suited for transporting oxygen. And if oxygen and water are necessary for complex life, then planets that support life might have some similarities in their atmospheres and available water. Carbon really is great for building complex structural molecules and it does burn with a yellow flame, so fire = yellow/orange/red could be a fairly common association if not the only one.

But we have a sample size of 1, so I wouldn’t say it’s strong evidence. Just considering the variety of colour visions on Earth, there’s little guarantee that alien species galaxy over would agree what to associate a colour with. These might have weak correlations for humanoid species and humanoid-inhabitable planets, and they might or might not be relevant to Mandalorians. The colour meanings in mandalorian culture could very well be inherited from the Taung, who weren’t human and lived on Coruscant (the biosphere of which has long since been destroyed, so who knows what grew there originally).

As it happens, we do have linguistic evidence that the Taung, original Mandalorians, or whoever spoke the language when it developed, did indeed bleed red (ge’tal, red, lit. almost blood), and live on a planet with a blue sky (kebii’tra, daytime, lit. blue space) and green plants (vorpan’oy, vegetation, lit. green life).

The one I find interesting is green = duty in combination with mandalorians historically being agricultural people. So the colour of green would have the implication of feeding your clan, because agriculture is a collaborative effort that produces food for a community, not an individual.

Blue = reliability either has nothing whatsoever to do with water, or else Mandalore historically had very reliable rains (like monsoons). It probably doesn’t refer to river floods (like the Nile), because rivers tend not to be very blue (have you noticed that rivers are more often named black, dark, red, brown, etc. than blue?). I’d also posit that traditional mandalorian agriculture would be more likely to be rainfall based than irrigation based, which would promote independent villages over centralised government. Reliability of blue could also have something to do with the permanence of sky—or the impermanence of it: viewed from the space, the atmosphere is the thinnest blue line yet all life on the planet relies on it to breathe. Or maybe it’s just a nice colour; I’m not sure if there’s an obvious connection here.

It would be very tempting to draw the connection between red = blood = honouring a parent, but I hesitate to do that because 1) mandalorians were and are aliens who may or may not have red blood, and 2) mandalorian family is not based on blood, at least not obligatorily. Even if there is a connection with blood, I’d prefer to say it’s because of its connection with life. I.E. your parent didn’t necessarily give you your life in the flesh and blood sense, but they did nurture you and teach you what it means to be a mandalorian and how to live your life. So red in mandalorian culture is perhaps a more figurative life’s blood.

The etymology of shi’yayc, ‘yellow’, is unclear. Shi means ‘just/only’. ‘yayc could be from oyayc, ‘alive’, or it could be ya- + -yc. If it does come from ‘barely alive’, it could be a reference to dying vegetation or flickering yellow flames. But I’m going to go with this idea from @izzyovercoffee :

So, there’s no word for orange in mando’a at this time.

Consider: Yellow is sometimes indicated to also mean lust for life, depending on who you ask and what source material you’re comparing it to.

It’s entirely possible that mandalorians don’t have a way to differentiate between yellow and orange. Some cultures do display a limitation in language, seeing what we would consider a range (yellow to orange) as all one spectrum under the same banner.

So while Yellow may mean barely alive/barely dead, yellow may also mean nothing but life.

So Mando’a doesn’t have a word for orange, yet orange is used to symbolise shereshoy, an important mandalorian concept. They’ve dedicated a whole colour to it in the same vein as justice, duty, reliability, honouring a parent, vengeance and remembering the fallen have their own colours. But there’s no word for it? I call bullshit.

Isn’t it more likely that “yellow” is in fact a spectrum of colour from yellow to orange (like Yiddish blue/green) and the meaning is indeed related to both flames and the passion for life, i.e. ‘only life’ = shereshoy.

ETA: It occurred to me that an alternative solution to the problem of not having a word for the colour orange would be to use the word ‘shereshoy’ itself. Kind of like English uses ‘orange’ both for the fruit and the colour. ‘Shereshoy’ comes from shereshir (‘seize’) + oya- (the root for ‘live’ and ‘hunt, chase’). I’m not sure how you’d get from an abstract concept to the colour word, though, unless the connection is literally the colour used to paint armour.

[elendiliel]

Oya Manda

This follows on from this fic, but hopefully it can stand alone. It's also the longest piece in this AU to date (one reason it's taken so long for me to finish it), so be warned.

There are also more references to @itsstrangelypermanent's OC Nuts and @imrowanartist's Yara, made with their authors' kind permission. I recommend reading more about them (medical logs and Deference for Darkness, respectively, are good starting points).

---

“And you can confirm that Maul is currently in Sundari?”

“It’s not something about which one can be mistaken, if one has a shred of Force-sensitivity.” Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi conceded Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa’s point. He had a long history with the ex-Sith. “He’s holed up in the Mand��alor’s residence. My guess would be that he comes and goes via the sewer network. It’s extensive enough, and nobody in their right mind would go down there unnecessarily.” Maul was not in his right mind, if Helli were any judge. She had only sensed him from several rooms and an outer wall away, relying on passive scans so as to conceal her own presence, but was pretty sure he wasn’t playing with a full deck.

“A reasonable deduction. We’ll have to find some way to seal them off if we do stage an attack. Which, thanks to you four, is looking quite likely. Between the evidence you gathered,” meaning Helli and her new riduur Torrent, aided and abetted by Doctor Mij Gilamar, “Bo-Katan addressing the Senate as both her sister’s heir and the spokesperson for multiple factions, and Senator Amidala and her allies doing what they do best,” appealing as much to emotion as to logic, “I’d say the odds are in our favour.” (Helli wondered briefly how Padmé was still in the Senate after her Jedi husband’s dramatic announcement of their marriage – at her wedding breakfast. Maybe the news hadn’t got out yet. Helli hadn’t exactly been able to pay much attention.)

“That was a good idea of yours, allying with the other factions.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze spoke casually, but Helli knew that was high praise, coming from the Mandalorian woman.

“Just rational.” Unity and diversity equalled the good kind of strength; every youngling knew that. It may have helped that Helli also came from a clan-based society, and a species with a long race-memory. The last rising of the clans on Alba had nearly defeated the occupying Sassenachs – could have done so, given better leadership and thus better tactics.

The three-way holographic conference soon became a logistical one, working through the details of the planned joint Mandalorian-Republic assault, especially those pertaining to the alliance’s men and woman on the inside. There was a lot to discuss. Maul was too slippery a customer for anyone to want to leave anything to chance.

It would take a little while for the Senate, Jedi and Mandalorians to get all their waterfowl in a row. Helli, Torrent and Mij made the most of that time, exploring Sundari, seeing the sights, investigating the restaurants and bars – and scouting out the territory in which they would soon be fighting. (The newlyweds also found themselves enjoying the kind of long, lazy lie-ins neither of them had ever really experienced before, counterbalanced by late but active nights.)

But it couldn’t last, of course. Five days after the conference, just as the party returned to their hotel after latemeal, a prearranged coded signal informed them that the invasion fleet was well on its way, and they had just enough time to start running the program they had been sent, which would slowly and insidiously take down Sundari’s outer defences and lock off Maul’s most likely escape route. It should by rights have been installed in the city’s security centre, but any incident there would alert Maul’s forces, and the team was already walking on eggshells after a dust-up with a few “Mauldalorians” (as Torrent’s shieldmate Spark, one of the program’s architects, called them). Helli had blurred their memories as best she could, but still didn’t want to take any chances. Instead, a variant on standard remote-desktop and virtual private network protocols fooled the relevant terminals into thinking the program had originated there – and concealed its real origin.

While it ran, the party used the time to dress for the occasion. Mij, a relatively traditional Mandalorian despite being cin vhetin, routinely wore his armour, but augmented it with his helmet, blasters and jetpack, which had been smuggled in to him by the same contact of Bo-Katan’s who had delivered Torrent’s new armour. Real beskar’gam, painted just like his plastoid suit. Every clone who fought to liberate Mandalore would be offered a place in a Mandalorian clan, and the armour to go with that status; Torrent happened to be the first to receive it.

Mij having tactfully made himself scarce, Helli helped her cyare don the more complicated beskar gear over the armourweave full-body kute and boots that went with it, as best she could while he insisted on helping her with the outer layers of her Jedi robes (the inner tunic, trousers and boots constituting her civilian attire). As ever, it didn’t take long for them to find the right rhythm. Upper body armour; outer tunic; shoulder bells, rerebraces, vambraces and gloves; tabard; cuisses and greaves; obi; jetpack, belt and holsters; tool belt, headset, vambrace and lightsabres; helmet. It was only when her beloved’s face was hidden that Hel fully realised that they were about to take part in a full-scale battle, not a skirmish, for the first time since she had admitted that she loved him. One or both of them might not come back, and the idea hurt.

Picking up on her almost-concealed disquiet (and somewhat disquieted himself), Torrent held her close, resting his forehead against hers as he had at their wedding. “Mhi solus tome,” the riduure said together, quoting the Mandalorian marriage vow, “mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an. Ib’tuur mhi verde.” We are one together, we are one apart, we share all. Today, we are warriors.

She clung to him for just a moment longer, before they both found the strength to draw apart, just as the second signal arrived. The invasion fleet had engaged the enemy. That was the cue for Mij to run another program, hijacking the public address system to broadcast a single message on repeat, in both Basic and Mando’a. There is no cause for alarm. Please remain in your homes. You will be safe there. Normal service will be resumed shortly. Oya manda.

“I think our work here is done,” the doctor remarked. “Shall we see what’s going on outside?”

“Let’s.” Hel led the way out onto the balcony attached to Tor’s and her room. The view was spectacular – if one liked battles. Bo-Katan’s Mandalorians and jetpack-wearing clones – a mix of 104th, 212th and 501st, Hel thought, though it was hard to tell the last apart from Clan Kryze while they were all moving so fast – were fighting Maul’s loyalists in the skies above Sundari, and blaster fire lit up the streets below. Hel’s attention, though, was drawn to a knot of blue lightsabre blades a few blocks away. The two orbiting each other like stars in the most complicated system ever modelled had to be Master Kenobi’s and Anakin Skywalker’s; the pair moving in perfect unison, clearly wielded by the same person, looked to be Ahsoka Tano’s. Someone, probably Anakin, had changed their colour while she was away. And the darker blue one was Fives’, of course. Hel couldn’t see Master Koon’s single blade anywhere, but where the Wolfpack were, their alpha wouldn’t be far ahead.

Hel activated the comm in her vambrace, tuning it to Master Kenobi’s channel. (She’d use her headset once she joined the battle, but the others couldn't hear it.) “Recon team awaiting orders.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” As expected, there was plenty of blaster fire in the background, some deflected by sabres, and the occasional explosion. “We’d like you three to join us as soon as possible. Can you see where we are from there?”

“Perfectly. ETA ten minutes.” Hel signed off and looked at Torrent and Mij. “You two take the high road; I’ll take the slightly lower road.”

“And you’ll probably be at the RV before us.” Torrent knew the song she was misquoting. “Ready when you are, general.”

Once Mij had concurred, there was no point wasting any more time. Nor did Hel give herself time to think before stepping up onto the top of the balcony railing and jumping to the roof of the building across the street, a leap that would have been impossible without the Force. She just let herself enjoy the race, sprinting, sliding, clambering across the trickier obstacles – and occasionally dodging blaster fire, which wasn’t usually a hazard back on Coruscant. The others kept up with her pretty well, despite Torrent’s being a little rusty with respect to the use of a jetpack and the odd airborne skirmish that crossed their path, but she was still the first one to reach the ground at the rendezvous point – the Peace Park, of all places.

Close to, she could see that the combatants were more spread out than she had initially thought, a mixture of Bo-Katan’s loyalists and 212th and 501st clones holding off Maul’s forces at multiple entrances to the (mercifully seemingly unharmed) park. Quite a mixture. Hel had read up on the various Mandalorian factions beforehand; she spotted Bo-Katan’s Nite Owls, Clan Kryze and Clan Wren prominent among them, the Protectors of Concord Dawn and a fair few others – Ka’ra, were those Children of the Watch? How in blazes had Bo-Katan managed that? They made Death Watch look positively liberal. Mij greeted some of the apparently independent fighters by name, including Skirata and Vau, whom Hel knew to be members of the Cuy’val Dar and trainers of the first generations of clones. Among the decent or somewhat decent ones. All of them were fighting side by side with volunteers from two of the best battalions in the Grand Army of the Republic.

(All the vode there were volunteers, Hel knew; things had changed since the last Chancellor’s fall from grace. While major military operations still needed Senate approval, the fine details were left officially to the Jedi, and unofficially to a committee composed of equal numbers of Jedi and clones, mostly but not entirely Council members and CCs. Everyone had an equal voice and an equal vote, except for Commander Cody, who had eventually been prevailed upon to accept the casting vote as well. The result was a far more democratic army, less efficient perhaps, but soon to be phased out in any case.)

“Me’vaar ti gar?,” Hel asked Kenobi without thinking, her lightsabres already arcs of turquoise and blue in the darkness, batting away incoming fire. (Not all of it from the enemy; a few allies didn’t react to her arrival in time to avoid her.) He, Anakin and their respective seconds-in-command, Cody and Captain Rex, were, predictably, in the thick of the fiercest battle along with Bo-Katan and a number of other Mandalorians and clones. On her way there, Hel had seen her own unit, Lightning Squadron, now reunited with Torrent, embedded with the Mando’ade and other vode guarding another potential entry point, and Ahsoka and Lieutenant Jesse helping to protect a third; all three groups were holding their own, and slowly gaining ground, especially with the three new additions to their number. (Mij had chosen to reinforce Ahsoka’s group.)

“The program worked perfectly, but Maul’s forces mobilised a little more quickly than we anticipated. The 104th and some of Bo-Katan’s fighters are creating a perimeter around the city centre and clearing out any opposition soldiers in the suburbs, while we make for the Mand’alor’s residence and capture Maul. And by the way, I know undercover work can be difficult, but please try not to go completely native.” Master Kenobi knew what he was talking about, Hel was well aware. He’d faked his own death for an undercover assignment, which hadn’t gone down well with Anakin.

“There are worse fates,” she shot back. “The drink here isn’t bad, and I’m getting used to the food.” Mandalorian black ale was good, in moderation, but she was finding the cuisine an acquired taste. It tended to bite back. “What’s so funny?” That was to Anakin, now smiling as at something amusing.

“Just thinking of the little mouse I used to spar with, who wouldn’t say two words she didn’t have to.” He was describing her twelve-year-old self, who would never have been so forward to a Council member. “You’ve really grown up.”

“Happens to us all.” Hel used the Force to send a grenade sailing away, imagining that she was just punching a thrown rubber ball (a standard accuracy drill for Alban children). “Well, most of us.”

“Fair point. Anyway, a few commando squads are here as well, tasked with taking down major military assets – the armoury, the security centre and so on. Delta, Omega and the Bad Batch.”

“Stars! Scorch, Darman and Wrecker on one mission? Stand by for fireworks!” Hel had worked with all three units before, and had a healthy respect for them – especially the demo men.

There wasn’t time for much more discussion. The opposition line had started to buckle under the increased pressure, and the alliance had to drive its advantage home. Which it duly did, until all the Mauldalorians were unconscious, too badly wounded to pose a threat or gone.

The other groups had met with similar success by that point and were ready to press on, but Bo-Katan wanted to be sure they wouldn’t be ambushed on the way to their goal. Hel had thought of that over the previous few days, and reeled off the details of a couple of likely opposition staging posts and the best places to set up defensive lines between them and the alliance’s quickest and safest route to their destination. She’d noted them down while pretending to be a normal tourist, without even thinking about it. She was becoming a soldier in truth as well as in name, and the thought alarmed her.

Bo-Katan didn’t argue with Hel’s advice (presumably she wasn’t as familiar with Sundari, or at least with Sundari under Maul’s rule), but designated two squads from her own men and women to do as she said. Each would be reinforced by a clone detachment, one led by Anakin and Rex, the other by Ahsoka and Jesse. Precautions taken, the motley army set off, alert for any and all surprises. It wasn’t even the right time to catch up properly with the rest of Lightning Squadron, though Hel did manage to comment on Echo’s new armour – designed to account for the injuries he had sustained at the Citadel and the legacy of his subsequent captivity, but still recognisably a 501st shell – before Bo-Katan glared at her for getting distracted. Hel gave almost as good as she got.

“I didn’t know jetiise could have mandokar,” one of Bo-Katan’s lieutenants commented in Hel’s ear. Her armour and Nite Owl helmet were painted grey and yellow, Clan Wren’s colours, and the way the woman carried herself – and fought – suggested high rank. Almost certainly the clan leader, Countess Ursa Wren. Hel remembered her from her Mandalorian intel file – a long-term ally of Bo-Katan, and a staunch supporter of Death Watch until Maul’s takeover, but married to a New Mandalorian artist named Alrich, who had taken his wife’s clan name (as Torrent had). They had a two-year-old daughter, Sabine, safe at the clan holdings on Krownest. No wonder Ursa had fought so fiercely earlier. She had a great deal to lose if the invasion failed.

“Your sample size isn’t big enough, then.” Hel acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Given the variation within the Order, that’s not surprising.” It didn’t help that Hel was at least two standard deviations from the mean in many respects. When most people thought of Jedi, they imagined a calm, tranquil, inhumanly graceful being, remote, emotionless, a wielder of awesome powers, an artist with a laser sword. Not a creature made of fire and steel, as gifted with her fists and boots as with her sabre, who loved fiercely and recklessly but would break her own heart to do her duty, who struggled to lift a stone but could sense the cosmos around her in remarkable detail. Who climbed almost as well as a Suli high-wire walker, schemed like a Ketterdam gang leader and could probably beat a Ravkan Grisha, a Fjerdan drüskelle or a Shu khergud in single combat. Not that Hel ever wanted to test that.

That conversation, too, had to be cut short. Maul’s ground forces had apparently fallen back, but his snipers hadn’t. At least two of them opened fire on the advancing invaders; most of their shots missed completely, but Hel saw a vod from the 212th – she made a mental note to learn his name as soon as possible – fall back, clutching his wounded arm and probably cursing, blood already seeping between his fingers. Another round barrelled towards Hel’s head; recognising the sound of the snipers’ guns, she deflected it with her vambrace, not a sabre. Which was just as well. What had just ruined the paintwork on the piece of Torrent’s old armour clearly wasn’t a laser, but a lead bullet.

“Slugthrowers!,” she called out, cursing herself for not foreseeing that move. “Get to cover!”

The men and women around and behind her scattered, diving for whatever shelter they could find. Most of them made it unscathed, and most of the rest could be fixed up on the spot. Hel couldn’t let herself think about the others yet. As Master Kenobi warned the other units about the new threat (Maul would surely have other snipers around the city), she did her best to trace the incoming fire back to its origin, looking for the gunners. She wasn’t the only one – Fives and Echo were doing the same thing either side of her, as were some of the Mandalorians – but the snipers were well hidden. Getting past them was going to be tricky.

“Are you all right?” Torrent, having finished tending to the more seriously wounded, had joined the rest of the squad. Hel could picture his concerned expression behind his helmet. They had encountered slugthrowers before; she still had the scar.

“A bit bruised, but otherwise fine. The vambrace held.” The skin below it already ached, but was intact. That had only been a glancing blow, though. While the other clones’ plastoid armour might stand up to a direct hit, and the Mandalorians’ and Torrent’s beskar definitely would, the impact trauma underneath would not be pretty. And lightsabres were no use against slugthrowers. In the best-case scenario, they might slow and deflect the bullets; in the worst-case one, they would fill the air with vaporised lead. Not something anyone should be breathing.

“Thank you for the warning.” Master Koon sounded as calm as ever over the comms, despite the rifle fire in the background. More slugthrowers. “I believe we have encountered similar opposition here.”

Hel had also heard a very familiar, though faint, voice behind the Jedi Master. On a hunch, she tuned her headset to one of the Wolfpack’s internal frequencies. Sure enough, Captain Keeli was shouting at his medic partner Nuts, telling him to come down from there, di’kut, you’re crazy, all right, crazier, it’s not worth the risk… Hel smiled to herself. Nuts was almost as good a sniper as he was a medic, and had access to commando-level gear, but his real talent was for causing chaos. His name – bestowed by Keeli – didn’t just refer to his liking for warru nuts. And he usually got away with his antics, on the battlefield or off. Hel heard a single blaster-rifle stun-shot, and one of the slugthrowers fell silent.

She retuned her headset to the general channel just as Commander Wolffe reported that, “We’ve taken out one of their snipers, but don’t have a line of sight on any of the others.”

“It’s progress,” Hel reassured him. “Tell Nuts to get his shebs back down to safety sharpish. Just because you can’t see a sniper, it doesn’t mean they can’t see you.”

“Oh, Keeli’s ahead of you there.” The commander was almost laughing. “How did you know it was Nuts?”

“Who else would it be?” Without waiting for Wolffe to answer her mostly rhetorical question, Hel asked, “Crosshair, any luck your end?”

“Working on it.” The Bad Batch’s sniper sounded as calm as ever. Somehow.

“I’ll take that as a no. Sev?”

“Likewise,” was all Delta’s long gunner had to say. Neither Bo-Katan’s snipers nor Cody’s had had any luck, either. Master Kenobi was still studying the situation. “Helli, how easy is it to deflect bullets with the Force?”

“Doable, but far from trivial.” As Kenobi knew, Hel had done it herself, on an unofficial mission to Arkanis; it had taken all her focus and so much effort that she’d fallen asleep straight afterwards. “It looks like our best option, though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Spark countered. He activated his own comm. “Tech, is everything ready?”

“Technically, but I would prefer to have more time to test-”

“I know, vod, but there isn’t time. This’ll have to be the test. Switch on as soon as you can.” Time was running out, Hel knew all too well; every minute they wasted, Maul’s army could be regrouping, and Maul himself could be getting away. She realised that as far as he was concerned, locking down the sewers had been pointless. He could just cut his way in. They were gambling on his obsession with Kenobi keeping him in the city. She decided she liked those odds, but had seen better.

“Affirmative. Switching on.” Hel heard an electrical hum (as well as a worried-sounding GNK), increasing in volume, in the background of Tech’s transmission. As it stabilised, the slugthrowers stopped firing – not just the ones pinning their group in place, but others all around the city.

“It seems we have a clear run, at least to the next nasty surprise,” Bo-Katan said. “On to the palace, then. Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur.”

“Ib’tuur jatne tuur naasade kyr’amur,” Hel almost agreed. Today is a good day for nobody to die.

“Okeyday, what have you and Tech been up to?,” she added to Spark as they moved on, blessedly and no doubt temporarily unhindered. (Crosshair, Sev and maybe Nuts had probably had something to do with that.)

“Believe it or not, you’re not the only one around here who does their homework. I read up on the last war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians, trying to figure out what sort of weapons we’d be up against. Slugthrowers were pretty popular, for obvious reasons. I know lightsabres are useless against them, but I remembered the Doctor jamming the ones on Arkanis, and I… might have overheard her telling you how to contact her. I gave her a call – she and Yaz send their congratulations, by the way – she explained the basic principles of a cordolaine signal, and from there it was just a question of roping in a few friends – Tech, Atin, Fixer, Yara from Halo, Crys from the 212th, a couple of others – and turning theory into reality. I’m afraid I had to use your clearance to requisition the parts we needed, but it’s all on Palpatine’s account – Yara managed to unfreeze enough of it. He’s a good kid, but his curiosity knows no bounds.”

“As that’s just saved I don’t know how many lives, I’m hardly about to complain. By the way, just how many all-nighters did you lot have to pull to get your contraption ready in time?”

Spark probably looked sheepish under his helmet. “One or two.” The sheepishness was short-lived. “While you’re a model of good practice.” His words dripped sarcasm.

“Fair point.” She really wasn’t, though proper all-nighters were rare for her. Her vode saw to that.

They lapsed into companionable silence, everyone alert for surprise attacks. Of which there were none, right up until their goal was in sight. One minute, all seemed clear; the next, there were Mauldalorians everywhere. If the Force hadn’t shouted a warning in Hel’s ear, and she hadn’t passed the message on, just in time, things would have been even worse. As it was, an ordered advance had suddenly become a complete and utter mêlée.

In the confined space of a city street, the fighting was not just fierce but concentrated. Hel didn’t have room to use her sabres a lot of the time, falling back on her fists, boots and knife, finding nerve clusters, major blood vessels to compress, tendons she could cut without doing any other damage (she’d learned well from Mij). Her vod’ikase flanked her in their usual formation (with Echo in his old position for the first time in months), moving as one as they cut a swathe through the press of bodies, stunning anyone in the wrong armour. (The rest of the alliance was also using stun-bolts where practical; minimal casualties had been one of the Jedi’s conditions when they agreed to help Bo-Katan.) The would-be Mand’alor and Ursa, fighting side by side, kept pace with them, as did Kenobi and Cody, complementing one another perfectly. Kar’ta’vode, Hel thought, finally able to categorise their relationship. Heart-brothers.

“We have to keep going,” Kenobi said as they reached the other side of the battle. His tone was Jedi-neutral, but Hel could sense how much it pained him to have to leave his and Anakin’s men behind. It hurt her almost as much, but she knew why even before he put the reason into words. “The sooner we capture Maul, the sooner this is all over.”

Nobody argued with that. Partly because they had to save their breath for the guards at each door that lay between them and the former Sith. Hel, as ever, tried diplomacy first when they reached the outer entrance. Her own brand, tailored to the situation. “I suppose you two would rather die than betray your Mand’alor?”

“Of course.” The guards spoke almost as one.

Hel looked briefly at Bo-Katan, who seemed to have cottoned on, and had drawn herself up to her full height, glaring regally at the guards through her visor. “Then let her in.”

“Lord Maul is our ruler,” one of the guards shot back. “And you’re all traitors.” He and his colleague drew their blasters.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Kenobi remarked when the men lay unconscious, having neither died for their false Mand’alor nor betrayed him. “But we can’t waste any more time trying that again.”

With Cody and Ursa left behind on guard, the rest of the party carried on. The Mand’alor’s residence was designed to channel any attacker making for the throne room through three sets of doors (not counting the outer pair), each of which was barred by two sentries. The first such pair put up a pretty decent fight – good enough that one of them had time to send an alert to his comrades before being stunned.

“You two had better stay here,” Hel told Torrent and Spark. “And I expect to find you in one living piece each when we’re done. Especially you.” She gave her riduur a somewhat inappropriate smile. “Preferably a good-looking piece.”

“You will, and I expect the same of you.” Torrent, ignoring protocol and an exasperated Bo-Katan, pulled her in for the quickest of hugs and keldabes. “K’oyacyi, cyar’ika.”

“K’oyacyi, ner cyare.” Aware that they were on the clock, Hel broke away and turned back to the others. The next set of guards went down about as easily as their comrades, and were replaced by Fives and Echo. And not even the ones on duty right outside the Mand’alor’s throne room could stand against two talented Jedi and a high-ranking Mandalorian. Kenobi insisted on facing his old adversary alone, at least at first, leaving the women to hold the door against any reinforcements while he confronted the young spider lounging at the centre of a web partly of another’s weaving.

It was the right call. The door had hardly shut on Maul’s whispered greeting – if one could call “Kenobi” a greeting – when Hel heard running footsteps and the clank of beskar’gam. “Incoming.”

“You block, I’ll shoot.” Bo-Katan had barely holstered her pistols since the invasion had begun.

“Fair enough.” The Mandalorian and the Jedi soon proved to be a near-deadly combination even by themselves. Nobody even got within two metres of them without being stunned or hit by a deflected laser from a comrade’s blaster, and subsequently sedated. But there had been enough counter-attackers for Hel to have grown uneasy about Master Kenobi in the time it took to subdue them.

With Bo-Katan keeping watch, she eased open the door to the throne room. As expected, the long-term opponents were duelling once again. It was an unnervingly evenly matched fight. Kenobi was more skilled, and far more focused, despite the memories that room surely held for him. (Hel was certain that Duchess Satine, the love of Kenobi’s life, had been murdered there in front of her cyare. The fierce, kind, clever, passionate woman’s presence lingered in that place even more strongly than it did around her beloved Jedi.) But Maul hadn’t just been through at least two battles and a few skirmishes, and he was fuelled by rage and the desire for revenge. It could go either way.

And neither is right, Hel realised. If Maul won, that would severely damage the invasion’s prospects of success, and rob the galaxy of a brilliant Jedi and a good man. But if Kenobi won – Hel knew enough about Mandalorian law and customs to work out how that would end. Not well. Why had nobody seen that before?

As she racked her brains for a third way, her eye fell on an object in a glass case beside the throne. Interesting… Almost as soon as she reached out to it through the Force, she knew what she had to do.

She sheathed her own sabre and held it out to Bo-Katan. “You have to be the one to defeat Maul. This is your fight; you have to finish it.”

Bo-Katan’s body language indicated utter bemusement. Hel sighed, and bit back a rather colourful Gungan curse-word. (Another unusual thing about her; she could, if she so chose, swear in more languages and dialects than most Jedi spoke.) “Look. To many Mandalorians, the one who wields the Darksabre is the Mand’alor, right? And it can only be won in combat. Whoever next defeats Maul will, to a lot of people, take his place. That should be you, as the legal ruler, and it can’t be a Jedi. That really would cause problems, and make this whole mess even worse.”

Bo-Katan still wasn’t convinced, so Hel pressed on. “Besides, Maul isn’t using the Darksabre, even though it would give him a significant advantage. He’s skilled enough to use it alongside his own blades, but he isn’t. I don’t think he can. I don’t think it’s chosen him.”

“Chosen him?” The concept didn’t make sense to the Mando’ad, but to the jetii it was suddenly obvious.

“Our sabres aren’t just weapons. In a sense, they’re alive. And the Darksabre is no different. In all the centuries people have been fighting over it, do you think anyone’s stopped to ask it what it wants?”

“And what do you think it wants?”

“I don’t have to think. It just told me. It wants an end. It was a Jedi’s weapon originally, remember, forged to protect and bring peace. It wants the killing to stop, and it wants to rest. I doubt it chose Vizla; it may have chosen Satine, but she can’t wield it now. I believe it’s chosen you – a warrior open to the idea of change.” Hel offered her own lightsabre again. “So win the blade properly, and end this.”

Bo-Katan took the weapon, slowly and carefully, weighing it in her hand, familiarising herself with the controls. “Will you be all right, if more reinforcements arrive?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m never really unarmed.” Hel drew Nahdar’s sabre and her knife. Bo-Katan was probably smiling. “You’d make a good Mandalorian.”

“That I doubt, but thank you. I can’t honestly say you’d make a good Jedi, but I think you’ll be a good Mand’alor – if you get on with what you have to do.”

Bo-Katan took the hint, darting through the still-open doors to the throne room, where the two combatants had reached a stalemate, blades locked together. Hel watched, senses alert for any ambushes from behind, as the other woman challenged the pretender to her throne, and as Maul accepted the challenge, using the Force to throw Kenobi across the room. The Jedi’s head hit the wall with a nasty-sounding thud (though, mercifully, not a crack), and he fell to the floor, totally still.

Maul was too focused on his new opponent (who, Hel absently noted, had adopted not the Soresu opening stance Kenobi favoured, but her own favourite, a textbook Niman one, which she hadn’t used that day; her sabre must be teaching its new wielder) to notice the young woman climbing along the walls to reach her ori’vod. Her medical scanner informed her that the head injury was serious, but no permanent damage had yet been done; she used the last of her bacta spray to maintain that state of affairs. There were several other wounds all over his body, but nothing that needed urgent treatment – thank goodness. She just had to wait for him to wake up.

Which he did less than a minute later, his eyes focusing first on her, then on the battle in the centre of the room. Against all odds, Bo-Katan was winning, using the weapons hidden in her armour as well as Hel’s sabre, but Maul was fighting back well. “Helli, what have you done now?”

“What I had to do. If you’d claimed the Darksabre, even unintentionally, Bo-Katan’s support would have splintered, and who knows what the Mauldalorians would do. This was the best way around that. How do you feel, by the way?”

“Like a military academy.” Hel’s heart rate spiked; was he more badly hurt than she’d thought? “Bits of me keep passing out.”

She managed to laugh at the weak joke. He was going to be all right – probably. “Well, do you think you can stop everything graduating at once? I need to monitor your condition.”

“I’ll do my best.” He contrived to sit up, leaning against the wall, to watch the duel. Bo-Katan really was doing well, using the rage Hel could sense rolling off her – she was fighting her sister’s killer, after all – without letting it control her. It must have helped that Maul was tired and injured from his fight with Kenobi, his legs sparking, a burn mark on one arm, his movements slower and jerkier than before, while Bo-Katan had had just enough time to rest and treat her wounds since the previous battle. And she had tricks up her sleeve – literally. As the Jedi watched, a grappling line from Bo-Katan’s vambrace wrapped around Maul, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling him to his metal knees. His vanquisher raised Hel’s sabre to end the fight – and his life.

“Don’t!” Hel was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Stun him with my blessing, but don’t kill him.”

“Why not?” Bo-Katan didn’t lower the blade, but she didn’t strike, either. “Because there’s still hope for him?”

“That, and my lightsabre will probably shock you if you try. It is mine, after all. And you’re wearing an awful lot of metal.” Bo-Katan accepted that, handed the weapon back to its owner and gave the grappling line a vicious tug. “Get up.”

Whatever Maul intended to say to that was cut off when Hel tied a bandage from her med-kit around his mouth. As Kenobi cuffed him, just to be on the safe side, she headed over to the Darksabre and examined its case. The locking mechanism looked pretty complicated, but there was a slight crack between the lid and one side. She inserted her sgian dubh into the crack and twisted it, popping the lid right off.

“That’s one way to do it,” Kenobi remarked. He reached into the case and withdrew the beskar lightsabre hilt, holding it out to Bo-Katan. “Yours, I believe.”

Hel wished she could see Bo-Katan’s face as she took the ancient weapon. She could guess the expression on it, though – triumph, shot through with sorrow. Her sister had died by that blade. But Bo-Katan was one large step closer to giving Satine and many others the justice they deserved.

The new Mand’alor led the way out of the palace, her captive in tow, her allies trailing behind, the soldiers they had left on guard falling into step with them along the route. When the procession emerged into the grey light before dawn and Bo-Katan ignited the Darksabre, holding it aloft for all to see, the still-ongoing battle stopped as though a spell had been cast. Every Mandalorian fell to his or her knees, followed by the clones; Anakin and Ahsoka, whose units had reinforced the main contingent, bowed low.

“Oya manda!,” Bo-Katan called. There is no direct translation of that phrase into Basic, but it expresses Mandalorian solidarity and endurance. A fitting cry for the end of a civil war.

“Oya manda!,” a host of voices, Mandalorian, clone, even Jedi, called back. Hel’s hand automatically found Torrent’s, her sunburst of a smile echoing his armour paint. They had done it. Yes, there was still a lot of work to do, but for one shining moment, they could enjoy the fact that Mandalore was truly at peace.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Riduur(e): spouse(s).

Cin vhetin: literally, white field; colloquially refers to adoption into a Mandalorian clan (regarded as a fresh start, a clean slate).

Beskar'gam: armour, especially Mandalorian steel armour.

Kute: undergarments of any kind (including the body glove under armour).

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Vod(e): brother(s), sister(s), sibling(s); often refers to clones (and honorary clones). 'Ika is an affectionate diminutive.

Me'vaar ti gar?: what's new with you? What's the situation?

Mando'ad(e): Mandalorian(s).

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Mandokar: "the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life" (from mandoa.org).

Di'kut: idiot (lit. without underclothes).

Shebs: rear (in any sense).

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: today is a good day for someone else to die. (To quote mandoa.org again, "Mando saying (because they're not daft...)"; here on Terra, this was originally a Sioux/Lacotah war cry. Not Klingon.)

K'oyacyi: literally, "stay alive"; colloquial meanings include "cheers", "hang in there" and, as here, "come back safely".

Cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart.

Ner cyare: my love. (Cyare means beloved.)

More Grishaverse references worked their way in; in the books, Grisha are people who can manipulate certain types of matter (their equivalents here are probably some sort of Force-sensitive or magick user), and druskelle and khergud are Grisha hunters - the former are "just" highly trained humans, while the latter have been artificially altered, cyborg-style.

Any and all comments are always welcome.

[darthspideys]

by your side

 -- din djarin x jedi! reader 

-- the reader I use in this is the same as the one in my din series antithesis (it’s the pinned post on my blog if you want to read it) but you don’t have to read it to understand this one 

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS WEEKS EPISODE, like tons of spoilers, the whole thing is a spoiler 

-- summary: you help Din complete his mission to get the coordinates to find the child, but when he comes back you can tell something is wrong 

When everyone else has given up their very good reasons for not being able to get past the scanner, Din looks at you. You don’t say anything at first, because you think he’s just looking at you until he can think of another option, but when he keeps looking you realize he thinks that you are a viable option. For starters, you don’t want to do it, because seeing stormtroopers of any kind fills you with a sudden urge to bash their heads in which would not be helpful in scenario and secondly, you are definitely not making it past the scanner. Suddenly, as the staring from Din continues, everyone else starts to look at you too. “I can’t do it either,” You make eye contact with every person in the group as you say it, “I killed the emperor, I am definitely in the system.” 

All eyes turn away from you at the same time except for Mayfield who narrows his eyes and takes a posture you are not happy with. “I thought Luke Skywalker killed the emperor.” 

Short answer: he did. Long answer: “I was there,” You cross your arms over your chest, “I helped.” He looks like he doesn’t believe you and suddenly it’s not just the stormtroopers head you're getting the urge to bash in. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you pull your lightsaber and ignite it suddenly, holding it in your hand absentmindedly just to remind him who he’s talking to. 

Din puts his hand out in front of you, the armor brushing against your chest. “Okay,” He says, looking pointedly at you in the way that he does the child when it eats something it shouldn’t. “I’ll go.”

Now everyone’s looking at him, including you. Mayfield speaks up again, “I’m a smooth talker but I don’t think they’ll let in a Mandalorian in full armor-” 

“-good thing I won’t be wearing it then.” 

And so the plan emerges: Mayfield and Din go and hijack the transport with help from Cara and you, then get into the refinery and get the coordinates you need. Easier said than done, as always but the little team that Din has managed to put together since you left Tython is actually impressive in it’s own way. You’re used to working in groups, but this is something completely different more like a mashing together of a lot of different people than a melded unit. Of course you know that this is the best you're gonna get to a team to take down Gideon and get the baby back, which is what you're going to need if you even want to stand a chance. 

Taking the transport is easy, and surprisingly nothing even comes close to blowing up. Din changes into the stormtrooper armor as Mayfield babbles on about something from the back of the vehicle. Din comes out from around the corner, decked in that protective stormtrooper armor and you can tell how uncomfortable he is just by watching. The way he walks shows that he’s used to the heaviness of beskar, and probably the security that comes from wearing it. He’s exposed, even if his face isn’t. 

He looks at you for a long time when he hands you the bag that contains his armor. You take it into your arms, think for a little too long about how heavy it is, and then reach over to squeeze his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you want to know what he’s thinking but all you can feel is that determination to get the child back. That’s all you’ve been able to feel from him since Gideon took the child, that determination to get it back, not any grief, not any fear just the determination masking all of it, and that worries you. “We’re going to finish this,” You tell him, “You’re gonna get the coordinates and then we’re going to make Gideon eat fucking concrete.” 

He laughs, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I mean like slam his face into a wall or something,” You try to stop yourself from smiling, “I am trying to be supportive here, this is a very serious situation and I am being supportive.” 

“I don’t think that you're physically capable of being serious in any situation.” 

You roll your eyes, “I fought in a war, Mando.” You use the nickname you used to call him to make your point. “I am capable of a lot of things you’re not keenly aware of.” 

“Are you lovebirds done yet?” Mayfield says, “We’re still on the clock here.” 

You flip him off without even looking in his direction. He laughs from behind you, and Din shakes his head before walking off to join the other man. You stand by Cara’s side as they take off in the transport, and then head off to join Fennec at the next position. You both walk through the brush in silence, until suddenly a feeling jolts through your body. You freeze, and almost keep walking but then suddenly it hits you: Din. 

Something is wrong. You look out over the edge of the small cliff you’re standing next to, and see something small zoom off in the direction of the transport, and then something else of similar size at the same speed. You don’t wait before you start running, Cara calls your name but suddenly you are just rushing to get to the transport as fast as you can. You’re trying to get down the cliff without falling on a large rock when you hear the first explosion. It stops you in your tracks, and almost makes you fall down a very steep incline. You stand there for a moment consumed with the feeling of independent doom that’s been guiding your decision making thus far. A couple of seconds pass and another explosion sounds out and shakes the ground beneath your feet. You start off again. 

Finally you can see the transport to your left off the side of the cliff, and you can see what it’s fighting against. There are two hovercrafts full of pirates trying to get onto the top of the transport, trying to get to the substance inside to blow it up most likely. You can make out a small figure on the top of the transport, and you know it’s Din. Somehow you have to get down there, or both of them and the mission might be a goner. 

You take a couple of steps back, and repeat a mantra in your head: rock, tree, transport. Rock, tree, transport, and if you mess up on any of those then you’ll be dead which is something you're trying your best not to think about as you run and jump off the edge of the cliff. You make it onto the rock, and then use the force to guide you to the top of the transport. 

As soon as you land a pirate takes a swing at your head. You duck, fast as lightning, and then stand up and kick him off the side of the transport and onto the ground below. For some reason that only makes the rest of the pirates angerier, one charges at you and you duck again, rolling right under him. This inadvertently causes that one to pick Din as his new target, a fact which you realize a little too late. 

“I got it!” Din yells over the sound of the vehicle and the pirates growling. 

You turn your attention to the pirate in front of you, readying his spear to attack. Your hand reaches down for your lightsaber but you decide against it, suddenly remembering that you’re dangerously close to an empire base and fighting with a lightsaber could very easily tip them off. You’re going to have to rely on hand to hand combat, which you haven’t had to in many years, but there’s no other option. You suck underneath the spear, trying to get in hits while not getting skewered. Eventually you have the position to rip the spear from his hands and throw him off the back of the transport. That also clears another pirate out of the way and for a moment you think that the danger has been averted. 

That doesn’t last long. 

More pirates jump onto the transport, overwhelming you and Din for the time and suddenly a few of them make it to the compartment where the substance is being held. You and Din both see it, and he screams something at Mayfield that you can’t quite make out. You try and get the pirate off of your ass as soon as you can. Then you hear the sound of a thermal detonator being attached to one of the canisters. You and Din look at eachother with a renewed sense of urgency, and you throw the pirate off the side and run over to the canister. 

You stare at the detonators, unsure of what to do. 

“What are you doing?” Din yells. 

“What the fuck do I do?” 

“Just pull it off and throw it as far away as you can!” He shouts.

You use the force to pull the detonators off the canisters and throw them off towards the rest of the pirates a few feet back from the transport. It blows them out of the air, and you turn around to see Din still struggling to get rid of the last one. You throw the pirate right into the cliffside and fall onto the top of the transport. 

Din walks over and brushes himself off before holding out his hand to help you up. “How did you know?” He asks. 

“Just had a feeling,” You blow a piece of your hair out of your face. “I love you, okay? You can do this.” 

He squeezes your hand quickly, “I love you too.” 

You wait until you see an opening and hop off the transport and into the tree line. You head back to the meeting place with Fennec and Cara, finally free of the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong. The rest of the mission goes in a blur, Fennec, Cara and you manage to keep enough imperials away for Boba to pick up Din and Mayfield off the roof. When all is said and done, Mayfield is released into the wild, and you're off to gather up your plan to get the child back from Gideon, you get a feeling again. 

This one isn’t one of impending doom, it’s of conflict, you can feel the turmoil and you can feel that something terrible has happened. The feeling is coming right from Din, but he seems to be avoiding you. When you settle down on Nevarro, and the various members of your team are out completing tasks for the eventual mission to get onto Gideons cruiser, you finally corner him. 

“You seem upset,” You tell him, “What happened?” He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you, just keeps his eyes on the floor. You put your hands on the sides of his helmet, not to take it off, because you know not to do that unless he does, but to try and let him know that you're here no matter what. 

“The coordinates required a facial scan, and I had to do it,” He says, and though you're surprised you don’t flinch. He pauses, “And then this commander insisted that me and Mayfield get a drink with him. I don’t even know how many people saw my face.” 

“Love,” You say, so many questions burning in your mind. 

He pulls away from you and shakes his head, looking down at the floor again. “I shouldn’t have even put this back on, I don’t deserve to wear this helmet to wear any of this armor.” 

“You did it for the kid, Din. That kid is your family, and you have to do everything that you can for your family. It doesn't make you less of a Mandalorian, it makes you a human being, we all have to do things we’re not proud of. We do them, and then we try to move on and do better.” 

He sighs, and starts back towards you. “I feel like a fraud.” 

“Love,” You say again, “You are so strong, caring and smart and everything. You are not a fraud, and you’re not a traitor. You are a person, a human being who's allowed to make mistakes, and who will do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves.” You lean your head against his, “And you are everything to me.”

“I love you,” He half whispers. 

“I love you too.”

[theboredwritertm]

"Look at you... goodness you're so cute" fic request with reader/Din, please? :D

His Reason

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: None, I don’t think. Like one curse word.

Word Count: 1,935

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written a reader insert fic, so I hope I did alright with it. Thanks for the request, anon! I’ll admit I struggled to keep the story in the same tense in some parts because of the POV. But I had fun! And I love me some soft!Mando. This is also kind of based on an idea I had for a multi-part fic, so I might include it as part of that. 

Summary: Our boy, Mando, has just broken the Bounty Hunter’s Guild code, but with you currently calling Nevarro home, he can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind.

******************************************************

Din had absolutely no business dragging you into this. 

He was the one who had fucked up. All he’d had to do was deliver the acquisition, just like any other job he’d done before. Only this one hadn’t been like any other job. One look at the tiny, big-eyed baby and he knew he would never be able to leave it in the hands of a bunch of Imperials. Not in good conscience. And if he was being honest with himself, a conscience was one of the few things he had left; a standard to hold himself to that hadn’t been given to him or expected of him by somebody else.

So, he’d broken the code; a code he had based his entire career on, that he relied on for his reputation, which up until this point had been practically spotless. 

And now he was in a world of trouble and was somehow making a beeline directly for your door, babbling baby still in hand, and the weight of a bounty now firmly on his head, dragging along whatever stain he had earned on that once perfect reputation to taint your own. Yet, still, knowing all of this, he continued on the well-acquainted back streets to your home. 

He’d known you for years, agreed to sponsor you when you’d finally decided to join the guild, had even put some of his own earnings towards your fees, and yet here he was, on a direct path to making you lose everything and all because of him. His selfishness. His need to be near you. 

You’d settled in a small place on Nevarro to be closer to work, to give you a taste of what a less-chaotic life might be like in between jobs that involved chasing down dangerous fugitives. It had always given him the perfect excuse to appear on your doorstep, dropping by after collecting a bounty or picking up some new job from Greef. Never stopping by without a reason. That would be too obvious. Too needy. 

That would give him away.  

Yet, from the moment he had broken the code and taken back the child, he had known it would never be safe to step foot on Nevarro again. And the thought of never being able to see you again drove him to your familiar neighborhood.

As he stopped at your front door, he thought of what excuse he might use now and looked down at the bundle in his arms. He didn’t know a thing about babies. He needed someone to help keep this thing alive. At least that’s what he told himself – but what made him think you knew any better? Relying on some innate maternal instinct to kick in? You’d never had to care for any younglings, either, and you’d never mentioned wanting any, though it wasn’t exactly a conversation he had brought up with you. That topic hit a little too close to home. Because the thought of you having a child, of the two of you starting a little family of your own, was something he had thought about often in the rare, quiet moments he’d shared with you on jobs, when he’d allowed himself to daydream when you thought he might be asleep. 

When you opened your door and smiled up at him like you always did when you saw him, he couldn’t deny the relief that flooded over him. Being near you always made him feel safe, a ridiculous concept given the size difference and his greater experience with weapons and fighting – he’d been the one to train you, after all – but he thought that maybe it wasn’t a physical kind of safety that you gave him. Yes, he was sure you’d lay your life down for him without hesitation, as he would do the same for you, but you made him feel safe in the same way the Mandalorians had when they’d lifted him through the doors of the smoking basement all those years ago. It was a feeling that everything was going to be alright. That he was looked after. That he might just be okay.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to drift down to the stolen package in his arms, but before you could so much as utter a question, he was pushing you back as he forced his way inside your home. With one quick glance down the street, he pushed the button to slide the door closed behind him.

“Uhh…what the hell’s going on, Din?”

You listen to the modulated sigh that huffs through his helmet.

Right. The excuse. He had been too caught up in thinking about you to even remember to come up with one. 

He finds himself caught now between the usual pleasure of the way you say his name and the scramble for an acceptable excuse for bringing trouble your way. He looks at you, at the familiar curve of your face and your soft features, even as you frown up at him with eyes full of concern, and he’s suddenly reminded of his ‘why’; of his own personal reason. 

“Something’s happened. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

Even as the words tumble out of his mouth, he knows he’s asking too much. 

“Excuse me?” You blink up at him, confused and taken aback by what had almost sounded like a command. 

His visor turns towards you in what you can only assume is a meaningful stare, but without seeing his face there’s not a lot of meaning to read. Yet, you had spent enough time with him to read his gestures. He means what he says. You don’t think there’s ever been a time where he hasn’t. In his arms the child coos. You glance down at it, getting a proper look for the first time. You’d never seen anything like it before.

“What did you do?” you ask quietly. 

There’s no judgment in your tone, not that he had expected any, but there was a sharp curiosity as you bent down for a better look at what he was holding. Completely out of instinct, he hands the child over to you, surprised to find that you take it without hesitation. He watches you for a moment as you hold the baby up and pull it in close, and smiles to himself beneath his helmet at the way your face lights up when it gurgles happily. 

You hug the child in close, sitting it on your hip in a way that feels oddly natural. “Look at you…goodness, you’re so cute.”

“The Imperials wanted it,” Din finally confesses.

The horrified look you direct at him is like a punch to the gut; confirmation of his own wrongdoings.

“You took it to them?” 

There it is. The judgment he’d been dreading. Or maybe he was projecting, haunted by his own guilt at letting a child fall into the hands of people so evil. He fumbles for another excuse.

“I took it back.”

You stare at him, then your gaze drops and he wonders what you’re thinking, if he’s suddenly changed in your view; morphed into something monstrous beneath the armor. You had never seen him with it off, as was The Way, but he had taken it off in your presence many times before. He glances down at the strip of cloth you always keep tied around your forearm – a simple bit of clothing to the view of others, but to him a considerate accessory for, and constant reminder of, the many rendezvous you’d shared that never failed to escalate into a tangle of needy limbs and panting mouths.

“What did they want with it?” you ask, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“No idea.”

You notice the way his voice softens, his slightly hunched posture like he’s waiting for another blow. Your rejection, you realize. You try to slow things down in your mind and piece it all together. 

“You’re on the run,” you guess, not a question but a calm realization.

He gives a single, silent nod.

“If you come with me, now, you will be, too. You’ll be forfeiting –” 

Your sharp snort cuts through him and feeds a little more into that ever-growing guilt. You’re shaking your head at him and the rejection hits him harder than he was expecting, enough to make him realize the true gravity of his hopes.

“Whatever I’m forfeiting,” you tell him, “I gave it up the moment you showed up, Din.”

He had pictured all the ways that this could go wrong, and admittedly this reaction wasn’t one of them. He fights the urge to turn and leave, to take it all back with him out that door, to never bother you again. The thought is painful enough to keep him grounded. He remains where he is. 

“Six years ago,” you continue, and he looks up, hopes renewed. “When we did our first job together. I think that’s when I knew what I’d be giving up.” You stare up at him, face soft yet serious, as you sway the baby on your hip as naturally as a nursemaid might. “For the longest time, I thought I wanted a life of peace, after everything I went through. Then you came into my life and I was willing to let go of that dream. Because I knew that if I chose you, we might not get that. And I’m okay with that.” 

The room is silent. Even the child looks between the two of you, as if feeling the weight of the words being spoken, even if he can’t understand them. Din isn’t even sure that he does. He knows what he wants them to mean, but can’t allow himself to believe it just yet. 

You step towards him – this soft, funny man who still managed to take you completely by surprise, and who you had slowly but completely fallen in love with, even if it had taken months initially for the internal armor to come down and let you in. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, right above where his heart beats under layers of beskar, tunic, flesh, and bone, and he wonders if you can feel how hard it's beating beneath your touch – how hard it always beats when he’s around you. 

“You’ll never be able to come home again,” he warns you, looking around the space you had managed to make yours over the last few years. You chuckle and he looks back at you, and the gentle look in your eyes makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted to kiss anybody so badly in his life. 

You shrug and look around at the simple dwelling – a house that had proven to be a convenient place to stay, but had never quite felt like home. You realize now, in his presence, why this is. “This place? It was getting a little cramped anyway.”

His own laugh rumbles through the modulator. “If you think this is bad, wait until you’re on the ship.”

“I’ve been on the Crest. It’s not so bad. Better company.” You grin up at him, and though you can’t see it, you sense that he’s doing the same, both struck by a sudden, inexplicable feeling of hope. He reaches out, finally, and brushes your hair back, melting in a totally un-Mandalorian-like manner when you lean into his touch. 

He will think on this moment in the hard times to come, reaching back for a perfect memory to keep him grounded. But he won’t need it often. With you by his side, he feels certain he can make it through just about anything. 

[glimmerglanger]

I really liked TS - I thought you treated some potentially very icky issues on power and abuse between Ben and Jango with thoughtfulness. Are you taking requests? Because if so I have some! (I also sometimes struggle with fic requests because clearly, as the author, you ended the story where you thought it was best to be ended...but we are greedy creatures...) I’m very curious about the Jedi that Jango delivered as bounty - Dooku? Does that come into play when Jango delivers an ass whooping on Qui-Gon? I would also love to see the first time they’re intimate post freedom, maybe from Ben’s perspective? And maybe a moment when Jango hears what’s happening with the new mandalorians vs death watch? I feel like he would be conflicted, but make a conscious decision to stay out of it. So! Many! Thoughts!

Thank you! I am generally into doing snippets after long fics. I like playing in the space for a while, it brings me joy. I decided to did into Ben’s POV on them getting intimate the first time. 

This takes place roughly two years after the ending (or three years before the coda). Jangobi. SPICY. Not Safe For Wizards. Mentions of past trauma, but no major warnings. It’s mostly Ben thinking, honestly.

~~~~~~~~

Ben relearned how to want things slowly.

Sometimes, on particularly bad days, he wondered if he’d ever known how to want things in the first place.

He couldn’t be sure, one way or the other, and, really, it didn’t matter in a practical way, so he left the thoughts slide away. Instead, he spent his time learning what kinds of food he wanted to eat, what kinds of teas he wanted to drink - he no longer had to rely solely on what was brought to him - and how he wanted to sleep…

He learned how to want all those things. Basic things. Things other people probably knew how to want automatically, and--

Sometimes, his head got so loud, so noisy with memories of why he didn’t. The weight had a way of pressing down on him, crowding into his throat and his chest, smothering and thick. He learned, before they ever landed on Yulion, that Jango made that go away.

Jango felt things...strongly. He had since the first time they met, when he broadcast a need for help so clear and sharp that it had cut through everything else. He’d felt like a drowning man, thrashing around desperately.

Ben had been taught how to help those drowning, in another life. Received warnings that, if you got too close to a foundering soul, they could push you down, as well, unintentionally and in a panic. Those drowning often drowned uncautious rescuers. But that wasn’t a good reason to allow someone to perish.

Jango had radiated a desperation for help, so Ben had helped him.

He still did, sometimes. But there was something...below that need for help, ever and always. Ben didn’t have words for exactly what it was that he felt from Jango, as they lived together. But it made his chest warm and achy. It chased away the tightness in his throat and the memories in his head that made him want to pull himself to pieces.

He could press close to Jango and feel, with certainty, that he was wanted. Safe. Secure. Jango used the word ‘love’ for how he felt. That felt like a good descriptor, Ben decided, eventually. It was...warming and wonderful. Ben wanted to pull it all around himself some days, some nights, after nightmares.

Jango seemed happy enough to let him. When Ben requested that he keep feeling that way - haltingly - he always went still, and Ben could feel him trying to modulate his surface emotions and it was--endearing. Ben could not find a way to tell him that the underlying base of what he felt didn’t change, anyway.

Perhaps someday he’d find a way.

He hadn’t, by the time he realized he was learning how to want other things. The realization slipped in slowly, as the two year anniversary of their arrival on the planet eased closer. He found himself watching Jango more, as he cooked or cleaned his weapons, found himself aching oddly as they spoke softly together after getting Ani to sleep, found himself breathing faster, when Jango curled around him - body and feelings - in bed.

They’d been married almost a year. He’d expected, at first, that Jango would become impatient with waiting for him. But he seemed content enough to...handle things himself. Ben felt it, distantly, when Jango touched himself in the fresher, the twist in his emotions and wants a shining kind of beacon.

The first time Ben idly imagined joining him, his cheeks flushing at the thought, he ended up standing outside, staring up at the sky and dragging a hand back through his hair. Ani followed him out and insisted they play tag, which, at least, thoroughly took Ben’s mind off of matters.

But the thoughts recurred. The wants returned, even when Jango wasn’t feeling any particular wants at all. Which meant, Ben was increasingly sure, that the desires were his own.

Ben shivered, considering the scope and breadth of what he felt. It was...strange. But not unpleasant. His gut flooded with warmth, the next time he leaned in to kiss Jango, something they did, occasionally. Ani was sleeping, safe and snug in his bed, his presence in the Force gone slow and peaceful with dreams. 

And Jango felt--so good, his mouth and his hand, curved against Ben’s cheek, his wants and emotions curling out between them. No one else had ever felt the way he did. It was one of the reasons Ben had so much difficulty classifying the emotions he picked up.

Those thoughts fled, in the moment, as Ben settled closer, warm all over, fingers tangled in Jango’s hair. They’d been on the couch. Ben had been reading, he thought, before he started kissing Jango, and--

And he couldn’t recall why he cared what he’d been doing. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, changing the angle of the kiss, and Jango made a sound against his mouth, shifting a little closer and then checking his movement. 

Jango pulled back, blinking a few times and turning his face to the side. He cleared his throat and said, “I think I’m going to hit the fresher,” like a code, as though Ben didn’t know exactly what he planned to do in the fresher, and--

“Don’t,” Ben said, the word slipping out as he reached out, curling fingers around Jango’s wrist.

“Ben,” Jango said, his voice thick. He glanced over and said, eyes all dark, “I’ll come back. I just--”

“I’d like you to stay,” Ben said, wetting his bottom lip without thinking about it. “Or--for both of us to go. Maybe to your room.”

Jango stared at him for a long beat. “You want to be held?” It was a fair question. Ben often did. 

His heart beat a little faster in his chest and he said, feeling a flush creeping over his cheeks, “No. Not really. I want--” He shifted closer, slid his hand over Jango’s thigh, and Jango sucked in a breath when Ben found him hard “--to help with this.”

“It’s--that’s--” Jango swore and visibly marshalled himself. “You don’t have to. I’m perfectly capable of handling it on my own, so--”

“I know I don’t have to,” Ben cut in, and there was a giddy kind of joy to hearing the words and knowing they were true. He could feel that Jango meant it. “I want to. Do you want me to?”

The question felt silly, for a beat. He could feel how much Jango wanted, could feel what he wanted; hands on skin and mouths brushing together and soft gasped sounds. “Yes,” Jango told him, swallowing hard, “I do--” And Ben leaned towards him, and his fingers were in Jango’s hair, then, his mouth sliding against Jango’s, warm and welcoming.

Jango wanted, so badly. Ben felt it, shivering as Jango slid a palm up Ben’s thigh. Ben managed to get a hand under Jango’s shirt, on warm, familiar skin, as Jango rasped out, “Ani could wake up.”

“I’ll know if he does,” Ben murmured back, reassuring. Ani felt deeply asleep. Content and safe. “Please.”

Jango made a ragged sound, and Ben was willing to admit that perhaps adding the please had been slightly unfair. Jango wanted him to have the things he wanted. And that was--heady, as Jango pulled him into a kiss, one Ben was delighted to melt into, the pair of them slowly sliding sideways, until they were sprawled out on the couch. 

It didn’t take much effort to undo the closures on Jango’s slacks. He was hard, his cock familiar when Ben curled fingers around him. Jango made a ragged sound, kissing across Ben’s cheek, to his jaw. Jango’s beard rasped against his skin, a flare of sensation as Ben shifted his grip, tilting his head back, aching, thinking about the best way to bring Jango off and--

“Do you want--” Jango broke off, shoving up on one arm, eyes dark and breathtaking. “Do you--” He shifted his hand, fingers dragging down Ben’s stomach and, oh. Ben had barely realized he’d gotten hard, himself. “Can I…?”

“Please,” Ben rasped out, again, and took Jango’s wrist, pushing his hand further down, enough that he could rock up into the pressure. Jango swore, quietly, and tugged at the closures on his pants, radiating want and--

Feeling someone want, more than anything, to make him feel good was something Ben had not been able to imagine, a few years ago.

It made his spine arch, made him groan, made him hard and aching and wet and--

“Gonna take care of you,” Jango rasped, and kissed him again. Ben nodded, half-senseless all at once. He could feel that Jango meant it. Jango had meant it for so long. Tried and succeeded and--

Ben buried his fingers in Jango’s hair, when Jango shifted down his body, bit his lip to muffle the sounds he wanted to make, somewhat, at the touch of Jango’s mouth over his skin. He was so close to the edge already when Jango licked across the head of his cock, mouth warm and hot and unexpected and--

Ben felt himself rock up; he felt electrified, throbbing and so full of wants and demands from his body. For a moment he wondered if Jango had somehow learned how to read wants, too, because he bobbed his head and slid a hand between Ben’s legs, thumb brushing back and forth, so perfect.

Ben went off like a shot, like the blasters Jango had insisted on teaching him to shoot, barely able to strangle out a sound. Jango swallowed, and Ben made a ragged sound, feeling good and achy at the same time, inside of his body, a whisper of other wants getting louder.

He set them aside, focusing enough to hear Jango breathing raggedly down by his hips. He’d turned his face against Ben’s thigh, muscles tense, an arm stretched back. Ben managed to raise his head enough to watch Jango jerk himself hard and fast, emotions flashing over all hot and good and buoyant when he came.

For a moment, they just slumped there, breathing heavily. “Oh,” Ben managed, finally, tingling from head to toe. 

Jango snorted, cheek still pressed against Ben’s thigh. He shifted, wiping his hand on his shirt and then, with a little frown, pulling the shirt off and mopping it across Ben’s stomach. He asked, voice all warm and thick, “Was that...what you wanted, Ben?”

“Mm.” Ben nodded, trailing touches over Jango’s skin. “Yes,” he said, and then, learning all kinds of things, “I want to do it again.”

Jango’s head snapped up, and Ben couldn’t help but smile at the expression on his face. Jango said, tone darker, “You…?”

“Now,” Ben told him, “I want to do it again now.” And Jango made a hoarse noise, falling into him, kissing him while Ben wrapped both arms around him and just...felt, for a while.

[cal-kestis]

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest.  (Set after S2) Rating: M   Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi. 

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours. 

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin. 

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself. 

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance. 

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

— 

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body. 

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.” 

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

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[absurdthirst]

Saw your inbox got nuked so I’ll resend (ignore is annoying). It’s not the exact same because my memory is absolutely trash but here we are.

Something soft but sexy with Mando and a reader in a wheelchair? Maybe him reassuring her that he can keep her safe and that her body isn’t what’s important to him? I’m also curious how he would modify the ship to be accessible but I know I’m asking a lot lol

***I hope this is what you were looking for? 

Accessible

“Din, you know I can’t-”

“Just come and see it cyar’ika.” The warmth of his baritone wasn’t masked by the modulator of his helmet. You tipped your head up to see him, the dark visor pointed towards you. You could tell he was excited, impatient, his body moving slightly as he shifted from foot to foot.

Releasing a sigh, you nod. “Okay. I will come see the changes you made to the Crest.” You agree.

The Mandalorian doesn’t even respond to you, just quickly turning on his heel and looking back at you, waiting for you to press the lever on your chair to roll you forward.

It wasn’t easy, not being able to go with him anymore. An injury damaging your body past the healing properties of bacta and not even the medic droids were skilled enough to repair you without the very real risk of killing you. So you were bound to a chair, your legs for all intents and purposes, useless.

Your home was on Nevarro, set up to where you could be safe under the watchful eyes of Greef and now Cara. When you had been injured, Din had not wanted to leave you behind, but there was no way that you could function on the gunship. More of a liability to the bounty hunter than he needed. So you had told him you would stay here.

You hadn’t realized how much you would hate it. Being apart from your lover was not something you had ever dreamed of. And you hadn’t known how much it was affecting Din either.

“Kuiil, the ugnaught, I-I had him do some modifications to the Crest before he- before he died.” You heard the sadness in his tone at the mention of his friend’s demise, knowing that Din still blamed himself for the Imps killing the kind soul.

“Why would you do that?” You ask, the wheels of your chair rolling along the rocky path that led to where the ship you had called home for so long sat parked, the fuel lines hooked up as he prepared to leave once again.

“I want you to come with me again cyar’ika.” He stops and turns towards you, kneeling down in the volcanic rock and staring at you with that impassive visor. “I- I can protect you, and I miss having you here when I wake up.”

You close your eyes, remembering the nights you had woken up in his arms. The passionate times spent entwisted in each other in that tiny sleeping nook. The uncomfortable cot seemingly a feather bed when he was with you.

“Din I- I’m not the same.” You gesture to your useless lower body, things were so different that they were before.

“I don’t care about that, cyar’ika.” He says quickly. “I don’t- your body isn’t what I fell in love with. You, your heart, soul, mind, those are the things that I love and miss seeing you smile, hearing your voice. I miss your presence in our ship.” You feel your eyes fill with tears as his heartfelt admission. He wasn’t poetic at times, but this was words from the heart, and you knew that he was being genuine.

At the base of the ramp, there was a floating chair, similar to the pod that the kid was in. You tilt your head curiously and Din cleared his throat. “I thought it would be easier if you had something that could be maneuvered easily. You can just have it lift you through the hatch instead of worrying about the ladder.”

Your heart melted at the thoughtfulness of it. A hover chair would be more useful than the chair that was relying on wheels that you were currently using. You transferred over to the new chair and Din handed you a small remote. “It’s - I also programmed it to my vambrace.” He admits, making you laugh as you think about him moving you around like the kid.

Taking you through the ship,  you could tell Kuiil had worked hard to modify the ship. Precious space in the cargo bay was now missing, used for other areas to accommodate you. The fresher was expanded. The tiny sonic shower now much larger with a seat built into it for you. The narrow sleeping quarters was twice the size that it once was, a proper bed in play of the cot, with bars around it for you to hold on to when you needed to get in and out of the bed.

Showing you how he had the hatch widened to make sure your chair could fit through it, he brings you up to the cockpit and you see that your chair, the one you always sat in is missing. Making room for you to be right by him again while he pilots the Crest.

“Cyar’ika, what do you think?” He asks, almost bashfully. You look around the cockpit of the ship you have spent so much time on. That you still dream about every night and wake up thinking you can still hear the rumble of the engines as you travel through hyperspace.

“It’s - it’s wonderful.” Your voice is rough with emotion, catching as you pitifully try to describe what you think of his thoughtfulness. There are no words that you can think of in any of the languages you know to adequately tell him how much it means to you.

“Come with me again?” He asks softly, reaching out for your hand and holding it in his leather clad one gently. “If I missed something, let me know. I just need you with me again.”

You bite your lip to hold back your tears of joy as you nod, a small sob escaping you. You didn’t have to stay behind anymore. You were able to be with your lover, the man who you loved because he had been so thoughtful and made his ship more accessible for you.

MasterList

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[showstopper35]

OH my god! Could you imagine Wookie Sign language? You can barely see their hands, so it'd be a lot of gestures with broad meanings that are more precise based on the combination of gestures they make. Like how Mando'a gets a bit more precise based on the words you string together. (had to make this a separate ask from the last one)

I LOVE THIS!! Here we go, @gokyacetakal and I are going to make a Star Wars deaf culture that stemmed from one small Crosshair headcanon. I’d imagine that Wookie Sign has more of a broad meaning than usual sign, and you have to pay a lot of attention to context clues and body language. They probably have more aggressive movements and even simple conversations can take a bit longer than usual. There’s a whole colony of Deaf Wookiees who have beautiful yet complicated conversations all in sign, and only know how to understand that.

Speaking of Mando’a, a lot of sign involves facial expressions or usage of the face. (Such as the ASL word for sad is moving your hands up your face and making a sad expression)

But as we know, most Mandalorians wear helmets, some almost constantly. So their sign might be a little different, with more delicate hand motions that are more intricate. I‘d also like to think it involves more body language and use, maybe even slapping body parts like in the Haka? I think it would be really cool to see a whole conversation like that.

Imagine a group of deaf aliens without arms or hands, so they do everything based on the most precise body language.

Aliens with less than 5 fingers that repeat signs over or make new ones. Aliens whos sign is sort of a stomp-shuffle-clap pattern.

Do you think in the Star Wars universe, there’s still a gap between deaf and Deaf? I know for the USA at least, there are deaf people (lowercase d) who get hearing aids or cochlear implants, and they learn to talk and don’t use ASL very often or not at all. Then there are Deaf people, (capital D) who rely and use their Deafness, and they usually use ASL a lot or only know ASL. (If I got any of that wrong please let me know, I’m not an expert at all)

I’d think it would be similar in Star Wars, especially with such a variety of civilizations and beliefs.

[the-beskar-alchemist]

Alright....*cracks knuckles*.....I have things to SAY 

- Okay Din having the baby help him fix a part of the ship he can't reach? That's fitting honestly. He's tiny, he can crawl into the area Din needs to reach, but can't because they're still in space and he can't very well access the particular spot from outside (I'm assuming it's one of those areas only accessible via a hatch from the roof or something). - Also......OMG THE BABY HELPING DIN AND DIN BEING SO PATIENT HE'S SUCH A DAD - I have to wonder about the baby's pain threshold, he seemed only mildly inconvenienced from getting electrocuted (and for some reason I kept thinking about Tito from Oliver and Company fucking around with the wiring in the limo and getting shocked) - CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION CHIN ACTION......(I truly do NOT understand the fuss over it being Pedro VS Brenden Wayne in the suit, does it really matter???? You're only seeing his chin, not his whole face, calm down) - Din honey broth/soup can only take you so far, TRUST ME, you can't make meals off of flavored liquid, you'll just be hungry again an hour later. It's NO WONDER that kid kept inhaling the eggs lol......BUT....at the same time it's only logical that Din's resources are stuff that's easily frozen/stored and can just be heated without any prep work.  The stuff the baby seems to crave tends to be things that would require a way to preserve/store large amounts of food and the Crest isn't built for that sort of thing (I'm thinking about making a slight analysis post about the ship at some point) - The fact that the old covert hideout is empty (save for black-market dealers) tells me that the Armorer is long gone and it's unlikely that anyone would know where she went (I noticed people bringing this up, that neither Cara/Greef checked on her), let's be real: They probably thought it wasn't their place to go poking around a Mandalorian covert just because they're friends with one of them, ESPECIALLY if the mutual friend isn't even around to vouch for their presence - Even though G*na has ruined any chance of me enjoying her as a person, I still appreciate her character as a separate thing. She continues to be badass, and I loved the fighting techniques she implemented in the sewers. - Yeah that crest is sputtering like an old beat-up pickup truck, just barely running - I really love that Karga spoke in such an affectionate manner to the baby. I know that Din tries to talk to him, but the way he does it is reminiscent of two adults talking. Karga actually talks to the baby like he's a child, no baby-talk but definitely with a higher pitch in his voice (the equivalent of the customer-service voice when you think about it) - SOMETHING FISHY ABOUT BEADY-EYED ALIEN DUDE. NO ME GUSTA - ONE OF THE SCHOOL CHILDREN REALLY DOES LOOK LIKE LITTLE REY - I felt like Din was experiencing separation-anxiety about leaving the baby, but I also feel like part of his hesitancy was an immediate reaction to the children whispering and laughing at the baby. I'm sure they weren't trying to appear cruel or anything, but it makes me wonder if he was having a minor flashback of having an experience like that and how it affected him - YODITO YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE SHIT YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE SOMEONE ELSES FOOD - I truly don't think that Karga/Cara see Din as anything less than a good friend, but I really wish they wouldn't treat him like his presence is only valid so long as he's helpful (LET THE MAN TAKE A BREAK) - WHY DOES THE IMPERIAL BASE LOOK LIKE THE PORT FOR A CABLE ON A CPU?? - I really don't like G*na's approach to acting where she thinks she has to sound as tough as possible in order to make her character more appealing/stronger - There are two separate comparison discussions you can take from the infiltration scenes: 1) It's a contrast to S1E6 where Din infiltrates a prison ship with the mercenaries and he's forced to follow their lead, OR 2) Din was awkwardly following the other Mandalorian's in the last episode, but with Karga/Cara he's confidant and even takes the lead - Imperial architecture be like: OSHA???? NEVER HEARD OF HER - I think it's important to note that, while Din is ready and willing to hunt down the Mythrol again if necessary without remorse, he still thought of him enough to keep him from falling down the lava shaft - Din's "I don't like this" had me in my feels a bit, usually he's so nonchalant in trying to act like nothing bothers him but he felt comfortable enough to express his unease in front of his friends - Okay the fact that they're vaguely referencing midi-chlorians, and it looks like this lab is a branch in Palpatine's cloning scheme, makes it seem like they're starting to tie into the movie franchise, but not outright.....it's a "just the tip" situation it seems. I'd honestly prefer they didn't delve to far into the movie canon, I feel the show will lose it's heart if they do. - Pershing mentioned "the volunteer", which has me curious about the kind of person that would allow themselves to be tested for what Gideon has planned. It's possible we're getting another major/unique character in the works.  Pershing could've just referenced test subjects in general, but he mentioned a specific one, so that has me wondering what other players are on the board. - That whole chase scene was nerve-wracking - DIN TO THE RESCUE DIN TO THE RESCUE - OMG THE BABY WAVING HIS ARMS LIKE HE'S ON A ROLLERCOASTER - DIN BABY YOU MAKE FLYING THE CREST LOOK SO SEXY - Din was all "Look what I did! Did you see that???" wanting to show off to the baby.....and then baby went BLEEEEEEGH.......AND THEN DIN WIPED IT WITH HIS CAPE???? He's such a DAD - The scene with Cara and officer talking about her losses was kind of emotional. G*na's acting is so wooden, it was honestly a combination of the music and the other actor's performance that seemed to get me, but more importantly its the fact that Cara is such a 3-dimensional character, that has so much potential, but she's being made superficial because of the portrayal - Also......she says she's not a "joiner", but she's eyeing that badge very closely, like she's contemplating a career switch. Perhaps there's a chance we may get revenge-driven Cara joining the New Republic in the future? - I'm glad they didn't actually show where the device is planted, it really adds to the suspense, I prefer a little mystery over having too much explained - Moff Gideon standing amongst the dark troopers like Saruman in the basement of Isengard where they bred the Uruk-hai army in LotR, this guy is pulling out all the stops to be ready to take on a singular Mandalorian and his friends. Does he think that Din will get Mandalorian reinforcements and therefore he needs the numbers? Are they stormtroopers or some form of droids, like the battle droids in S1? They're build kind of "human", and the attendees were using blasts of cold air like what would be used in a cryo-chamber, but what if they're not human? What if they are humanoids? Cyborgs? - It's interesting to think about what types of vessels/hosts Gideon would rely on for midi-chlorian testing. Obviously not just anyone can handle the transfusion, so would he require modifications to some extent to make the host more susceptible? Until next time!!!

[askmerriauthor]

Star Wars: Visions thoughts and discussion

Been on a bit of a Star Wars binge lately. Getting ready for the Book of Fett and the return of The Mandalorian soon, just finished playing the Jedi: Fallen Order game, and recently "Star Wars: Visions" dropped on Disney+ (not to be confused with the, like, half-dozen other Star Wars properties that use "Visions" as their title). If you've got the streaming service and haven't watched the series yet, I can honestly suggest you should do so. The whole thing is a series of very short episodes and is entirely non-canon to the setting, so you don't even need a hard understanding of Star Wars to enjoy it.

In fact, it's actually better if you don't know anything about Star Wars going in. Spoilers and brief episode discussion after the jump.

Episode 1: The Duel As soon as I saw a lightsaber umbrella and a R2 droid in a hat, I knew this one was going to be a must-watch.

I REPEAT. LIGHTSABER. UMBRELLA.

Solid kick-off for the short series. Dig the aesthetic, dig the classic samurai vibe (even if it's more of an homage than a direct application of the style), dig the simple story. The particular animation style they chose here was a little wonky but I quickly got used to the visuals and loved a bunch of the design choices too much to care. This one was very action/style-focused and clearly chosen as the leading episode for that reason, which I don't fault them at all for.

Episode 2: Tatooine Rhapsody I'm sorry, I don't recall giving Star Wars permission to be this fucking adorable, how dare you.

The tale of a Padawan survivor of Order 66 who makes a new life for himself not with the power of the Force, but with the power of Rock and Roll and Friendship. Bitchin'. Super adorable, semi-chibi art style that's honestly ringing, like, a dozen different bells in my head for trying to figure out all the different styles it's drawing from. Good fun, if a bit bland in the end. The biggest problem is the music. The story relies on "using music to save the day", which is fine. But when you use that trope you need an absolutely face-melting banger of a performance, which this just doesn't have. An enjoyable entry all the same though. Not bad, not great, cute designs; the quirky story of how Jabba the Hutt got a new slave band to play at his den.

Episode 3: The Twins This entire episode is animated by the team who brought us Kill la Kill and that should really tell you everything you need to know.

You know how if you get a bunch of little kids together, they'll start playing make-believe games where they just invent stories and plot twists and super powers like "I have whatever you can do, but infinity plus 1 better!" shit like that? That's what this short is. It has only the vaguest allusions to the setting proper and immediately hurls every semblance of consistency, logic, and sense out the window with both hands. It is 1,000,000% style over substance.

Okay, y'know what, no, that's not enough to describe the utter insanity this episode is. All I can find online is pictures of the main villain character pulling a General Grievous impression or the protag snaring lightsaber whips on his lightsaber, but that is fucking tiddlywinks compared to where this episode goes.

There is a scene in this short where the protag, who is ghost-riding the hood of his X-Wing upside down in space without a space suit, super-charges his lightsaber into a giant rainbow of FUCK YOU GEORGE LUCAS with the power of familial love and fabulousness, using said rainbow super saber to CUT AN ENTIRE STAR DESTROYER IN HALF WHILE ACCELERATING TO HYPERSPEED, all to save his twin sister's life by making her explode in a somehow non-harmful manner.

This short is utterly nonsensical drivel and yes I would like more right the fuck now, please and thank you.

Episode 4: The Village Bride Wait, we're actually trying to tell a reasonable story in this series? Sorry, I was still on a sugar high from the previous episode. Lemme sit down.

The Village Bride is great. Excellent short that's just dripping with atmosphere and a slow, purposeful pace to its writing. It's short and sweet with little focus on the Force-using characters themselves, which actually serves to its credit. Even in the Star Wars universe, the Ainu people can't catch a fucking break. Easily one of my favorites in the whole run.

Episode 5: The Ninth Jedi The fact that two characters in this short have Sasuke's haircut was extremely distracting. But I actually really enjoyed this entry overall.

Despite playing extremely loose with the established lore around how lightsabers work, this episode over all others really embraces the original setting and tells a slow-burn story about the potential revival of the Jedi Order. A little meandering at times, but it's a solid piece and well worth exploring. Of all the shorts in the series, this one has the greatest potential to actually continue on as a standalone series or be folded into the canon franchise. Main protag is an adorable bean and I love her.

Episode 6: T0-B1 This episode is simultaneously a love letter to Astro Boy and a giant middle finger to Star Wars lore purists.

The tale of an imaginative Droid named T0-B1 who dreams of becoming a hero like the Jedi he's heard so many stories of. This short gets extra credit for being so unyieldingly stylish and charming. On the surface of its presentation and story choices it seems like it doesn't know anything about Star Wars lore, but it's actually packed full of some pretty deep cuts that show the folk behind it do know what they're talking about and just don't fucking care what purists have to say. The entire thing is just "Yeah, I'm ignoring your lore, but I'm doing it in a fun way that makes the setting more interesting, and I'm so genuine about it that you can't be mad at me". I can respect that. Plus the old dude in that screenshot is an armless Jedi who's retired to be a botanist and that's just fucking cool.

Episode 7: The Elder I'm Episode 1, but better.

This one. This shit right here. This is the good shit.

I'm sure y'all have heard before that Star Wars is directly inspired by Kurosawa and samurai films in general, but The Elder really digs into that hard. Where Episode 1 styles itself after a samurai tale, Episode 7 is a samurai tale. Subdued, methodical storytelling, slow-burn pace, charming dialogue amid believable characters, and a truly intimidating villain who provokes a brief but striking duel. This is my vibe. I crave more of this. Far and away the best short of the entire series.

Episode 8: Lop and Ocho Oh for fuck's sake, there's going to be so much porn of this bunny girl character, isn't there?

This entry is another that kind of meanders with the story it's trying to tell and plays very loose with the lore. It reimagines a lot of what we know of the Jedi/The Rebels and Sith/The Empire into a feudal faction-based conflict akin to what you'd see in a period samurai drama. Modernization and callous industry crushing the spirit of the people and breaking apart families. A decent work overall, but nothing really all that impressive in the end. It takes too long to get going and then peters out halfway through its pay-off for some reason.

Episode 9: Akakiri The fact that I had to look up this episode's name and scenes online and still could not remember anything about it should tell you a lot.

The series ends on a downer with the dramatic tale of a fallen Jedi who sacrifices himself and succumbs to the Dark Side. Turning evil for... the greater good? Wha? Had some pretty neat visuals, but I genuinely cannot remember a damn thing about this episode or its characters. Big swing and a miss in terms of impact.