#THE LAST MANDALORIAN JEDI MADE THE DARKSABER AND NOW THE LAST OF THAT REMAINING IS THE CRYSTAl

[weathernerdmando]

just. look. look. 

regardless of what i didn’t like about how they got to this episode at times (my main gripe is that i still think the saber handover was stupid. 

but yknow what bo did earn it in the end for me, not bc of combat bc she’s become someone who isn’t just the person we knew from rebels and clone wars running off spite and anger and some level of pride, she’s someone who’s seen the worst, learned her faults and worked to change for the better in the best interest of her people, not becuase she thinks she needs to lead them, but because they deserve better regardless of who gives it to them. Enough blood has been shed by their own and she’s tired of it and if that means she has to work to get it to stop, then she will. and she’s not alone anymore in that goal!!!!!) 

just. just. 

the mandalorians getting to go home at the end. that’s a diaspora coming home. that’s a diaspora who’d been driven out and hunted getting to go home. finally, after giving up all hope of a return, they got it back!!!!!! 

they got to relight their Forge - the Heart of their culture. They got to take their Creed in the Water. They have their home back and they’re there as one group (the Old and New Ways and the Choice to follow one or the other, whichever the person in question feels is right for them!!!!!!), and they’re about to be able to teach their kids their ways in peace, and safety, they’re going to be able to stop worrying about having to hide - they’re home. 

they’re home!!!!!!! they’ve retaken their planet. they’ve gotten it back. and it’s got green!!! it’s got green! outside the domes! they’ve only managed green again when they’ve stopped trying to kill each other, stopped trying to spread conquest, but instead they were together, working for a mutual goal of survival. working towards unity. they got to go home!! and they’re going to encourage the planet to thrive, they’re going to raise kids (and warriors!!) there! 

the planet got a cin vhetin!! and din! and bo! and the Armorer!! are going to be the ones to ensure that they get to keep it!! 

din’s back to being able to be a provider for his people and his kid!!!!! and he won’t be the only one anymore!!!!! because they have so many of them and they don’t have to hide anymore!!! 

the amorerer is going to hear the sound of the forges manned by many hands once more. there are going to be foundlings who get to learn the art of forging their armor on the Great Forge itself!!!!! 

The kids are going to get to train in their ancestoral homelands and they’re going to get to hear the sound of armor in the halls it was forged in!!! the food is going to be cooked from it’s native ingredients!! not just rations anymore but feasts full of the various foods that Mandalore is known for! they’re going to get to sing their songs and dance their dances in the halls of Mandalore!!!

Mandalorians are stronger together!!!!!!!!! 

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Goodbye

Pairing: Dan!Din Djarin x Teen GN reader

Request:

 hello ily u and ur writings are so great

uhhh may i request dad!din with a teenage reader (like, 15 idk) after grogu leaves with luke? like maybe comforting each other, and the reader asking what happens next, etc etc

just some good ol' angst fluff :] 💞

Scenario: After Grogu leaves with Luke the Reader and Din comfort one another after having to say goodbye.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1,980

A/N: I love you!! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sooo happy you like my writings. And yes! I LOVED that Idea. I hope you don’t mind if I sort of went with my own thing for how the reader and Din argued a bit, it sort of just made sense in the situation??? Anyways, I hope you like what I came up with :))) I haven’t written anything in awhile so I’m a tad rusty. 

  Saying goodbye to each other was always something you’d always known would happen.  You simply chose to not think about it and greedily hoped that Din would not be able to find another Jedi who would take Grogu under their wing. In your world, Clan Mudhorn would never break apart and you’d three live together for a very long time. However, life in its mysterious ways is ever changing and never promises one’s future. It certainly never promised yours. 

You thought of this as you watched the Jedi in front of you. It was not just any Jedi, but a Jedi who was offering to take care of  your little brother. You felt your face blanch at the thought of Grogu leaving you and Din. The thought of you leaving this ship with only Din and the memories you’d made with Grogu terrified you. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be real. You shut your eyes tight, turning your head toward the ground before anyone could see your expression. 

“Y/N.” 

Din’s hand rested on your shoulder, when you’d looked up you were surprised to meet flesh instead of metal. He took off his helmet. For a moment there was nothing that mattered but the expression your guardian made. It was… sad. Tears pricked his eyes, something you’d never expected to see from him. Din gave you the tiniest of smiles and told you it was time to say goodbye.

Goodbye?

Din held Grogu out for you to take. Slowly you accepted him close and relished one last time on what it was like to hug him tight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuu, ner vod.” You whispered. During the time the two of you spent with Din he’d taken it upon himself to teach you Mando’a. It’d become a habit to show affection in his native tongue. Grogu cooed, leaning away to take in your face. You gave him a tight lipped smile, taking in his own. He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that he was once a small little thing. “ I’ll always be your sibling. Don’t forget me.”

You sat Grogu back down on the floor and began to rummage through your bag before pulling out a small, plush frog, making Grogu’s ears perk up.

“Can Grogu take this with him?”

 Luke nodded, but Grogu made it clear that he wanted you to keep the plush when he wouldn’t reach out for it like he always did. Instead, he stared at you with his big eyes before gently pushing the frog back to you. You bit back a frown. You wanted to ask him, beg him to take the frog you’d put so much love into just for him. Instead you stood up straight and held the plush close to your chest, glancing again at Din who was holding a stoic expression. You forced a smile onto your face.

The goodbye was harder than you’d imagined. So was the deafening silence when the Jedi, his droid, and Grogu disappeared into the elevator. 

The moment the elevator door shut you snapped your head towards Din, but he turned his back to you and walked away. He wandered to the far end of the room and stayed there, quiet as he kept to himself. His hands fiddled with the darksaber that weighed more than you ever imagined it would before this mission began.

It was easy to forget that there were others in the room, though you were quickly reminded of their presence when they surrounded you to provide comforting words, some giving warm embraces and telling you about their own separations from loved ones. They reassured you that you would be fine in the end. You didn’t believe them. Fennec was talking to you, but your focus was on the far side of the room where Din was currently talking to Bo-Katan and Cara. You wondered what they talked about. You wondered what was going to happen now. Now, that the clan lost one member and had no ship to call home. 

Din would barely look at you when Bo-Katan and the other women left the cockpit, looking for supplies and scrounging up any valuable information left. That was assuming that there was no emergency delete button someone pushed in a panic amid the raid. You didn’t bother thinking about it long, as you stared at the back of Din’s head. He’d kept his helmet off, making it the longest that you’ve seen him without it. You stared at the helmet from where it sat on top of the mainframe. 

“Are you going to rule Mandalore now?” Your voice cut through the barrier between the two of you, making Din shuffle in his steps.

His back remained towards you and his tone was cold. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

You frowned, taken aback by this sudden attitude he’d taken on. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t want to talk right now’?”

“Exactly that.” 

“But I want to.” You crossed your arms. 

“It can wait.” 

His response came off indifferent as though he wanted to move on. For a moment you felt like you’d shut down, sure there were times where Din would behave like this coming home after a long day, too exhausted to deal with two children. But he’d never done this before. No. This was new. You didn’t like new. Not now, not when things were so uncertain for you.

“You can’t just shut me out so quickly!” You walked up so that you spoke to his back. “You’re not the only one who just went through that. I never wanted to say goodbye to Grogu. I didn’t think it’d be this soon, either. I didn’t think that. And now I don’t know what you’re going to do after this, where you’re going to go, if you’re going to let me go with you, if-”

“If I let you go with me?” Din turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “Y/N, of course you’re coming with me. You’re my foundling.”

“So was Grogu!” You exclaimed, suddenly realizing that tears were streaming down your face. The stress and grief were suddenly catching up to you and it showed, causing Din to raise his hands up a little. He slowly lowered them, seemingly in thought. He sighed, and gently pulled you to sit down with him on some chairs by the mainframe. You felt ashamed of yourself for crying in front of him, but didn’t say anything. Instead you were wiping your tears with your shirt as you waited for him to finally speak.

“You know Grogu is too strong with his magic to be left without training.” Din scratched his ear, eyes downward so that you couldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes again. “You… you’re only a kid. You remember that, right? You need me to protect you before you’re strong enough to leave the clan.”

You stared at him with big eyes as though you were pretending to process what he was saying. But you understood what he meant. He had the best intentions for Grogu and he has the same intentions for you. You were lucky to have someone like Din. The cloth of your shirt suddenly caught your interest as you stared down at it, playing it in between your fingers.

You sniffed, rubbing your arm across your nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you…”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Din wrapped an arm across your shoulder and pulled you close. As you settled into him you rested your head against his shoulder, waiting for him to say something though he never did. Maybe he was thinking about Grogu. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Anyone could see how much he’d grown attached to the little thing, despite his initial response to having to care for him. 

“You’re a great dad…” You whispered, playing with the frog in your hands. Din smiled warmly, something you missed as you continued to look down.

“Do you remember how happy Grogu was when you gave him that frog?” Din’s voice made the armor he’d dawned vibrate slightly. It ticked your cheek. You liked how it felt.

“Mhm.” You nodded as you made the frog dance in your hands. It’s chipped, mismatched buttons stared back at the two of you. 

“When I was young I used to lose my toys all the time.” 

You looked up at him, “But that was before the Mandalorians took you in, right? Weren’t they, I dunno, strict about toys?”

“No.” Din looked off, watching the stars that decorated the space they shared. “If they found a kid that still had their toy with them  they didn’t take it away. In my clan, every child had a toy of their own, to help make their transition easier, though I kept losing mine.” 

The two of you shared a small laugh. Din shook his head and looked at you fondly. “Grogo went everywhere with that frog. It meant so much to him. Guess it was because of you.”

You didn’t say anything. A warmth began to spread through your sternum at Din’s remarks. You hugged the frog close to your chest. It still smelled like Grogu. The same, earth-like geranium that followed him around. He knew that you needed the plush more than he did now that you had to say goodbye, and you were thankful for that.

 “Are you going to miss him?” 

“Of course I am.” Din nodded solemnly before he turned towards you and ruffled your hair. “But we’ll see him again.”

A moment of silence falls upon you two, one of the mainframes makes a sound and the security shows the women entering a room on the other side of the ship. They were covering good ground and carried several bags of what was assumed to be supplies for their next mission. Would Din be a part of that mission? 

“So, what happens now?” You inquired, glancing up at him. “Are you going to rule Mandalore?”

Din looked up and inhaled deeply as though he was pondering the question. He must have made some sort of plan prior. But his possession of the dark saber meant that plans had now changed. “I never expected to become a… king. Though, there’s not much to be king of.”

Behind closed doors between Din and the adults you’d hear bits and pieces about what the Empire had done to the planet. Though you were heavily uninformed, you had a good grasp that the planet was practically not worth ruling. 

“Are you going to go with Bo-Katan? She wants to take back Mandalore. With you as king it’d be fitting.”

You didn’t miss how Din grimaced slightly at her name. “What?”

Din pushed himself up and motioned for you to follow as he grabbed his helmet and began walking out. He draped an arm across your shoulder when you caught up to his pace. “Bo-Katan doesn’t seem to be all too happy with me having the darksaber. I should keep some distance and wait for her to cool off.”

 You whispered a small ‘oh’ and looked ahead. Guess he wasn’t going to go with her then. “So we have no plans then, great.”

Din glanced at you, “ What do you think we should do?”

Your mind flashed back several days ago to when you’d barely escaped being destroyed along with the razor crest. “I miss the ship.”

“You and me both.” 

“Do you think we can find a new one?”

“You can’t just find a ship, kid. It’s gonna need some credits.”

“Yeah but technically you’re a king now! Use that royalty of yours and get us one.”

“That’s not how it works kid.”

“You don’t know yet! You’ve been king for what, five minutes?”

“Maybe I will leave you here.” 

“No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

[inkformyblood]

a long journey home (also on ao3) DinLuke Kink Week #1 Touch-Starved Pairing: DinLuke TW: NSFW

Luke stumbled as they both moved up the boarding ramp back onto the Promise, his usual grace abandoning him for a second, but that was long enough for Din to reach out for him. Beneath his grip, beneath the heavy swaths of black fabric that clung to the Jedi, Din could feel the hard jut of his elbow press into his palm for only a second before they were steady once more. 

Luke grinned, a thing of such beauty that Din’s heart almost stuttered to a stop in his chest, before he moved further into the depths of the ship. A low hum filled the air as the machinery powered on, lights flickering before they held leaving dancing imprints on his visor whenever he blinked. It reminded him of the glowing trails of light from the lightsaber the Jedi wielded, deadly and beautiful all at the same time. 

The darksaber hung heavy on Din’s belt, and he pressed his hand to it for a moment, running his fingers over the embossed lines that ran around the hilt. He couldn’t feel the slight change in texture through his gloves, but he had studied the weapon for long enough in the empty silence left behind by Grogu to know it well. 

Din knew exactly where Luke would be as he shook off the lingering discomfort. Grogu was safe with Boba, possibly safer than he would be with Din himself, in the depths of his heavily fortified Tatooine palace while Luke and Din attended to this bounty. 

“Is it strange to say that I’ve missed this?” Luke called, and Din turned just enough to watch him out of the corner of his eye. 

The readout had been damaged during the bounty — a lucky shot that had been deflected by his beskar but had still sent spider cracks over his field of vision — so would need to be repaired when he was alone. Even so, Luke was clear to him. He would be able to see the other man by his warmth, by the scent of ozone and growing things that clung to him, and by his laugh if Din had no eyes to perceive him. 

But what he saw took his breath away. 

Luke had already taken off his dark cloak, the fabric lying pooled on the seat next to him like a discarded shadow, exposing the bronze curve of his arms. From this distance, Din could make out a few of the darker freckles that were spread out like a constellation over his skin. He still had his gloves on, but, as Din watched, he tilted his head back — exposing the hard line of his throat — and bit down on the edge of the leather, slowly drawing it away from his hand. 

“I’ll get us on our way,” Din said, turning away abruptly. He felt hollowed out, a cold sweat clinging to his skull despite the heat of the day, the air dry enough to plunder every last bit of moisture. 

“Sounds good!” Luke called, shifting with a bitten-back grunt of effort to cross his legs beneath him, settling into the now-familiar pose for his meditation. 

Din allowed himself, just for a moment, to picture walking over to the Jedi. It would barely take a moment, barely more effort than a thought. Luke wouldn’t move out of his meditative position, merely raise his face to him, eyes still closed. What would the smile be like that would cross his face? A barely-there curl of his lips or something bright and explosive?

Kedalbe was more than what it seemed, a gesture of trust more than Din could express with words. 

Grogu knew to reach for him now, pressing his forehead to Din’s helmet on every meeting and parting. He had felt Luke’s eyes on him like a weight every time, more than simple curiosity, but he had never found the words to ask him why. The idea that Luke might care for him felt like an impossibility, and finding out it wasn’t true would break him in a way that almost nothing had before.

Din shook off those lingering thoughts, and made his way into the cockpit, refusing to turn around when he thought he felt the weight of Luke’s gaze settle on his back.

⁂

Din sighed, feeling the final lines of tension shift from his shoulders as the ship finally settled into autopilot. He tipped his head back against the edge of the seat, feeling the cooler air bite at the line of exposed skin around the top of his throat. He shivered, the motion slipping down his spine and causing his jaw to clench. 

“Hope I’m not intruding?” Luke’s voice rang out, hesitant, in a way his footsteps hadn’t, and Din couldn’t hold back the flinch, his head shooting up and shoulders curling to hide away even that scrap of skin. 

The Jedi had seen his face before, when he was broken and nothing but his son mattered, and even he was leaving him, but this felt different. 

If Luke was going to see his face again, it would be deliberate.

“No,” Din answered, cheeks flushing at the notion that he may have let the question sit unanswered for too long.

Luke swung himself into the passenger seat easily, avoiding the copilot seat without Din needing to mention it. His hands were now bare and Din caught the strange glint of metal as the cockpit lights reflected on his prosthetic. Luke  pressed them against the back of the seat, smoothing over the material.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Luke said after a few minutes of silence, “I won’t deny that I have wanted to spend more time with you. And to do more than just that.”

Din turned, helpless to do anything else, and met Luke’s gaze, his blue eyes steady and unwavering. There was a low heat burning in them, and Din felt that same burn begin to kindle in his stomach. 

He couldn’t deny being attracted to the Jedi, but it was more than that. Din may not be a Mandalorian in the same way Boba was, or even in the same way he himself had been, but he still held the values. He loved Luke for his skill in battle, for the way he tried to help even when he was scraped thin and exhausted, but most importantly, Din loved him because Grogu did. He watched the Jedi take care of his son with the same focused determination, and Din loved him even more for that.

Luke settled back in the chair, curling in it sideways, falling out of Din’s line of sight for only a moment before returning with a grin that was devilious in every inch. Deliberately, he raised one leg that was thrown over the arm, leaning forward to start undoing his laces. 

“I will never ask you to take your armour off,” Luke said, tugging another section free of the fastening, Din’s eyes locked to every movement, every inch of tanned skin that was exposed. “But you don’t need to take it off for me to ride you.”

Din felt his thoughts grind to the halt, the entire universe ceasing to exist. 

“Unless, I’ve overstepped?” Luke’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, turning the pale pink skin an off-white colour. “I don’t—”

“Come here.” Din’s vocoder transmitted the cracks in his voice perfectly, the neediness clear as day, but Luke only grinned, his cheeks a burning brilliant pink like the sunrise. 

He stumbled once more as he made his way over the short few steps, shedding the remains of his clothes as he went, only wearing a pair of dark shorts when he finally settled onto Din’s lap. 

Din thought he was used to the way his beskar muted everything. Each touch was translated to nothing but pressure through the heavy weight of his armour, but he had forgotten the warmth of another person pressed against him, the feeling of bare skin that wasn’t his own beneath his hands. He had peeled off his gloves with barely a second thought, pressing his hands into the dip of Luke’s waist, the thunk of the metal hitting the floor almost masked by Luke’s groan — high and gasping — with his head thrown back and hips canting forward. 

Din moved his hands, catching the motion at his peak and pulling Luke closer, trapping him next to the cold beskar as his groan broke into a whine. He was trembling in Din’s grip, chest heaving with every frantic breath but he didn’t pull away. Luke’s hands pressed and twitched against Din’s shoulders, fingers scratching against his armour helplessly, metal and flesh alike. 

“Sorry,” Luke managed to get out, curling himself back forwards with a jerk, still trembling enough to send a tremor rattling through Din. “It’s been a while.”

He didn’t move forward the bare few inches that would let him press his forehead to Din’s, his eyes bright with desire. It was the same spark Din had seen ignite in him before battle, a sort of delighted determination and it was all focused on Din now. 

It was a heady sensation as he breathlessly studied the fragmented vision before him, Luke’s eyes so brilliantly blue, the pupils blown wide and dark. It had been so long for Din since those distant fumbles pressed against one wall or another in the covert, always just hidden from sight and barely progressing past the slide of a hand, just shy of too painful.

Now, he had the man he loved on his lap, almost naked and pressing against him, squirming in need.

Din’s groan crackled through his helmet’s speakers, a fire burning through his belly and his cock hardened fully in an instant, pressing against the curve of his armour. He ignored the pressing need, focusing instead on the slope of Luke’s ribs. His thumbs pressed over the man’s skin, feeling the heat radiate from him. 

One hand remained holding Luke close, stopping him from grinding against the unyielding curve of Din’s armour even as Din’s cock pulsed with every beat of his heart, as the other slid up his chest. The callouses on Din’s fingers and palm caught on every slight change on Luke’s skin, every touch burning him as if he was trying to grasp a supernova. As his hand moved from the softness of the faint hair on Luke’s belly, to the smooth divots of his scars, to the mere edges of the lightning burns that coiled over his shoulder and down his arm, Luke never stopped moving. He pressed himself impossibly closer, somehow never drawing back to do so.

“Easy,” Din gasped, turning his head to press his helmet into the crook of Luke’s neck, feeling the groan vibrate through him rather than hear it, the sound of his heartbeat too loud in his ears. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke went slack as if his strings had been cut, his heels digging into the back of Din’s greaves — barely more than a slight change in pressure — as he gasped in tiny punched-out noises, his mouth bitten red and inviting. 

“Okay,” Luke gasped after a moment, seeming to reign himself in as a level of composure settled over his shoulders. He pushed himself back, his hands resting on Din’s shoulders, and Din let him, feeling the distance cool between them. “How do your fastenings work?” 

One hand pressed against Din’s codpiece, and he felt his hips rise towards the touch despite himself. It had been so long since he had touched anyone, but how long had it been for the Jedi, closed away from everyone else?

“Long flight back to Tatooine,” Din said, reaching down to tug Luke’s hand away and oh, the shiver that passed through the other man, the metal of his prosthetic  hand so warm in Din’s grasp. “You first. I can wait.”

Luke remained so still, his eyelashes casting spidery shadows in the reflected starlight as he blinked in mute surprise. Din tilted his head to one side, trying to imprint the fragmented image onto his soul.

When Luke began to move once again, it was slow jerks of his hips, almost disbelieving as he stared down at Din as if he was the most wonderful person in the world. Pink settled across his cheeks, revealing the faint freckles, and Din groaned, the sound distorted and almost unrecognisable through his helmet speakers, but it seemed to urge Luke on. 

His hips worked faster, every movement graceful and desperate at the same time, gaze locked onto Din’s. Sweat pooled on Din’s chest, every breath coming ragged and gasped, as all he could do was watch Luke move. His cock was so hard, the faint pressure never fully settling, but it was enough to move him closer to the edge, the knot in his belly tightening. 

Din’s teeth ached to bite down onto the exposed curve of Luke’s neck as the man gasped, throwing his head back, skin glistening and burning beneath his hands. Next time, he thought, then stopped. He wanted there to be a next time, and a time after that. He never wanted to let the other man go again. 

Luke laughed, the sound low and gasping, his nose crinkling as he grinned. “I’m not doing a good enough job if you’re still thinking this much.”

Din flushed, mouth falling open as he searched for the words to say, but Luke stole his thoughts, leaning to press a kiss to the side of his helmet, shuffling forwards on his knees until—

“Found it,” Luke murmured, the slight scratch of his fingers moving over the back of Din’s helmet reverberating through his skull as he looped his arms around his neck, their hips flush and began to move once more. 

Din’s head thunked back against the seat, his hips surging up to meet Luke’s, the pressure constant yet fluctuating, driving him ever closer to the edge. Forcing himself back upwards to watch Luke, eyes wide and his teeth sinking into his lower lip, Din raised his hands, feeling the shift of muscles in Luke’s back and dragged his hands down — his blunt nails catching slightly with every swell of Luke’s hips — to grab hold of his hips once more and pull him closer. 

It was that touch that sent Luke over the edge, spilling with a howl and Din followed barely a second later, his hips twitching and rolling through the aftershocks. Luke curled onto him, his forehead pressed to the cool metal on Din’s shoulder, back heaving with every breath. 

“Long flight, you said?” Luke asked, his voice hoarse as he raised himself to allow Din to see him: sweat-soaked and grinning. “This is going to be fun.”

[folklord]

3. winless fight

part 3 of HOAX series | din djarin x f!reader (au)

ao3 | my masterlist

summary: when you promised the Empire that you would destroy Mandalore, you did not expect that approximating your old friend would become yet another obstacle in your hoax. Suddenly, to know Din Djarin was to watch the death of your past plans and, at the same time, the creation of a faithless love.

warnings: this part is about war, literally. mentions of blood, death and injuries. emotional vulnerable din. season 2 spoilers. but don't worry, next one is all about romance | word count: 2k

thanks @mrpascals for the review <3

About ten Mandalorians stared intently at the Mand'alor instructions in the meeting room. All war strategies were taught by him in a didactic way and all questions were calmly answered. You were there for about ten minutes, waiting for your permission to speak. Bo Katan and Vizla often questioned Din about his tactics, but the two seemed to have opposite ideas. Din acted as a mediator between the polarities in the room.

"Can the Empire's presence be confirmed?" The Mand’alor asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“I did a meticulous analysis. It was, in fact, a kind of BT-1, the ancient droid of Darth Vader.” All the Mandalorians began to whisper upon hearing the famous name, while Din continued to stare at you. “But that doesn't mean anything. The circumscribed initials are from a disabled imperial cruiser. And believe me, the Empire would not send messages or threats in the form of carcasses.”

Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Din’s voice echoed between the walls:

“You may leave. Kaya, please stay.”

It was surprising how everything was going according to your plan. Every person who left the room stared at you, especially Bo Katan - you already knew her from past situations, but her crystal eyes seemed to burn you when they analyzed you from head to toes.

Approaching Din after the last soldier left, you noticed that the visor was facing a specific place: Keldabe, the old capital. He seemed to have lost himself in his thoughts, so you decided to start a conversation.

"Din, if I may ask…" he turned to you, "Why are you so sure an imperial invasion will happen?"

"Because I screwed up Moff Gideon's plans." The tone of his voice as he spoke that very specific name sent goosebumps through your body. You kept staring at the helmet, waiting for him to explain even though you already knew what happened. “The child… Grogu was special. He is special… He was important to the Empire”

“Grogu…” you repeated the name, as an affirmation.

“Moff gave me the darksaber so easily, and laughed at Bo Katan's frustration when she saw me with the weapon that she wanted so badly… But he didn't care, as long as he had the kid.” His voice cracked. You could swear his eyes were teary. “But he didn't expect… No one expected a Jedi to save Grogu. Gideon shivered in fear as Luke Skywalker destroyed all of his droids, and he did it all alone.” The last word was said almost in a whisper. “The Empire does not dare to challenge him to get Grogu back, not without the saber that is now in my hands…”

“And you are sure that they will come because they know that Mandalore is already too weak to fight...”

Your words were chosen carefully. Din turned to face the board, and his left hand held a miniature of a Mandalorian soldier so tightly that you could only see half the helmet escaping between his thumb and forefinger. In that instant, you knew it was the perfect time for your next move because it was clear that Din took everyone out of the room to be alone with you, so he could be vulnerable. He trusted you enough to let you watch even the human being behind the tiniest beskar slowly slip between his fingers.

“Din, you saved my life… and it was so easy for you…” stepping closer, you took his hand between yours. The black glove was rough on your skin, but you didn't hesitate to draw small invisible circles over it with your thumb until Din was slowly undoing his fist. “I noticed, two different groups are respecting you and they are all fine… The child, Grogu, is fine” the miniature Mandalorian soldier was already a little crumpled, but you kept it on his palm. "There is no other Mandalorian with more honor than you."

When you finished the sentence, Din tried to remove his hand, but you pulled him by the fingers. The miniature fell to the ground, but the loud sound its fall produced was unimportant when you decided to hold his right hand as well. His hands were so big that they covered yours, but you found a way to fit them between your palms.

"I did what I had to do." His voice cracked.

“You did so much more…” you looked directly into the visor, trying to meet his eyes. ��He wasn't your son and you crossed the galaxy to rescue him, you fought ruthlessly against villains to have him back… That's all Mandalore needs, a protector, a lover…”

“It was this love for him that made me less Mandalorian.”

The words came out with tremendous anger and pain. His hands dropped yours into the air, making you realize again how cold Mandalore's air was today and how he had warmed you. You rubbed your palms together to recover from the heat shock, while his last sentence still echoed in your ears. What made him less Mandalorian and yet worthy of the Crown? What had Moff Gideon not told you?

"Din, I-"

"Sir!" A child in mandalorian armor ran across the room to Din, leaving your words stuck in your throat. "Mand’alor, the Empire is here!"

His exit from the room was so fast that you almost didn't see it, and in the seconds you tried to process what had just happened, the first imperial attack came upon the skies: you saw through the window that the place you admired, where the children were playing yesterday, was already on fire.

"Kaya!" The same child who alerted Din called you, pulling you by your cloak. "The Mand'alor told me to give this to you." He handed a key into your hands. "He told you to take your weapons and go to the Great Room: Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman."

The key was to the Kyr'bes Room, you deduced. Din had given you the key to the entire Mandalorian arsenal, unaware that you were the greatest imperial weapon - and you were pointed directly at him.

(...)

The next few moments went out so fast that you didn't have time to think. With the key in your hand, you opened the room and searched for your weapons. The rest of the arsenal was made of the kind of weapons that not even the soldiers could carry with their bodies and that would, therefore, also be useless to you. Din's voice echoed down the hall, mixed with the screams and doors being rashly shut.

With your weapons, you ran to the Great Room, the same one you were greeted in. Din was standing next to his throne, in front of hundreds of Mandalorians, all facing their Mand'alor.

“…and you know they only want me. So protect your ade, Mandalore's future must remain safe"

All the children were taken to a corridor on the right, and you noticed that none of them hesitated or cried. This was the most beautiful example of how Mandalore culture raised their warriors.

“We know all the strategies and we know that there are no better creatures than the Mandalorians when it comes to wars. But we also know that our weakness is in our differences. Don't you dare fall into the imperial tactic of playing us against each other… this is the oldest trick in the galaxy, and it always works.”

Din took his darksaber and walked across the room until he was face-to-face with Bo Katan.

“Someone once told me: Mandalorians are stronger together. This is the way.”

The huge doors began to open as some Mandalorians put on their helmets and took up position. The Mand'alor, in front of them all, held his saber in his right hand and the beskar spear in his left. You saw at the opening, the glare of the imperial bombs hitting the planet's ground.

“Aruetii! Aru'ela!” someone in the crowd shouted. You knew what it meant: foreigner, enemy.

Suddenly, the doors closed again. The rattling of armor echoed off the palace walls and all the Mandalorians turned against you. All the blood in your body was frozen.

One of them, in blue armor, came out of the crowd with a spear similar to Din's and pointed it at you, positioning it right in your chest. You almost acted on impulse and wrenched the spear from your body to start a fight, but Din's visor — highlighted over the crowd by the reflection of the darksaber's light — made you hesitate.

"What are you implying?" You tried to speak as calmly as possible.

"You entered the room confirming that this was an imperial droid. In the next moment, they are already on our planet. Aru'ela!”

Shit. Moff was a real son of a bitch. You weren't even allowed to take control of the situation… you were, really, just an imperial doll who needed to find a quick way out.

“Can't you smell smoke under your helmet? Your planet is coming-”

“Aru'ela!” this time, everyone screamed. Dozens of soldiers raised their weapons in your direction.

"KE'MOT!" Din's scream followed by the sound of the spear hitting one of the doors made everyone fall silent. In the next instant, everyone turned to him, except the man holding the spear, at which point was almost ripping off your clothing.

The doors opened again, probably on Din's orders, but you were too nervous to be sure. Then everyone shifted their bodies and turned their weapons down. The blue soldier with the spear ran the point down your neck, but without hurting you, just as a warning which you understood very well. When the entire doors were open, the crowd went out towards the battlefield that had become the Palace garden. It wasn't hard to tell Din apart from the rest of the crowd: his darksaber cut through every droid and every stormtrooper in just one try.

[...]

You were fighting for Mandalore. Everything you've done so far resulted at that moment when you decided to hurt the first stormtrooper - but this one seemed insignificant when you lost count of how many you'd already killed. You were an intruder, an aruetii, fighting for the wrong side as hard as your body and heart could - and you were already feeling the effects of that effort. Your now weak arms acted like an instrument of annihilation and your legs tried to find a balance between the bodies of imperial soldiers on the ground. Your entire physique felt like a death machine on autopilot. Nothing stopped you until you realized there were no more stormtroopers around, at the same moment when your eyes caught the glimmer of Din's darksaber against Moff Gideon's neck, and an imperial weapon bigger than an X-WING directed to the Mandalorian Palace.

From the distance you were, and the weakness your body was at, you couldn't see much beyond blurs. All the Mandalorians around had guns pointed at the Empire - which at that moment, as far as you could see, was just Moff Gideon and a dozen private soldiers. The instant you've managed to open your eyes again, the glow of Din's saber seems to have faded and you saw Gideon walk toward his ship. The imperial weapon was dragged into the cruiser, and everything disappeared into the sky.

When there was nothing else to distract you, your exhaustion took over. Your legs could no longer support the weight of your body, making your knees ache as you hit the sand floor. As you tried to draw in more oxygen, the right side of your body throbbed as if it had been burned. Sitting on your feet, you brought your hands up to your ribs, and shit, you were bleeding.

If there was anything in the galaxy that was divine, you'd be sure to beg now so you could at least get away near some body of water. You haven't seen or felt clean, natural water since you were a child when everything was still fine. In your dreams, you imagined your death with the sound of a lake in the background, but all you could make out at that moment was the sound of someone approaching you and beskar material crashing against some surface.

“Cyare… what did you do?”

-----

Part 4

@la-lunaluna @meetmwhallway

let me know if you want to be added on the taglist :)

[presidentrhodes]

it’s spoiling @pedropascalisathot time 😏

Title: The Mandalorian Characters: Din Djarin, Peli Motto (feat. Boba Fett, Fennec Shand because they’re the superior trio) Summary: Din’s been laying low on Tatooine for months. It’s time he paid a visit to a friend. 

Din leaned against the balcony ledge as he stared into the distance, watching as the fading suns reflected on sand dunes that dotted the horizon. With a deep sigh, he took another sip of spotchka and turned sideways, to face Boba and Fennec. “I am going to be away for a couple of days,” Din said. “There’s something I need to do.” 

***

More than three months had passed since his life was thrown out of orbit, leaving him listless, in search for direction and for an identity. Bo-Katan wasn’t thrilled by his decision to return with Fennec to the Slave I, instead of fulfilling his promise to help in her efforts to retake Mandalore. Though she let him leave when Boba came for them, she left him with a pointed reminder of the responsibility that fell on him. Before he had left the bridge of Gideon’s cruiser, Bo-Katan had grabbed his arms and whispered: “I will find you again and when I do, I will reclaim what is rightfully mine.” It was both a threat and a promise, and Din had no doubt she would make good on her word when the time came. 

After arriving on Tatooine, Din stayed away from Boba’s court despite the other man’s standing offer to have him as an adviser. Instead, every evening, he allowed Boba and Fennec into his quarters for a drink and to reminisce. Both of them had been tactful enough to avoid mentioning Grogu, but Din knew Boba already had Luke Skywalker’s location tracked and that Fennec stood ready for a covert mission to extract the kid if Din ever said the word. Though he loved them as friends, and saw them as the closest thing he had as a family, Din hated the subtle, silent devotion both Boba and Fennec showed him. 

“Like it or not, you are the rightful heir to the throne of Mandalore,” Fennec had told him one evening when Boba was away on business. “Even he recognises that.”

“Boba doesn’t care about Mandalore,” Din had shot back. It earned him a smile from Fennec as she patted his shoulders and refilled his glass with spotchka. 

“Well, yes, but he cares about you, and if you ask, I know he’ll follow you.” Fennec had raised her glass at him. “I will too.”

As the days passed, and Din grew accustomed to the heat and humidity on Tatooine, the Darksaber weighed him down as much as the beskar did. Residents and passers-by in the Hutt palace didn’t care much for his creed or his identity, as long as Din remained out of their way. One afternoon, things came to a head when he walked into Boba’s court, in search of his friend, and encountered a Twi’lek who flinched at his sight and, without prompt, fell to his knees and pleaded for mercy. That night, Din took off both the Darksaber and his armour, stashing them away under his bed. 

Unlike the time when he was forced to take the beskar’gam off on Morak, where the knots in his chest twisted and made it harder to breathe, Din felt his appearance in public the next day liberating. Boba had raised a brow in surprise when Din walked into his court in a loose black tunic with gray tabards and a dark brown leather belt but no one ever questioned his decision. 

Like everything else on Tatooine, the moment was fleeting and passed in a blink.

***

“Where will you go?” Boba said from where he sat on the floor, his back pressed against the ledge, while Fennec rested on a cushion, with her feet on his lap as he massaged them. She had returned from a hunt earlier in a foul mood that forced Boba to reconvene their daily meeting before the last of the daylight faded. 

Din kept his gaze fixed into the distance. Somewhere beyond the dunes in the horizon lay the Mos Eisley spaceport and the familiar docking bay three-five. Taking another swig of spotchka, he said, “Mos Eisley. There’s someone I need to see.” Din looked down at his palms. “There’s a mechanic—well, she’s a friend. She cared about Grogu.”

“The less people know about the kid and the Jedi, the better,” Boba said after a long pause. 

Din fought back the urge to tell his friend that he was wrong to cast doubt on Peli, that she loved the kid as her own and if anyone deserved the truth, it was her. But Din knew Boba meant well. The Imps wouldn’t give up on hunting Grogu just because Gideon had been captured and taken to Coruscant. The Empire was nothing but persistent and patient—on Morak, Valin Hess had all but confirmed that the Empire had its tentacles buried deep in the Outer Rim, beyond the notice of the New Republic, lurking in the shadows and ready to pounce when the opportunity presented itself. 

“She doesn’t need to know all the details,” Din said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt the tell-tale signs of an approaching headache; a common ailment that he had gotten used to in the last three months where sleep became a rare commodity. Even as his body craved rest, his mind still galloped a million miles a minute in the crisp, warm Tatooine air, and the beige walls of his quarters closed in, leaving him trapped in his dreams. “Just—just promise me you’re not going to send someone after her. No intimidations either. Peli’s wellbeing matters to me, she’s a friend.” 

Boba bit back a grin and it lightened some of the weight on Din’s chest. He had spent all day locked up in his quarters debating the best way to bring up his decision to visit Peli without Boba complicating things. The man cared little for his own safety, despite inheriting every one of the Hutt cartel’s enemies, including those still loyal to Bib Fortuna—Din was surprised to learn how brashly Boba had killed Jabba’s old majordomo. When it came to Din, Boba had developed an obsessive paranoia that became the butt of many jokes for Fennec. Din had confronted her one day. “I don’t claim to speak Boba Fett but if I had to guess, he’s hoping when you become king of your planet, he’d finally be welcomed there like his father was,” Fennec said and her response had left Din awake several nights in a row, contemplating the burden of the Mand’alor. 

“Fine, I won’t bother her but make sure she’s not babbling away about the kid or you at Chalmun’s,” Boba said, kneading the balls of Fennec’s feet. 

Din rolled his eyes. 

***

Traveling from Dune Sea to Mos Eisley took Din several hours on a speeder, which left his back stiff and his hips sore. Moving around without beskar’gam eased the strain on his joints while the lack of a flight suit stopped his skin from chafing. He travelled light but still carried a couple of blasters tucked away in his leather belt holsters and a hunting knife concealed in his boots. It was the only way to stop Boba from sending a pair of armed guards on his tail. 

As he walked into Hangar 3-5, he found the docking bay empty and the unoccupied landing pad made the knots in his chest tighten. Din remembered the first time the Razor Crest was cleared to land in the hangar: Grogu was still a stranger, a stowaway whom Din avoided beyond keeping him fed and healthy. Being on the run from the Imps and the Guild had pushed Din’s already frayed nerves to the edge—he had hoped Sorgan could’ve been a sanctuary, both for him and the kid, but fate had other plans. 

He had come to Tatooine in search of a distraction and to earn credits; en route, Din learned how expensive it was to care for a child. While he had learned to survive on bare necessities, as part of his culture and his religion, Grogu required food and naps every few hours while his clothes fared poorly under his small but sharp claws. Now, the Crest was gone, and so was Grogu. 

The pit droids spotted Din in the middle of reminiscing from his spot on the landing pad. They came running towards him, beeping with excitement and waving their spanners. The droids stopped on their tracks in front of Din and looked around the hangar in search of the ship—one of them tilted its head to the side and beeped in confusion. Another droid whirred and dropped its spanner on the floor. The third one stood with its metallic hands on its hips, its round sensor fixed on Din as if waiting for an explanation on why he had shown up without a ship. 

In his few encounters with Peli’s droids, Din had never seen them as excited by his presence. He found the helper droids troublesome despite their well-meaning intentions and only trusted them after Peli had personally guaranteed that they wouldn’t wreck the Crest in their attempts to fix it. Din still felt uneasy around droids, especially larger ones which reminded him of the darktroopers that occupied many of his nightmares in recent months. In all of his dreams, they always took Grogu away and left him for dead, with his skull bashed inside the dented beskar helmet. 

“Can I help you, Mister?” 

Din turned to see Peli emerge from the building. She wore the same brown leather coverall with a blue undershirt as the last time they met. Her hair, still fuzzy, had grown longer, much like Din’s. Her expression morphed from curiosity to a frown as she looked around the hangar, similarly puzzled by the lack of a ship as her droids. Peli narrowed her eyes at Din as her grip on her spanner tightened. “What do you want?” She said without the usual welcoming warmth in her voice. 

Shocked, Din took a step back. It hadn’t been that long since he came to her, searching for directions to Mos Pelgos in the hopes of finding another Mandalorian. Her face had lit up brighter than a thousand suns when she saw Grogu and fussed over the kid like a doting aunt. It occurred to Din that Peli hadn’t seen him without the beskar’gam before and Grogu wasn’t there to help her connect the dots—and, the twin blasters that Boba had insisted he carried with him were visible on his hips. Din held up his hands in the hopes that she’d realise he meant her no harm. “Peli, it’s me. It’s Din,” he said. 

Her grip remained on the spanner as she looked at him, unfazed. “How do you know my name? Who are you? You have three seconds to answer that,” she said. In his periphery, Din noticed Peli’s helper droids creeped closer towards him, holding their spanners, as they waited for her signal to attack. Pointing a blaster at Peli wasn’t an option Din was ready to consider and even if he could dodge the first two droids, the third one was out of his line of sight. Instinct told Din it was behind him, ready to strike if Peli gave the word. With panic rising in his chest, Din blurted out: “It’s me, I’m the Mandalorian. You—you adore Grogu. The child. The green child. Peli, it’s me.” 

Peli drew her lips into a taut line and as Din spoke, recognition flickered in her eyes before she heaved out a lengthy sigh. As she put her spanner down, the droids followed and stepped back from Din. “Dank farrik,” Peli said, softly thumping her chest. “Do ya have any idea how you scared me, Mister?” She paused and gave him a once over. “What happened to you? Don’t answer that, what happened to your ship and where is the little womp rat?” 

Din let out the breath he was holding in as he closed the gap between them in a few, long strides and pulled Peli into an embrace. He didn’t know why he did that but the weight on his chest lightened further when she patted his back and said, with the usual warmth in her voice that Din had grown accustomed to, “All right, all right, I’ve got all night and Chalmun’s got a table with our name on it, let’s go.” 

***

Chalmun's was packed to the brim when Din and Peli arrived. The dim-lit tavern had a reputation for frequent outbreaks of violence, frequented by misfits, smugglers, and bounty hunters. Din used to be a regular patron in his younger days when he was part of Ranzar Malk’s crew, before the Guild came calling. Memories from those days filled Din with shame and left him with guilt that he had spent decades atoning. Peli muscled her way through the crowd and slipped the droid bartender a few hundred credits; within minutes, a table was cleared for them, its previous occupants dragged out of the cantina by the bouncer. 

Once they were seated, a waitress droid brought them cups of ardees. Peli pushed one of the cups towards Din and said, “Drink up. I can tell you need one to calm those nerves and then you’re gonna tell me everything and get it out of your system.” Even if Din wanted to say no, he knew he couldn’t. The decision to seek out Peli had been motivated by Din’s need for absolution, something only she had the capacity to provide. Fennec wasn’t religious and someone like Boba would’ve been seen by the Covert as the antithesis of what made a Mandalorian—their opinions couldn’t give Din what he needed. Peli knew religion even if she didn’t have one. He hoped she’d understand he didn’t become a heretic without cause, that his decisions had been influenced by something bigger than his religion. The sanctity of life, the life of a child, outweighed the sanctity of his devotion. Sighing, Din emptied one of the cups in a handful of quick gulps, wincing as the sharp, bitter ardees burned the back of his throat. 

“I broke Creed,” Din said, clearing his throat. He reached for another cup; the less sober he was, the easier it’d be to confess. “Took my helmet off, my armour. When I did it, I thought it’d mean something. I thought I was doing it to save the kid, and, I was but once I took it off—” He ran a hand over his face. 

“You weren’t sure you wanted to put it back on. You hesitated,” Peli said. She pushed another cup towards him and reached out to grab his wrist. “What happened to the kid? Is he—” She hesitated, unable to voice out her thoughts as she looked away from Din. He knew she tried to comprehend his unexpected arrival, without his armour, without his ship, and without the kid.

He shook his head and put her mind at ease. “He’s alive. He’s just—I found his people and sent him off with them,” Din said, weighing his words. Though he trusted Boba with his life, he didn’t trust the other man’s level of paranoia, heightened by a lifetime of violence and backstabbing. The last thing Din wanted was for Peli to get caught in the crossfire. “His name’s Grogu.”

Peli doted on the name as she repeated it. That was all they had left of the kid—his name and the memories he had made with them. “It’s cute for a little womp-rat. Where did ya leave him?” 

Din shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” Peli looked like she debated whether to berate Din for letting the kid go without knowing where he was being sent to. But when she spoke, her voice sounded soft and filled with understanding. “You think the kid is safe with his people?” She asked. 

“I do. He’s safer with them than he’s with me,” Din said. The more Peli knew about the remnants of the Empire and the Jedi, the more danger she’d be in. Ignorance would keep her safe, Din reasoned. “I’ve been on Tatooine for a while now.” The confession earned him a surprised stare, but she said nothing more. He gulped down another cup of ardees, experiencing the same burning sensation in his throat. Din leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He felt lightheaded. “I’ve been staying with Boba Fett.” 

“Ha,” Peli said, thumping her fist on the table. “I knew it. He’s one tough nut, I knew he was too stubborn to die.” She looked around the packed tavern and said, “He used to be a regular here, when he still hunted for the Empire. Polite manners, never started fights, but he was lethal in ending them.” Din hadn’t expected her to know about Boba nor had he known that his friend used to be a regular at Chalmun’s—Din assumed a spaceport cantina like that would somehow be beneath Boba. 

“Have you ever met him?” Din asked. 

Peli nodded. “Once. His ship needed repairing. He tipped well. What’s he doing these days? Word on the street was that he had died in the Sarlacc pit out in the Dune Sea.” Din smiled. Boba hated the fact that people on Tatooine had come to accept that the legendary bounty hunter Boba Fett met his end being slowly digested by a sarlacc. He shook his head and said, “He’s taken over the Hutt cartel. Business is booming, it’s keeping him busy.” 

“And what are you doing with him?” Peli asked, without missing a beat. “You haven’t been doing anything illegal, have you? You’ve gotta set a better example for your young one in the company you keep.” She paused as the weight of her words sunk in. Peli looked embarrassed as she patted Din’s arm and promptly changed tact. “I have to be honest with you, I am a little surprised to see you without the armour. There’s a story in there somewhere—if you wanna get things off your chest. We’ve got all night.” 

Din straightened in his seat. The alcohol’s effects kicked in; his tunic felt warm and the thumping cacophony of voices and music in the tavern sounded distant, and the room spun whenever Din moved his head too fast. He peered at Peli and looked into her eyes, where he saw concern and genuine affection. Her soft gaze reminded Din of the last time he had seen his mother more than three decades ago, the same earnest look in her eyes that masked the unmistakable sadness. Why is Peli sad? The question echoed in his mind. She pities us. Look at us, we are nothing. We have been nothing, hiding out here in the sands of Tatooine while Mandalorians around the Galaxy are fighting for our honour, our Creed. “You think I’m pathetic,” Din said, in a barely audible whisper. 

“What?” Peli reached for one of the remaining cups and finished half of its content in record time. Smacking her lips, she said, “Of course not. But you have to admit, you’re a bit of a mess, and I don’t mean you being here, drunk on ardees. What happened?” The earnestness in her voice broke Din’s resolve and drowned Boba’s previous warning. He staggered up to his feet and pulled his chair closer to Peli and sank back down again. Leaning close, he said, “All right, Peli Motto, I’ll tell you everything.” 

***

By the time Din finished narrating the last details of his life, the tavern was almost empty. He had told her everything: from the days where he played with other children in the streets on Arvala-7 to the day he swore the Creed, the day he broke it for the first time, the day he had lost Grogu and the day he had found him only to send him away forever. Peli listened without interruption and the cups in front of them were all empty. Slouching on the table, Din struggled to keep his eyes open as he mumbled. “I am a bad, bad man. Couldn’t even save the Covert, they gave up everything for me and I paid them back by breaking Creed. Boba and Fennec expect me to be the king of Mandalore but I am not fit to be a Mandalorian. I want Bo-Katan to take the Darksaber but she won’t, she wants to fight me for it. Have you heard anything like that? It’s crazy, I am giving it to her but she just won’t take it.” Din burped. 

One of the waitress droids came over with a pitcher of water and Peli poured him a glass. “Drink up, Mister. Your brain’s turning into mush,” she said with a hint of her usual jovial nature. Din struggled and most of the water ended up drenching the front of his tunic. Taking matters into her own hands, Peli stood next to him and held Din’s hands steady as he sipped on the water. “Useless,” Din slurred. “Can’t even drink water and they want me to rule Mandalore. Crazy talks.” He heard Peli say something but her voice sounded distant—before he could comprehend, his world turned black. 

***

Din woke up with a stiff back and a throbbing headache. The mattress under him was hard and the vicinity smelled like jet fuel; but it was the clammy heat that forced him to crack open his eyes, only to be blinded by the daylight that flooded into the room. With a low groan, he made another attempt: Blinking his eyes open, Din slowly sat up. “Dank farrik,” he muttered as his stomach churned. Stumbling to his feet, Din made a desperate attempt to search for a bathroom. On his way, he tottered down a narrow hallway until it led him out into the hangar where he noticed a familiar ship docked on the landing pad. 

“What the—” Before he could finish that thought, Din vomited. He emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor and recoiled at the rancid smell. He heard the excited beeps from the helper droids that had come running to investigate the fuss. Before the droid got any closer, Din heard Peli’s voice in the distance, getting closer. “Hey! Leave him alone.” He heard footsteps and within moments, Peli had an arm around Din’s waist while he leaned on her. “Don’t worry about the mess, they’ll clean it up,” she said, guiding Din back into the building and to the room he had woken up in. After helping him climb into the bed again, Peli poured him a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. His mouth still smelled like an unwashed bantha but the water helped quell some of the nausea. Din looked up at Peli and flashed an apologetic smile. “I am embarrassed,” he said, looking down at his lap. “I let myself go last night.” 

Peli snorted. “Oh quit your whining or you’ll rust,” she said, but Din heard the concern in her tone loud and clear. “So, you passed out and had to be carried home. Big deal.” Her gaze softened as she reached out to smoothen his fringes. She pushed them back with her fingers. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve felt worse,” Din said, looking out the window by the bed. From there, he could see the Slave I on the landing pad. “You called Boba?” 

“Nah, why would I do that? He was at the tavern when you passed out. He carried you back here. If he wasn’t there, I would’ve had to drag you home and you’d be covered in skid marks.” Peli gave him a soft nudge. “Don’t worry, I’ve sent him away for a while. I figured you didn’t need an overbearing ex-bounty hunter on your shoulders right now.” Din’s grin widened and he reached for her hands, holding them between his. 

“What would I do without you, Peli?” He asked.

She scoffed but her lips curled up into a smile. “Probably mope around some more. Now, you listen to me carefully, Mister,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You did what you had to, to protect the little womp-rat. If you didn’t break your Creed, he’d be lost to us. Those Empire buggers don’t care if it’s a child they’re hurting to get what they need, but we do. Even in a place like this, in the middle of all the scum and villainy that is Tatooine, there are lines we do not cross. That is what makes us different from the Empire. Remember that.” Peli caressed his cheeks. Din leaned into her touch, biting back the tears that threatened to well up. 

“From what you told me and what I have heard about your people, you are honourable folk. That’s the warrior way, isn’t it? The way it looks to me, taking your helmet off doesn’t make you any less deserving of being a Mandalorian. I mean you fought in that big hunk’o beskar all your life didn’t you? You fought for your people, you fought for strangers, heck you saved my life from that little punk buddy of yours, you took on the Empire just to save a kid and I don’t know about you, but I don’t know too many people who’d do that for people they don’t know.”

Din hung onto Peli’s every word as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Peli wiped them away as Din dug his nails into his palms to stop himself from sobbing. 

“I can’t say anything about your religion but if it doesn’t recognise what you’ve done, everyone that you’ve helped along the way, the lives that you’ve saved, then maybe it’s the religion that’s the problem. You’re a good man, with or without your rusty armour, one that I am proud to call my friend. And I know that wherever the kid is, he knows how much you’ve done for him. He’s gonna remember and I hope that one day, you’ll see him again.” 

Silence descended on the room as Din searched for the right words. After a lengthy pause, he said, “I don’t know if I can wear the armour again, Peli. It feels—I don’t know how to be someone other than who I have been.” 

“And who’s that?” 

Din closed his eyes. For weeks, he kept the beskar’gam and the Darksaber hidden out of sight because their presence was a cruel reminder of what he had sacrificed to protect Grogu, only to lose him in the end. He had given up the very fundamentals that made him, him, to protect that child and it had left him without a home, without a family, alone in a vast, uncaring galaxy. Except—he had Peli. She had dropped everything to spend the night listening to his drunken rambles. He had Boba and Fennec. They had followed him to the jaws of death once to rescue Grogu and he knew they’d follow him again, no questions asked. He had Grogu; the kid had faced his fears to save Din’s life. And the tribe—whoever survived the massacre in Nevarro—was lost somewhere in the galaxy, perhaps waiting for Din to find them again. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to the Creed than beskar’gam and perhaps now that Din had completed his task, of delivering Grogu to the Jedi, the road ahead could lead him to that discovery. 

Din smiled at Peli; his first, genuine smile in months, one that reached the creased corners of his eyes and made his brown orbs sparkle. “I am a Mandalorian.” 

[hellsbellschime]

Why The Hell Is The Mandalorian So Awesome?

Now that the second season of The Mandalorian has come to it's end, it seems readily apparent that the Disney+ series is the unexpected future of the Star Wars universe. The rocky reception of the sequel trilogy unsurprisingly left a lot of fans wondering if Disney was about to run the Star Wars franchise into the ground, however Mando's massive success with casual fans and Star Wars junkies alike made it seem like there was actually hope for the Star Wars expanded universe to become everything that everyone wanted it to be. 

But one of the most interesting aspects of The Mandalorian's success is the fact that, even in comparison to the prequel and sequel trilogies, the series somehow feels like "real Star Wars" when so many previous installments have felt like off kilter imitations of the original trilogy. And, given that The Mandalorian doesn't actually have much roots in the original Star Wars world, how is it that it's managed to feel like the essence of Star Wars when the actual prequels and sequels did not?

Nostalgia is a difficult thing to capture and recreate in something new, as the most recent spate of Star Wars films have very painfully illustrated. With the exception of Rogue One and perhaps The Force Awakens, nearly every Star Wars movie that has been released in the last few decades has felt more like it was diminishing the original movies instead of enhancing it. But it also makes The Mandalorian's success more interesting, because it provides very clear contemporary comparisons for what seems to work in the new Star Wars universe and what doesn't. 

It can be incredibly difficult to capture why a movie or TV show makes people feel the way that they do though. It may be easy to point out that the story of The Mandalorian makes more sense than the sequel trilogy or the characters are written better than those in the prequels, but there is that certain je ne sais quoi element of something just feeling "right" while something else just feels "wrong". But what is it that The Mandalorian did that nailed that Goldilocks zone of not too hot, not to cold, but just right?

One aspect of this season that undoubtedly stuck out to most viewers is that it felt like an anthology of the Star Wars expanded universe's greatest hits. Every episode seemed to introduce a new character or mythological concept that got Star Wars fans seriously excited, but it also seemed to move on from those ideas pretty quickly. It almost felt like Din and Grogu were travelers who randomly intersected with important stories in the Star Wars galaxy but didn't really become a part of those stories. Although this hit and run style of episodic storytelling probably left a lot of fans wanting more, that in large part is why the series has been so effective so far. 

In fact, what seems to be making The Mandalorian feel like the most Star Wars thing since Star Wars is just that. It's a series that is going out of it's way to acknowledge the mythology of the world that it occupies as well as bringing in characters that the audience all desperately wants to see, but it's not trying to expand upon or alter those characters or that mythology in any way. 

There are plenty of examples of this throughout the season, but the best is almost undeniably Boba Fett. Despite the fact that Boba Fett feels like he played an enormous role in the season overall, nothing about his character or story arc expanded upon his characterization any further than the mainstream audience was already familiar with, but he also appeared to be the badass bounty hunter that fans had imagined he would be for decades prior. 

And the season did this with nearly every significant Star Wars universe character that was introduced. Characters like Bo-Katan, Ahsoka Tano, and Luke Skywalker all played significant roles in moving the story along, but that is solely what they were there for. It didn't feel like they were stifling the narrative or eclipsing the story of Din and Grogu, and most importantly it didn't feel like the show was trying to force them in where they didn't belong. They showed up, offered enough breadcrumbs to keep fans interested, and they played the roles that everyone had always wanted to see them play without being shoehorned into the narrative unnaturally. 

In contrast to something like the sequel trilogy, it's easy to see why The Mandalorian succeeded where the latest movies have failed. Nostalgia is obviously something that is best used as inspiration sparingly, because once the image that fans have had in their minds for decades is being altered for the sake of connecting a new story to an old one, it immediately begins to feel forced and makes both the contemporary storyline and the nostalgic references feel like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit together. 

Clearly, doing something like making the protagonist and antagonist of the main storyline a Palpatine and a Skywalker, and bringing an ancient villain back from the dead makes it feel like the franchise is trying to beat a literal and metaphorical dead horse, and by significantly adding on to the earlier storyline both the old story and new story feel diminished. But in relative comparison, it's easy to see why The Mandalorian finally feels like Star Wars reborn, because it's giving fans all of the references and cameos that they dream of seeing but it does nothing to change it's iconic characters or mythology, nor does it try to expand upon the mythology to the point where it sort of loses the magic that it once held like the prequels did by overly explaining the Force with midichlorian counts. 

Another aspect of The Mandalorian that really worked in it's favor was that it's a series that caters to any level of Star Wars fan, and it utilized the available cast of characters and lore to fill roles that needed to be filled within the story anyway. If the narrative needs a Mandalorian to meet a future Jedi, why not make a character like Grogu, who will be immediately identifiable to even the most casual of fans in addition to being a vital character in his own right. If Din and Grogu are looking for Jedi, then why not throw in characters like Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano. 

But what makes it work even more effectively is that the audience doesn't actually need to be familiar with all of this lore in order for it to be entertaining. Someone who doesn't know who Bo-Katan Kryze is can still be intrigued by a badass warrior princess who is looking for her super cool lightsaber. And someone doesn't have to be extensively familiar with the Star Wars universe and know the entire history of the darksaber to know that it's a cool looking weapon and that it's uniqueness likely denotes some level of importance within the overall narrative. 

Interestingly, someone with no base level knowledge of Star Wars could start watching The Mandalorian and still be interested in the story and find most of these characters compelling, which again, seems to stem from the fact that while they're iconic characters in the Star Wars universe in their own right, they aren't being shoved into the storyline just for the sake of appealing to Star Wars fans, they're all there to actually do something that is relevant to the narrative, and once that relevance has come to it's conclusion, they don't stick around unnecessarily. But the audience of Star Wars is broad and has differing layers of depth, there are casual fans that will pick up on 30% of the references and super fans who will pick up on 90% of them, but they can both equally enjoy the story because all of these references actually serve a purpose within the narrative. 

So it would seem after years of trying and billions of dollars worth of investment, The Mandalorian has finally found the sweet spot of continuing the Star Wars universe. It's about creating a story that works as a standalone piece and that incorporates earlier Star Wars lore when it's actually necessary, but that doesn't attempt to build it's narrative solely around previously established canon, and that most importantly doesn't go out of it's way to just tell the same story again with a slightly different cast of characters who it turns out are even closer to the characters that they replaced than it first seemed.

It's about ensuring that the memorable and fully established characters remain in character, and it's far more important to maintain that character continuity and write a character out of the story if needs be instead of altering established characters in order to keep them in the narrative. If the characters within the story can have an organic reason for interacting with the previously established characters then it can be a thrilling moment for fans, but if the narrative has to create excuses in order to bring characters together, then it's going to feel forced and have the opposite effect on the audience that it's meant to.

And of course, most importantly, it's about building a new story within the foundation of a specific fictional universe, but it's not about relying on that universe to tell the story on it's own, and it's certainly not about relying on stories that have been told before or reimagining them and telling them again. And, if The Mandalorian and the larger Disney Star Wars universe can actually maintain that balance, it looks like it could become the live action expanded universe that fans have been dreaming of for decades.  

[weathernerdmando]

Okay so I have actual theories about TBOBF which I don't normally have.

Spoilers for TBOBF, all episodes at the time of this post (last was episode 5).

Under the cut. It's log.

So. Theories.

My thoughts on how the next few (and the first episode of the Mandalorian) are gonna go:

And quick note: I'm glad the Armorer said Din's name because despite other people's beliefs about the children of the watch, I don't think it's a cult and I also don't want Din to have to just reject his beliefs entirely because of the armor thing, and I call Bo biased. I also don't like Bo, and I have seen clone wars and rebels, so. I know it's fiction, I do, but it rubs me wrong to just disrespect someone's beliefs and traditions like that for no reason when I could just say Mando.

Anyways.

The next episode of BOBF is going to be a time jump of sorts. We will not see Grogu but it is assumed Din has and has returned since. This will be Boba either catching Din up OR the set-up of plans discussed off screen. Probably...both, actually.

The last episode is going to be the final cumulattion of everything that was set up. War against the Pykes starts in Ernest and Boba wins. This is the plot thread of the Pykes tying up. This will be the episode it happens - it wouldn't surprise me if it's a long one. I'm not complaining if it is. I think Boba might finally reclaim some of his Mandalorian heritage? But I also think he's going to do something Major in regard to the Tusken tribes on the planet in regards to making people respect their rights and soviergnty. I can't spell that word but anyways. This'll be that plot thread tying up. I think maybe as a result of some of the reforms I suspect he'll enact it might tie the bike gang into it - setting up a better future for them as well. Not sure but yeah.

And I think Din will be there but he will actually be a side character, following Boba's lead and being the "muscle". Maybe something about the Darksaber will come up, but idk. Maybe he lets Boba borrow it?

I also think Boba knows more about the Mandalorian clans that we've thought, since he's actually....not commented on Din's sect, while he has made derogatory comments to Bo's. I think he knew the Watch existed, anyways.

So anyways, BOBF.

Onto the Mandalorian. This, I think, will start with the time jump. We might get a basic rundown on what happened in BOBF, or we might not. This could actually be part of that arc in BOBF, maybe tying the two together? Either way, first or second episode will be the time jump space - visiting Grogu. I suspect we will get some Boba, just for some narrative cohesiveness, but idk.

Anyways, after, we will return to the, and I'm dubbing it now, will tag with it, the Mandalore plot. I do think we'll get a return to Mandalore - and idk why but I have a feeling maybe it's less in shambles than we think? Imperial propoganda would definitely be a thing that I could see - after all, if Mandalorians don't have a place to go to unite, what few remain anyways, theyre easier to pick off and easier to keep from rebelling. But they could be lying and so Mandalorians who are in hiding won't risk it, hence not having updated information. And so maybe it's not habitable but the mines and the water are probably findable. And I do think we'll see that. I want to see that, actually. I want them to do a plot about faith that is important to someone and they show part of the redemption process. I mean we have it for the Jedi dammit I want it for the Mandalorians. I don't want Din to be made to give up his faith and I want them to be like "no there is no redemption". I think they had so few cases of armor being removed that it got forgotten/wasn't talked about because it didn't happen/the person in question died before they were able to return - the safety issue is a big part of it - but I don't think it wasn't accounted for.

And also if the Children of the Watch are a shoot off of Death Watch, then Paz is just straight up Death Watch. No ifs about it, he's the second to last major member - and unlike Bo, I don't think he ever turned against them. He's more fanatical than anyone in the room and he is not someone to side with. And his opinion doesn't mean jack shit.

Anyways, I think we'll see Mandalore.

And I think Din will become Mand'alor and I'm hoping that we'll get the first Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizla in Grogu. Especially with that beskar gift. Like, damn. Can you imagine???

Idk what they'll do after he's Mandalore but ...we might get a political drama esque show out of it, actually. Mandalorians make really good political dramas.

But yeah, I have actual theories. And like, it wouldn't shock me if they do something similar to BOBF where an entire episode is about that plot, and not Din's. Maybe it's the first episode actually, but idk.

Anyways, that's my theories.

[melancholicumsomnia]

The Redeemers (A Mandalorian Fanfic) Chapter 3

All warnings/pairings and other info to follow per chapter. For now, this is safe reading for everyone. If there are any spelling or grammar errors, I’ll be correcting them at a later date.

Sorry I wasn’t able to post this chapter last week. I was so busy with rush deadlines.

To @pedrocentric, I know I showed you a bit of this chapter earlier. Well, here’s the whole Chapter 3. Thank you so much for your friendship!

Previous Chapters can be found here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE REDEEMERS

By

Rory

 Chapter Three: Refuge

The deafening noise of a descending spacecraft caused Rebel General Hera Syndulla to emerge from the thatched hut that was her temporary home on the moon of Endor. Already, Ewoks were running excitedly to the clearing, which served as a rudimentary landing field.

Hurrying after the furballs, a broad smile formed on Hera’s face at the sight of the freighter and the familiar figures emerging from its open hatch. At once, she raised both arms and cried, “Ahsoka! Bo-Katan! It’s so great to see you again!”

Grinning, the two women allowed themselves to be drawn into a warm, exuberant hug.

“I wish we could say that this is a pleasure call, Hera,” Bo said with a rueful smile, giving the Twi’lek’s back a congenial pat.

“Yeah, I heard the full story from Ahsoka,” Hera replied. “You’re in luck though. I have a…friend…who is supposed to be dropping by here on Endor.” She rolled her eyes. “…Unless that bucket of bolts he calls a ship decided to call it quits and take him along with it. He’s late…as usual. But he did promise that he’d come. He’s the only person I know who is good friends with another Jedi. I don’t even know this Jedi’s name, much more seen him. From what I’ve been hearing though, he seems to be a closely guarded secret among the higher echelons of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Well, we can wait,” Ahsoka reassured her friend. “In the meantime, we can help you out with your little problem here.”

“It’s more of a pest problem actually. I thought we had completely wiped out the Imperials who are stationed on this moon. Well, those remaining Imps turned into pirates and have taken to raiding villages and capturing Ewoks to be enslaved or, worse, slaughtered and made into Ewok Jerky.” Hera couldn’t help shuddering in disgust. “We were able to track down their hideout in the far side of Endor. I need your help to free the villagers that they are holding captive there, so they can be reunited with their children and elders that we are sheltering here.”

“We’d be very happy to help you in any way we can. It will be like the old days,” Ahsoka said, reminiscing inwardly about their battles years back against the Empire.

“In fact,” Bo-Katan interjected, “I don’t think we should waste any more time waiting for your backup. I say we attack them now and get those villagers out of there.”

“Thank you, my friends. So…” the Twi’lek general’s brows lifted in anticipation, “…Where is this patient you’ve been telling me about?”

Suddenly, they heard the awed chattering of the Ewoks gathered in front of the hatchway. The little creatures then dropped to their knees and started bowing fervently, making worshipful noises, as Koska and Axe, with Dr. Pershing standing at the side of a floating gurney, descended from the freighter. Koska was carrying a bag in her right hand. Judging from the telltale silver gleam from the bag’s opening, the contents were clearly beskar armor. Seeing the patient’s helmet, she readily confirmed him to be a Mandalorian, same as Bo-Katan Kryze.

However, the reason why the Ewoks were giving the patient their profuse obeisance was because the Mandalorian was levitating a foot above the gurney’s mattress.

“Uh…whaaat…” Hera stammered, pointing to the Mandalorian as the gurney moved past her.

“We don’t know,” Ahsoka admitted with a shrug. “I’ve began calling it a form of Force sickness.”

“O…kaaaay…”

Bo took Hera’s arm. “We can discuss the matter later. I’m assuming that the Mandalorian will be safe here?”

Hera could only nod, still flabbergasted at the sight she beheld.

“Good. Once Koska and Axe have Din Djarin and Dr. Pershing settled in, they’ll come join us. Let’s go and free those Ewoks for now, and we can talk about it on the way to the Imp hideout.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Din Djarin felt like he was floating in a warm sea, calming at times but, more often than not, turbulent, the waves battering his body with scorching heat and pain. But the pain could not compare to the raw, empty hole in his chest.

Why? He would ask again and again. I know I’m not perfect, but haven’t I tried to be a good father to you?

The answer to those heartbroken questions never came. Just those merciless voices telling him “You can find him”, “We have given you the power, so use it”, “All you have to do is reach out.” The voices of two men – one older, commanding, the other younger, seducing – and a woman, kind and understanding.

He didn’t know how long he had been floating in that sea, just listening to those voices and trying to fill that gaping hole in his chest with memories of the past. Of him. The voices kept pestering him to stop dwelling on past and concentrate on the now, because he was needed. That the universe was in disorder. That he needed to restore balance again.

But he couldn’t care less about the universe. All he wanted was an answer to that simple question: Why?

And then he felt her die. It hadn’t been a quick death, that much he was sure of. He had felt the excruciating pain of merciless torture. A torture demanding an answer to the question Where?

Where what? What are you searching for?...STOP!

He had lashed out then. Sending out…something…to try to stop her agony because he knew he couldn’t save her. Couldn’t spare her from more pain. At that last moment before he had extinguished her life, she sent back one final thought to him.

Thank you. And then nothing.

Yet, he felt no comfort in those words. He had killed a comrade, a sister-in-arms, a friend.

Tap!

That sharp, metallic tap pierced through the fog of his misery. Stop it! Leave me in peace!

??? Then a softer, apprehensive, tap.

With trembling hand, he reached out, but instead of soft, fuzzy skin like a peach, what his fingers encountered was fluffy fur. As Din’s vision cleared, he gaped, surprised, at a tiny Ewok that was gazing back at him.

Groaning, Din tried to ease himself up on one elbow. The Ewok let out a squeal as it ran to a dark corner. He raised his hand again, about to tell the little creature not to be afraid of him. But then, something slipped down to his lap. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of the Darksaber lying before him. With a cry of loathing and distrust, Din flicked the sword away, letting it fall with a clatter on the floor.

At that sudden noise, a man appeared at the open doorway. Judging from the trees outside and the crudeness of his current dwellings, Din realized that he was in an Ewok village, most likely Endor if his memories served him correctly. Dressed in an Imperial uniform, Din recognized the man, but he couldn’t remember his name.

“At last, you’re finally awake!” the man said happily and with obvious relief. “Don’t worry, sir. You’re safe. I swear we are not in an Imperial base. I’m no longer with the Empire. We’re on Endor. Ooh, they will be so happy to see you when they get back.”

“Who are…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. In my excitement, I just kept blabbering away. I’m Dr. Pershing. We first met on Nevarro. You know…those lamentable circumstances with the Client…and the Child.”

“The Child is gone. The Empire will never find him.” Din fell silent at that last. He knew that Grogu was lost to him as well.

Noting the sad tone in his words, Dr. Pershing could only nod. “I know, sir. But we can at least find some comfort in that, that he is safe. He is safe, right, sir?”

Unconsciously, Din found himself reaching out with his senses. And there it was – a wink of light, before it flickered out.

Yes, Dr. Pershing was right. He is safe. Even with the bond between them gone, there was a small measure of relief in knowing that Grogu was out there somewhere.

His attention was drawn back to the Imperial scientist when the man squinted at the figure in the corner and demanded, “Chicklet, is that you? What are you doing here, little lady? Didn’t I tell you that you should let him sleep? You shouldn’t believe what the others are telling you. He’s a Mandalorian, not a god!”

The Ewok emerged shyly from the shadows. She was an adorable little thing, furry like others of her kind. But her fur was pale with dark brown patches. There were dark brown patches over her eyes, so that it looked as though she was wearing a mask.

“It’s alright,” Din reassured the scientist. “She can stay.”

Before Dr. Pershing can stop her, the Ewok clambered over the bed and curled up on Din’s lap.

“Rogue Stormtroopers attacked her village,” Dr. Pershing explained, as he ruffled the fur on the Ewok’s head. “She and her fellow survivors managed to make their way here. Ahsoka Tano, Lady Bo-Katan Kryze and her Nite Owls, and General Syndulla are heading to their hideout right now as we speak. They plan to rescue the villagers before they are shipped off-moon. They told me to stay here with you, and to await a comrade of the general’s who is arriving anytime soon.”

Din shook his head guiltily. “I should be with them. They’re the ones who saved me, right? I’ve been such a huge bother to them. I should be there to help.”

“They are worried about you, sir, but your health and safety are more important to them.”

“I don’t deserve their concern,” Din said bitterly. “I…It was I who killed Cara Dune.”

Dr. Pershing’s eyebrows raised at that confession. With a small shake, he stated, “Now is not the time to talk about that, sir. But knowing the ways of the Empire after all these years, what you did…it was necessary. You wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer.”

“It doesn’t make the pain any less though. She was my friend.”

“And a brave, loyal friend she was. You did her a great service by giving her an end that she deserved…whatever it was that you actually did do.”

Dr. Pershing sighed and leaned over, draping the blanket over the Mandalorian and the Ewok. “Please get some rest, sir. You need to heal.”

“Let me just sit up for a while, Dr. Pershing. My body feels so weak and my back is stiff from lying down for too long.” He then quickly added, “And please call me, Din. My name is Din Djarin.”

“Thank you for your trust, si-…I mean…Din.” As he straightened up, Dr. Pershing saw the Darksaber on the floor. Picking it up, he was about to give it to the Mandalorian when Din recoiled from the sword, weakly scrambling to the other side of the bed so that his back hit a thatched wall. He had wrapped his arms protectively around the Ewok, so that the little furball let out a soft ‘woof’.

“Keep it away from me!” Din hissed. “I don’t want it!”

“I know why you don’t like this sword. Bo-Katan explained to me what the Darksaber means to the Mandalorian people. But you must keep the Darksaber with you for the time being. I still don’t understand what’s happening with it because I don’t have the equipment to do the tests, but this sword, in particular, the kyber crystal inside it, has bonded with you…” Din moaned at that. “…And it is healing you.”

“I don’t understand,” Din exclaimed, forlorn. “I’m so confused!”

“Things will be clearer when Ahsoka and Bo-Katan return. In the meantime, please do take it so you can heal faster.”

Din was about to object, but the Ewok grabbed the sword and pressed her tiny form close to the Mandalorian, keeping the Darksaber wedged between their bodies.

Smiling, Dr. Pershing said, “Looks like the kid has more sense than you. Well, I’d best leave you two alone then. If you need anything, just let Chicklet come and fetch me.” He was about to go when he paused at the doorway. “You’ll rest more comfortably if you remove your helmet. You’re among friends, Din. It’s safe here.”

Even with the doctor gone, Din continued to stare at the open doorway and the trees beyond it. His attention was drawn back to the present by another soft tap on his helmet. Gazing down, he saw the Ewok looking up at him, still with that curious expression on her face. With a cautious fingertip, she stroked the helmet’s smooth, gleaming surface.

Din felt a sudden pang of loneliness. Grogu had done the same thing that last time they were together. Sighing, he slowly lifted his helmet, laying it on the bed beside him. The Ewok’s face brightened, beholding him at last. She was making sweet, high-pitched noises, like Grogu had done.

“Chicklet…” Din mused, unable to contain his amused grin. “That’s a funny name for an Ewok.”

At these words, Chicklet pressed both hands over Din’s cheeks with a loud clap. Before Din knew what was happening, the mischievous Ewok gave him a noisy smack on the lips. Ignoring the Mandalorian’s surprised sputters, Chicklet curled up in a tight ball, squeezing her form and the Darksaber into Din’s belly.

Din exhaled in defeat. Those times with Grogu reminded him that he would always surrender to the whims of a youngling. Gently, he lay back down on the bed, cradling the Ewok in his arms, and settled back to sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) ner aliit STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.29 - I Think I Need A Doctor

Comfortember no.8 - Lashing Out

Jango had never imagined getting his sister back. He had thought, for over a decade, that his ori’vod was dead, that she had died all those years ago with their buire when Kyr’tsad had burned their family’s farm. He had spent years with Arla’s name at the top of his Remembrances, unknowing that she was alive and that Kyr’tsad had her in their grasp. He had left his ori’vod to be tortured and twisted until she was a chained pet to be released whenever Vizsla wanted someone dead.

Vizsla had probably taken some sort of sick enjoyment out of sending his own sister after him, most likely looking to get the Darksaber back but was not willing to face Jango or his Foundling in combat himself. So he had sent Jango’s own family to kill them and bring the dha’kad to him instead of doing anything himself, and Arla had tried. They had been docked and resupplying, and she must have snuck on board while they had been busy - likely the blood she shared with Jango had let her slip past the security.

Manda, Jango had nearly killed her. He hadn’t known it at the time, all he had seen was a Kyr’tsad ramikad pinning Ben and ready to slit his throat, and Jango had thrown himself forward to defend his son. It had been Ben - Ben who had never let go of the morals he had been raised with, despite declaring his quest for cin vhetin upon earning his beskar’gam and passing his verd’goten - who had stopped Jango from killing his attacker. It was Ben, the boy who refused to kill unless absolutely necessary, even with all the evils in the Galaxy and everything he had been through, who had pulled Jango off of the limp Kyr’tsadii and removed the woman’s helmet.

Jango had nearly lost what little remained of his cool in that moment, stiffening in shock and horror. Arla was almost identical to their mother, though Jango could see himself in her jaw and nose and the shape of her eyes, and her colouring had been their father’s. He remembers that, as a teenager, Arla had idolized their retired ori’ramikad mother, and had wanted to be just like her, to the point she had dyed her brown hair blonde and spent an hour every morning straightening her curls. When he had been eight he had found it annoying to be locked out of the bathroom while his di’kutla ori’vod did di’kutla things, but after the farm had burned, he had guarded even the most annoying memories of his family jealousy. Now though, there’s not a hint of blonde in Arla’s thick curls, and where her skin had once been golden-brown, it was now pale and ashen and covered in scars from torture and cruelty that he had gotten a peek of while Shmi had been tending to her injuries.

Jango had been able to experience love and family after their Buire had been murdered, but Arla had only known pain and torment.

He had spent the last few days sitting beside his sister’s bacta tank, watching her float limply in the thick liquid and reacquainting himself with her face. It had made him painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t remember her voice, that he could barely remember her. She’s in her thirties now, and she was so very different from the fourteen year old girl preparing for her verd’goten that he could remember. All the baby fat was gone from her face, and there’s a scar across the bridge of her nose that Jango couldn’t remember being there - so many thick, ropey scars stretched across any part of her body that he could see. He hadn’t seen her since he was eight - he’s twenty-three now, and he likes to think that he looks like his father, but finding Arla has made him painfully aware of the fact that he can barely remember them anymore.

What kind of ad and vod is he that he can’t remember his familys’ faces? Would Arla hate him for moving on, for finding a new aliit while she had been tortured?

Arla had been pulled out of bacta just that morning, and it had been painful for Jango to cuff his sister to the medical cot, but he didn’t really have much of a choice. He has two non-combatants on the ship, and a son that Arla had already once tried to kill. As much as Jango hates it, his sister is a prisoner and an assassin, and he has no idea what Death Watch had done to her over the years, or what kind of state her mind is in.

Even so, knowing all of that didn’t mean it hadn’t torn something in him when his sister had immediately tried to throw herself at him, intent to harm, the moment she had opened her eyes. Arla had snarled, twisting against the restraints, teeth bared in fury, and a firm Shmi had ordered Jango out of the room as she’d given his sister a sedative. So Jango had left, trusting Shmi to look after herself and Arla.

“Traitor!” Arla had screamed at him, and the words had struck deep.

He finds himself feeling lost, staring at the wall, and wondering what he could possibly do to fix this. He hadn’t thought his hatred of Kyr’tsad could grow any hotter and yet here he is, with a sister he had believed dead for most of his life, twisted and broken and turned into an assassin for the very people who had murdered their Buire and who he hated more than anything, even the Jetiise. Kyr’tsad had taken everything from him; his parents, his Buir, his aliit, his sister, his honour. He could reach out to the others; he knows that there are Haat’ade still out there, people who had followed Jaster, who had followed Jango, and people who would come the moment he called. Roz had given him a list of contacts of Mando’ade who were still loyal to the Mand’alor. There were people with the right sort of training who could help him help Arla. He hadn’t considered calling them before - he’s unworthy of their loyalty, but for his aliit , he’d be willing to do anything.

Jango lets out a heavy breath, turning on his heel to march towards his room - Jaster’s old room - in search of the comm codes, thoughts dark. His people didn’t deserve Jango dragging them back into his problems, but Arla also doesn’t deserve what happened to her and needs help. He doesn’t trust a hospital to protect her from Kyr’tsad should they come for her, but he does trust the True Mandalorians.

The disgraced Mand’alor pauses in front of his door, tightening his hand around his buy’ce and tapping his fingers against the visor. He sighs slowly, closing his eyes and muttering a quick prayer to the Manda for courage and to the Ka’ra for luck, before gathering himself and typing in the code to the door and stepping into his room. He strides over to the storage chest at the base of his bunk, opening it to rifle through the belongings until he finds the datapad Roz had handed him back when he and Ben had first gone to her for work after escaping the spice freighter.

He staring at one name on the list, an open expression of pain on his face - there’s so few of them, compared to what they had once been, and that’s on him. Mij Gilamar - he remembers the man. Or more accurately he remembers his riduur; Tani Gilamar had been on Galidraan, she had been one of his ramikade. Mij had been a dedicated baar’ur, and while he had married a Mando’ad, he had never worn beskar’gam, preferring to heal rather than fight, but Jango had seen him spar with Tani enough to know that he could.

Mij would be his best choice to help Arla, but would he want to do anything for Jango after he had gotten his riduur killed.

He looks up when the door hisses open, letting Ben peer into his room. His son cut an impressive figure in Jango’s old beskar’gam, the one that he wore after passing his own verdgotten but painted dark red and white, and his buy’ce tucked under his arm - he looks like a true Mando’ad, and Jango wonders if this is what Jaster felt every time he saw him in his armour. He watches Jango with worried eyes.

“Are you alright, Buir?” The teenager asks, stepping into Jango’s room and letting the door slide shut behind him. “Shmi told me our guest woke up.” Blue eyes study him intently, and Jango’s shoulders slump at the reminder, Arla’s words rattling in his head. “I can sense that you’re upset.” Ben lowers himself to his knees next to him with the unnatural grace of a Jedi, head tilting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jango huffs out a laugh, “You do know I’m supposed to be the buir, right, Ben’ika?”

His ad ’s eyes sparkle, and Jango can already feel the weight of his past easing with the boy’s small smile. “So you are.” Ben says cheerfully, “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed.”

“Brat.” Jango murmurs fondly, flicking the fourteen year old across the forehead. Still, Ben had passed his verd’goten and was considered an adult by Old Mandalorian law, even if he is still young and inexperienced and still needed guidance. Jas’buir had allowed Jango to lead his own squad at fourteen, and Mandalorians knew better than anyone that ade were just as competent as those who were fully grown. He sighs again, “Arla needs special care right now.” Jango tells Ben, who listens attentively. “Things we can’t get her without help.”

Ben’s head tilts again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Like a mind healer?”

Jango taps Mij’s name on the list, “Baar’ur Gilamar is a doctor, and a very good one. All Mandalorian doctors are trained in mirjahaal for wounded verde.”

“One cannot heal physically if they don’t also heal spiritually.” Ben states knowingly, and Jango ruffles his hair.

“Learn that from your fancy Core Temple, did you, ad’ika?”

Ben grins crookedly, “We were all expected to attend minor healing classes.” He shrugs, “I wasn’t very good at it.” Then his blue eyes grow sharp in the way that makes Jango feel like the boy was looking into his soul. “Arla will be fine, Buir.” Ben states, “We’ll help her; she’s aliit.”

Aliit, it’s a nice thought.

[kylermalloy]

my Thoughts on rebels

Now I don’t have any hot takes or any controversial opinions to put out here. Rebels is a simple show with a simple plot. There’s not a whole lot to analyze, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to enjoy. Sometimes all you need is a straightforward concept with lovable characters. So let me proceed to squeal about Dave Filoni’s second masterpiece, Rebels.

Spoilers abound!

Before I say anything else...

THEY HAD A BABY I haven’t stopped squealing.

Zeb Okay I’ll start with Zeb, for no particular reason. He was the only main character I hadn’t really heard about or seen much of before I started watching. In the first few scenes with him, I was afraid he’d become his stereotype—the thuggish gorilla who argues all the time, disobeys orders, messes up plans, and borderline betrays his friends. I was so pleasantly surprised when none of that happened. Maybe by virtue of being a kids’ show, these characters don’t have *edgy* or twisted nuances. Zeb is fiercely loyal. He likes smashing heads in and gets grumbly sometimes, but he’s never a hindrance. He’s not just “the muscle”; his ingenuity saves the day on more than one occasion. If anything, his nuances take him the other way—he’s incredibly sensitive and childlike in some ways. Being one of the last of his kind is a major plot point of several episodes, which brings so much depth to him and his psyche. It also informs SO MUCH on his relationship with Kallus. Speaking of...

Kallus I never, ever expected Kallus to be anything more than a season-long plot device. The fact that he stuck around and went through actual character development?? Amazing. The episode where he and Zeb are stranded together is gold. He’s got a sense of honor even as he works for the Empire, sparing the rebels as Zeb spared him. He develops a new set of ideals thanks to our heroes, and he begins to question and regret the things he’s done for the Empire—ethnic cleansing of Zeb’s Lasat people included. And that last scene of them in the epilogue? I’m not gonna lie, it was a bit shippy.

KANERA I know while the show was airing, fans were constantly asking when Kanan and Hera were going to get together. But for me, they seemed to be married from the first episode. Hera calling Kanan “love” and teasing him? Kanan constantly worrying after Hera while simultaneously believing in her ability to do...absolutely everything? Their parenting of Ezra, Sabine, Chopper, and even Zeb? Explicitly referring to them as “the kids” and themselves as “Mom and Dad”? Yeah, they’re married. And let’s not underplay their strengths as individual characters. Kanan—or Caleb—is exactly what you would expect of a Jedi whose training is only halfway complete. He’s cool and awesome, but also riddled with self-doubt and uncertainty. And Hera is the mature voice of reason this merry band of children so desperately needs—except of course when she’s the one rushing headlong into danger, whether to get a fighter prototype or to steal a family heirloom or to save a couple pilots in a suicidally risky move. She’s a perfect blend of mature reason and headstrong determination that makes a true rebel. (Wait a minute...she’s totally Katara! Maybe that’s why I love her so much.)

Now back to them as a couple! Most of the show did nothing to advance their relationship—further reinforcing my headcanon that things were always happening between them behind the scenes. Even though they became official canon in the last season, the appearance of their kid in the epilogue proves I was right—based only on what we saw, there was no time for them to make a baby. Of COURSE there were things going on behind the scenes. 😏 (I found the interview that explains exactly where Jacen came from, and I was equal parts ecstatic and freaked out.)

Did I mention THEY HAD A BABY???

Ezra So apparently there are people in the Star Wars fandom who hate Ezra? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; Star Wars fans hate everything. Except the OT. If you hate the OT you’re a heathen. I can’t really think of a solid reason why people hate Ezra, except for the fact that he seems to be a Luke Skywalker analog. He’s a poor kid with Force sensitivities who gets adopted by a Jedi and becomes a venerated leader of the Rebellion. He also finds an oddball group of friends he comes to call family but eventually bids them farewell after the death of his mentor. They’re not carbon copies, of course—Luke’s an optimistic idealist; Ezra’s a cynic. Luke whines; Ezra snarks. Luke blows up the Death Star and defeats Vader; Ezra completes a series of far more complicated missions and defeats Inquisitors and Thrawn. Again by virtue of him being the star of a tv show instead of just three feature length movies, he gets a lot more time to have his adventures. Maybe there’s some resentment over him getting more screentime than Luke? Maybe it’s because I’m just Not a Luke Skywalker stan. I like him fine, but I don’t hold him up as some perfect saintlike hero. (I didn’t have any problems with his TLJ characterization.) The people who do need to rewatch the OT they hold so dear. Luke’s a beautiful drama queen and you all should love him for that. But I’m here to talk about Ezra! Listen, this child is a disaster and a half—just like Luke, just like Anakin, just like young Obi-Wan. There is nothing to not like about him—except that he reminds you of your favorite characters but he’s not them.

Clone Wars characters I initially started watching this show solely for the characters I already knew from Clone Wars. Ahsoka Tano has been my girl ever since I started watching Clone Wars, and I didn’t even consider watching Rebels until I knew they had undone her death. (If there was just ONE character they could needlessly save via time travel, they picked the right one.) At any rate, she’s perfect in this show. She’s more grown-up, more mature, but still retains that *young and plucky* spirit. (For the record, I usually hate the *plucky* characters. Somehow, she works for me. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really do that annoying cocky smirk thing.)

But it’s not just Ahsoka. Rex survived! I’m so glad at least one clone (two? Wolffe?) made it out of the war okay. And he’s great here. His constant snarking with Kanan reminded me so much of his banter with Anakin (and I’m sure it reminded him of that too ;-; ) His presence on Rebels isn’t strictly necessary, narratively speaking, but it’s just a nice tie-in to the world we got used to in Clone Wars. It reminds us that this world with the Empire was once the world of the Republic, and there are still clones out there—even if there’s no place for them in this new order. This of course reinforces the tragic narrative of clones as sentient beings created for nothing but combat. And again, I commend both shows for making me feel that narrative so deeply!

Hondo and Maul were two of my favorite antagonists from Clone Wars, so seeing their multiple appearances here filled me with joy. Hondo cracked me up, as usual, and Maul’s farewell was touching and heartbreaking. I almost wish he were still around! There’s still his duel with Ahsoka in season 7 of Clone Wars... 👀 Honestly what surprised me most about those two were the way they were both presented as protagonists. Hondo especially, and Maul does become an antagonist again. But it really speaks to the way all paradigms in the galaxy have shifted after the Republic became the Empire. In Clone Wars, Hondo was portrayed as an annoying hindrance to our heroes. Now with the Empire as an adversary to our main characters, Hondo is an ally. An untrustworthy one of course, mostly in it for the money, but his interests usually lie with helping our heroes, not hurting them. Besides, nothing tops his relationship with Ezra. Their first meeting had me in fits: “You lied to me?? I KNEW I liked you!” (Also I forgot to mention the running gag of Ezra introducing himself as Jabba the Hutt? Genius. And hilarious, since some people actually believe him at first)

THEY HAD A BABY!!!

Thrawn I need to see this guy again. Whether in a continuation where we learn what happened to him and Ezra, or some other moment in time where we see him younger, rising through the ranks of the Empire full of ambition and ideas. He’s quietly menacing, always confident and meticulous. He does a great job of making the rebels feel helpless in their fight, needling their pressure points and taunting them—but he never makes the conflict personal to him. He always remains detached, just a guy doing his duty. He’s just there to pick up interesting art pieces. I love the way he’s acted—always quiet, cultured, practically whispering. I didn’t know he was voiced by Lars Mikkelson until after I watched, but that was a perfect choice. I found the Inquisitors a little flat as villains (antagonists, whatever) and the other Empire ministers and governors not very threatening. Thrawn was the perfect balance (lol) between interesting and a genuine threat.

MANDALORE For all of Sabine’s merits as a character, I love her most in the Mandalorian arcs. The episode where she comes into her power and wields the darksaber is one of my favorites. She’s not a traditional stern, stoic Mandalorian character. She’s a free spirit, incredibly creative and intellectual. Yet she’s also afraid of her mind and what she could create—for years she created weapons for the Empire to feed her hubris. Maybe that’s why she mainly sticks to painting throughout the series. :) Anyway. I look forward to the follow-up detailing her adventures with Ahsoka.

Chopper I rolled my eyes so hard when I first saw Chopper. Everything from his name to his design screamed “kiddie version of R2D2” and I was fully prepared to hate him. I don’t. He’s just like R2, in that every sentence he says sounds like it’s punctuated with about ten different swearwords. It’s hilarious seeing such a cute character being so surly and even threatening on occasions! Chopper kicks some serious butt. He even comes with a tragic backstory!

Lastly, I don’t think I’ve mentioned...

THEY HAD A BABY AND HE’S ADORABLE

[odetodameron]

Certain Doom

Pairing: The Mandalorian X Jedi!Reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Warnings: Angst, my dudes, and mentions of choking.

Inspired by the song Vidi aliam bestiam from Paolo Buonvino

It felt like being strangled. That’s what Moff Gideon’s grip on you felt like. There was no lull, no reprieve, just an undeniable and growing restriction. When you hit the ground, he thought you’d be dead. Moff Gideon was nothing, if not an overly self confident man. It was a struggle, but you managed to crawl towards the door undetected.

Moff Gideon was negotiating with The Mandalorian. Gideon wanted the Child, Mando wanted you returned. The stakes weren’t equal and you knew it. He couldn’t give up the Child. He had to know that. And if he wasn’t smart enough to figure it out, you were going to make sure the Child stayed safe.

“You...cannot...have the...Child.” Your words were strained. You were recovering from being nearly choked out, after all. Gideon whirled around at your words, eyes ablaze. It was clear your voice had possibly been clear on the transmission. He was worried the Mandalorian had heard you.

It was a fight of wills at this point. You and Moff Gideon. He was morally ambiguous, but he was going to try to kill you in a fair fight if that was what it took. And you would stand to meet him, even in your state.

It was hard rising to face the insidious man. Your lungs burned, your throat ached, and your stomach wrenched. But you stood. You had been stripped of your lightsaber, and Gideon set the Darksaber aside. This would be a battle of Force energy.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the world around you. The hum of life, the silence of the fallen, the murmurs of the land, the whistles of the air. These were all within you, shining dimly now. Your exhaustion should have prevented you from reaching out. In a normal situation, you would be resting, trying to regain your strength before reaching out to the Force.

“You cannot have the Child. If it is the last thing I do, you will not have him.”

You put your hand out, energy flying from your fingertips in an invisible wall. Moff Gideon was caught off guard, the energy throwing him back before he regained his train of thoughts. You felt the energy pulsing, growing within you. In a moment of silence, you backed towards the door. Your eyes never left your opponent, but you knew you had to leave.

“I don’t think so, weakling Jedi.”

He flung the Force out, trying to severe the wall and pull you forward. The wall held, for the time being. And he lost his concentration when you let the wall break. Then you used the Force to create a suction on the stone roof. A fissure formed, then the whole structure shook. You were really going to bring the roof down. With a flick of your wrist, the whole thing being breaking apart and crumbling to the floor below. You quickly darted out the door, making a beeline for the Mandalorian.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Mando, shut up and run. I don’t think a roof is going to get rid of Gideon, but it’s going to buy us time. We can discuss my health when we get off this planet.”

That was all it took before the two of you started towards his ship. The Child was in a bag, strapped to the Mandalorian’s chest. It was quite cute, watching the warrior soften so much  for a little foundling. He wouldn’t admit it, but the Child had changed him. He was softer now.

Upon a quick exit from the atmosphere of the planet, the Mandalorian put the ship on auto and went about looking you over. There were surface wounds. A scratch or nick here and there. But what was truly noticeable was the bruise forming like a ring around your throat.

“What happened? This is-”

“Force choking. It wouldn’t leave a mark if he were better at it. He thought it would kill me.”

“He tried to kill you?! I told you that you and the Child should have stayed here and I could have handled it.”

“Like you handled it when the other Mandalorians had to shoot your way out of a bunch of bounty hunters?”

“Do not use my people against me. You don’t know what the Mandalorian are like and you never will.”

“You’re right, I won’t. I’m not built for the loneliness of a Mandalorian. And neither are you. But you’re too scared to admit it.”

It was a low blow. You knew the importance of his people to him. Especially after finding most of the tribe that had raised him murdered. The guilt set in almost immediately. This was cruel, even if he did need to get it through his head that he wasn’t going to do this alone.

“Mando, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you meant what you said. We both know it. I wasn’t born to this; I was raised to it.”

“Wait...you aren’t a Mandalorian by birth? But-”

“I was a foundling. My family killed in the Clone Wars. Droids killed my parents, and they would’ve killed me if not for the Mandalorians.”

“I’m sorry. I should have held my tongue.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have. Honesty is for the better if we’re supposed to trust each other. Maybe you were right, maybe I’m not cut out for a Mandalorian’s life, but I took the creed and I don’t intend to break it.”

“Who were you? Before you took the creed.”

“A foundling. A no one.”

“But you had a life before. That you would’ve lived if not for that terrible war.”

“That life isn’t important now. You weren’t even around for the Clone Wars.”

“My siblings were killed. They fought off the Stromtroopers that tried to kidnap them. They were killed by firing squad in front of my parents’ house. I was born a few months after the wars had officially ended. My parents were shells of themselves by the time I was old enough to understand. They told me the whole thing. Watching their three children be murdered. Their fear that I would be taken too. My father told me that he wished some days that I had been taken too that day. That way he wouldn’t see my siblings in me.”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t know. No one knows. We were no one. No one cared about three children being gunned down. Everyone else was having their children ripped away too. I don’t tell people this story. Better to be no one. To have no one to be taken...”

“But you didn’t follow your own rules, did you? You were willing to die for the Child. And by proxy, me. What if we had been taken? Would you have still made that sacrifice?”

You knew he was right. You had opened yourself to the Mandalorain and the Child. You had tried to keep yourself away, to remain alone. But there was something magnetic about him. About the Child.

“I don’t know. There is no way to know unless it comes to be and I hope for all of us that it does not. I’m exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to sleep. Wake me if we run into a problem.”

[fuzz1912]

This is the Way

Just prior to the release of the third movie of Disney’s Star Wars trilogy, I posted some thoughts to the effect that I no longer had the energy to write at length about what Star Wars had become under their watch, because I no longer had any love left to fuel that effort. THE MANDALORIAN has changed all that and, ever since then finale of its second season, I’ve been wanting to process and contextualise why it has been so impactful. The clearest place to start is the finale itself, and the sequence that has led adult fans across the world to revert to a child-like state of wonder and break down into tears. If you haven’t already seen THE MANDALORIAN, in particular “Chapter 16 - THE RESCUE” then please read no further - do yourself a favour and stay off the internet until you’ve caught yourself up. From here on, the spoilers will be rife.

A QUICK RECAP

The clues leading to the finale’s big reveal are staged in a masterfully accelerating fashion, leading to a crescendo of certainty that no amount of “subverted expectations” could extinguish. Imperial Moff Gideon has recaptured the Child (Grogu), and the Mandalorian (Din Djarin) has managed to locate him and threatened that he will stop at nothing to free his ward from Gideon’s clutches. We rejoin Mando and his allies (shock trooper Cara Dune, assassin Fennec Shand and her benefactor the infamous bounty hunter Boba Fett, and two survivors of the Mandalorian Death Watch in heiress Bo-Katan Kryze and Koska Reeves) as they chase an Imperial Lambda-class shuttle in Fett’s ship, Slave I. After a minor altercation with Imperial officers taunting Dune over the destruction of her home planet of Alderaan, they capture the Imperial scientist Pershing who, at Moff Gideon’s direction, has been using blood samples from the Child (Grogu) in cloning experiments that quite possibly may lead to the resurrection of the Emperor years later (ugh). 

With Pershing’s help and Boba Fett creating a distraction, they use the shuttle to stage a boarding of Gideon’s cruiser. Mando searches for the Child while the others quickly take the bridge. First Mando has to deactivate the ominous Dark Troopers, one of whom escapes from cold storage before Mando is able to seal the others in. As the remaining Dark Troopers persistently continue to punch the doors, gradually wearing away at them, Mando engages in mortal combat against the escaped Dark Trooper. It is relentless and seemingly indestructible, a veritable terminator that keeps pounding away at Mando despite all of his tricks. Held by the scruff of his neck, the Dark Trooper keeps punching his helmet into a wall. Mando can only use his flamethrower and wrist launcher as mere distractions to get the Dark Trooper to release him, and it is only after he notices the Dark Trooper’s blaster shots deflecting off his beskar armour that he realises that a well-placed thrust of his beskar spear into the Dark Trooper’s weak neck will take out his foe. Moments before the remaining platoon is about to escape cold storage, Mando is able to vent them all into space. 

Mando proceeds to the brig where he finds Moff Gideon holding the Child at the point of the infamous Mandalorian Darksaber. Gideon demands that Mando disarm himself, and warns Mando to assume that he knows everything and is in complete control. He describes the power of the Darksaber and the fact that it gives the one who wields it a claim to the Mandalorian throne. When Din surprises him by telling him to keep it in exchange for the Child, Gideon agrees - noting that he’s already got what he wanted (namely, Grogu’s blood with its rare properties - aka Midichlorians). Gideon permits Mando to take the Child, provided he leaves the ship and they go their separate ways. But of course, it’s a ruse and the moment Mando tries to take the Child Gideon stabs him in the back and engages him with the Darksaber. Of course, it can’t cut through beskar so he is evenly matched against Mando’s beskar armour and spear. However Mando is the superior warrior and quickly disarms him, much to Gideon’s surprising glee. For when Mando takes Gideon to the bridge and offers the Darksaber to Bo-Katan, Gideon smugly tells Mando that Bo-Katan needed to win the Darksaber in combat - and that now means that she has to take it by force from Din. Bo-Katan’s indecision is interrupted by the proximity sensor, and Fennec informs the others that the Dark Troopers (with their Iron Man-like foot rockets) have reboarded the ship. They quickly march towards the bridge against a thumping dub step soundtrack, and Fennec seals the blast doors.

Trapped in an unwinnable position, the posse prepares for a Sundance-style fatal showdown. A single Dark Trooper all but overpowered Mando, so a platoon of them would vanquish even this elite squad in short order. Gideon idly taunts  that no one except for himself and the Child will end up leaving the room alive.

Then the proximity sensor pings once more.  

This is the moment when you expect a Deus ex Machina. When the odds are so heavily weighted against the protagonists that only a “machine of the gods” is going to be able to get them out of their impossible predicament. Season 2 laid the seeds for a couple of such options - most obviously, the New Republic has a small but insignificant presence in the Outer Rim that Mando has encountered a few times in his recent travels (almost literally the cavalry). Boba Fett may still be a part of the plan, skipping out only briefly to return with reinforcements. Despite the elimination of the coven on Navarro, perhaps another coven of the Mandalorian zealots might return to save the day as they did in Season 1. 

But none of these really make proper sense. Ever since the first appearance of the Child in Season 1, and Mando’s subsequent quest to return him to his kind, all roads had to eventually lead to only one person. Not Ahsoka Tano, whose return was a welcome return to form (more on that later), but who steadfastly refused to be considered a Jedi after leaving the order and would not agree to train Grogu lest his attachment to Mando might lead him to suffer the same fate as her former Master. No - at this point in time, there exists only one true Jedi in the entire Galaxy.

Bo-Katan is the first to notice the solitary X-Wing approaching, with Cara’s subsequent quip suggesting it would make no difference at all - it might just be Captain Teva or Trapper Wolf again. But this was the first in a series of subtle but escalating hints as to how wrong she really is. If there were any doubt, the next few moments would lay them to rest. The X-Wing flies into the docking bay on the security cam - it bears indistinct but clearly older Rebellion-era markings, and does not respond to Bo-Katan’s hail. Grogu’s ears perk up - he senses the arrival. Then, abruptly, the Dark Troopers stop punching the door. In unison, they all do an about-face towards a new threat approaching. For the first time, the all-knowing smirk is wiped off Gideon’s face. 

A gentle guitar arpeggio and choral ballad reminiscent of Qui-Gon and Padmé’s Funeral themes begins as we see the second clue on the security cam - a hooded figure walking down a hallway, wearing a dark cloak. It could still be anyone, but it could definitely be the one we’ve all silently hoped to see for so long. This is followed in short order by the third, almost definitive clue: the hooded figure on the security cam expertly wields a single lightsaber, cutting through Dark Troopers like butter. Bo-Katan immediately identifies the figure as a Jedi, and suddenly Moff Gideon’s face betrays fear for the first time. 

Then we see the one thing we’ve waited decades for - a green lightsaber. Not a blue historical artefact wielded by plot-amour protected novice, but a brilliant green blade self-made to stand out against the deep blue desert skies of Tatooine. At last, we allow ourselves to feel hopeful once more. Only one of those Dark Troopers nearly ended Din Djarin minutes ago, but this figure deflects their blaster bolts back into them and slices through their torsos like the battledroids of old. However, unlike the flamboyant Jedi of the Old Republic, the figure’s strokes are spartan and precise. Grogu is at attention because he knows who’s coming to rescue them.

And finally, a low shot of the green blade shows the black leather glove holding onto it and all doubt is removed. It’s LUKE FUCKING SKYWALKER. Luke as the Jedi Master he (and his father) aspired be, at the height of his powers. Luke, who bested but never quite defeated Darth Vader, and through his unwavering faith enabled his father to destroy the most powerful evil in the Galaxy. No longer a naive farm boy, but a full fledged Jedi and, both by default and power, the Grand Master of the New Jedi Order. And certainly not the cranky old defeated hermit passing off for Luke in certain other films, with no hope, determination, or empathy. The REAL Luke Skywalker. This is who heard Grogu’s call two episodes ago, and is the only possible person with whom Grogu could end up with. 

Luke slashes through several more Dark Troopers, and force pushes a crate against another. Craning his neck to see the carnage on the security cams, Moff Gideon realises that the battle is lost and he makes his desperate last move. Clutching the hidden blaster beneath his cloak, he fires at Bo-Katan before taking a shot at the Child. Mando valiantly throws himself into the line of fire - in a way, both moments would have been more powerful if beskar wasn’t so strong as to harmlessly absorb Gideon’s shots. So too would it have been if a shot got through to Grogu, putting him in grave danger. 

The figure cleans up the Dark Troopers on the lower level and takes the elevator up towards the bridge. The Dark Troopers in the exterior hallway wait silently. We’ve seen this moment before - in A NEW HOPE, before the stormtroopers cut through the port on the Tantive IV; and again, in ROGUE ONE, as the lights go out on the Profundity’s docking bay. The final light ignites and the doors open - the Dark Troopers open fire, but their shots are easily deflected by the figure who twirls and swirls more elegantly through his prey, dancing through the corridor and using his hands to bat away debris and crush the exoskeleton of the final unfortunate trooper. We haven’t seen this kind of carnage since the other Skywalker exterminated the Separatists on Mustafar in REVENGE OF THE SITH. 

Mando and Grogu know that it’s time, and he demands that the blast doors be opened. Not getting any favourable response from the others, he opens the door himself. As the blast doors part, we see the figure’s shrouded green lightsaber emerge through the smoke just as his mentor’s did at the start of THE PHANTOM MENACE. The figure slowly holsters his blade on his familiar belt, and deliberately hesitates as he removed his hood. As the iconic notes of the Binary Sunset play, at last we see the face of Luke Skywalker - here to rescue us - with just a little bit more wisdom and wear than he bore at the end of RETURN OF THE JEDI. Mando asks him if he is a Jedi, and Luke responds that he is (in the unmistakably optimistic voice of a young Mark Hamill). Luke reaches out, confidently asking Grogu to join him. When Mando queries Grogu’s reluctance, Luke wisely advises him that the Child wants his permission first. 

What follows is the culmination of the series, a heart wrenching scene between Din and Grogu where Din breaks the creed and shows Grogu his face - a father saying goodbye to his son with his own eyes, echoing Luke’s own farewell to Anakin. Grogu doesn’t want to let go of Din until he hears a reassuring sound - R2D2’s familiar beep-bop cadence as he leans over to examine the Child, a clear moment of recognition between the two. Whether they’ve both met at some point in the past (perhaps prior to or during Grogu’s escape from the Jedi Temple), or whether R2 is suffering some PTSD from his memories of Yoda, remains to be seen. But it’s enough to win over Grogu, who allows Luke to pick him up and take him and R2 away. The final shots of Din’s final tearful goodbye and Luke, Grogu and R2 in the departing elevator against a triumphant refrain of the Mandalorian theme are iconic Star Wars images that will be etched in our minds forever alongside the Throne Room and other final shots. 

I’M LUKE SKYWALKER - I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU

I don’t want to relitigate the issues of the Disney Trilogy at length, suffice to say that the miserable end to that sorry saga far better illustrates them than any missive penned by me could. Yes, as things stand, everything that transpires in THE MANDALORIAN could lead to same sorry end just as the supposedly-fairytale ending of RETURN OF THE JEDI did. But the mere hope that it doesn’t have to, or that it is far enough away to be ignored, is enough to allow the moment to savoured for the delight that it represents.

Because Star Wars has always been about hope, and that hope has always been best embodied by Luke Skywalker - the “Son of Suns”. Luke is our childhood hero, the Boy Scout or Superman defined by his optimism and his faith in our better angels. His journey may venture through internal conflict, impatience, confusion, and failure - but he never gives up hope, even when it seems that all is lost. He was born in a moment of despair, as his mother’s dying breaths gave life to both he and his sister, and saved his father from a tortuous death. The prequel trilogy, fundamentally about perpetual-slave Anakin Skywalker’s hope for a better life for his family, may have ended with a Galaxy entering an era of oppression, but its final shot featured baby Luke with his closest kin watching the famous binary sunset and hoping for the eventual dawn to bring them out of the darkness. 

We later meet Luke again in the eponymous A NEW HOPE as a sheltered and naive young farmhand, dreaming of making a difference in the fight against the evil Empire. Under the guidance of his watchful protector, he produces a one-in-a-million shot heard around the Galaxy. He trawls the Galaxy in search of a new mentor, whose trickery and patience are a foil for his impatient desire to return to the fight. After being humbled by a superior adversary and learning the dark truth of his parentage, he soon realises that his attachment to others can be a weakness to be exploited. Nevertheless, his faith in his friends and family remains resolute - even in the face of discouragement from his masters and enemies alike, Luke manages to persuade his broken and defeated father that he is not irredeemable. Luke’s unwavering belief provides the gentle push needed for Anakin to commit his final act to destroying the evil Emperor that had enslaved him and would destroy the only thing left in the universe for him to love. 

Basically, after searching for his absent father his whole life, only to discover him to be one of the most terrible people in the Galaxy and believed to be beyond redemption by his only remaining friends, Luke still perseveres against all odds in believing there’s a tiny sparkle of good left him in - and ends up convincing his father of that as well. This is the most unbelievably optimistic person, who sees the bright side of things where everyone else sees nothing, and who never, ever gives up. He is what Star Wars is fundamentally all about. 

IF THERE’S A BRIGHT CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE, YOU’RE ON THE PLANET THAT IT’S FARTHEST FROM

However, the Disney Trilogy’s failure began with the first words of its opening crawl, claiming that “Luke Skywalker has vanished” - depriving us of that hope for a whole film. When he finally appears up at the intersection of the first and second movies, it turns out to have been a false hope - in a “subversion” of our expectations, the Luke we find is a shell of a person who has given up on his friends, his family, and his students. He is so devoid of hope and resigned to the ignominious fate of dying alone that he may as well be Darth Vader. After sensing the mere potential for evil in his only nephew, he doesn’t try to turn him away from it but stupidly draws his weapon on him in his sleep - and by doing so creates another version of his father. He senses a familiar darkness in the Resistance’s strange messenger, and resolves not to train her. And yet... suddenly, after a bizarre encounter with an addled apparition pretending to be Yoda, he softens and decides not to join with her in a fight to the death but instead perform some insanely draining Matrix-like distraction that ends up killing him anyway. His last ditch effort saved practically nothing, and didn’t end up mattering anyway when the nemesis he and his father sacrificed everything to destroy “somehow returned”. 

Mark Hamill himself, who has lived and breathed the character for over 40 years, knew that none of this made sense coming from Luke - he would rather amusingly refer to this incarnation as “Jake” Skywalker. The people behind the Disney Trilogy have stated on record that Luke’s absence from the first film was to avoid stealing the spotlight from their new characters, and the butchering of his character in the second ostensibly appears to have paved the way for them to take over the role of the hero. It was as if, in some misguided zero-sum view of the Star Wars universe, in order for the new generation to succeed the old had to be destroyed (in more ways than just this one). And, in doing so, Disney deprived us of seeing the Luke Skywalker we all deserved. 

GOOD, YOU’VE TAKEN YOUR FIRST STEPS INTO A LARGER WORLD

When Anakin Skywalker looks up at the night sky on Tatooine in THE PHANTOM MENACE, he wonders if anyone has ever visited them all - ominously suggesting that he’d be the first. There’s only so much of that story that can be told within the motion picture medium, and there have always been Star Wars stories that existed in the same universe but were not about the Galaxy-changing saga of the Skywalkers. From the Expanded Universe novels, to cartoons, games, and other non-saga films, the Star Wars Universe has weaved a rich tapestry for fans who have been invested in the diverse, fantastic, and advanced  setting it provides for stories that reflect on our own human condition. Many of these stories were self contained - filling in gaps or corners of that tapestry - but just as many intersected with our beloved characters at various points of their lives, who at once both recognisable as their iconic selves but also given further colour and depth through new experiences and challenges. 

Of Luke Skywalker in particular, we saw a hero struggling with his legacy and the monumental task of rebuilding the Galaxy and the Jedi Order in such as way as to not repeat the mistakes of the past. We saw Luke succeed and fail in training new Force-sensitive students into Jedi, and grow in power to become the new Grand Master of the Jedi Order. We saw him defeat stronger foes than he had before and weave his way through the intergalactic politics of the New Republic and Imperial Remnant. We saw him fall in love with Mara Jade, someone who had been tasked by the Emperor with killing him, marry her and have a son (appropriately) named Ben. We witnessed Luke live a full, difficult, but happy life with meaning and purpose - the kind of life his father always wanted but could never achieve.

With this Expanded Universe cast away by Disney, it was left to stories and shows like THE MANDALORIAN to sketch out the details of what is supposed to exists in the rest of the Star Wars Universe. Throughout its run, THE MANDALORIAN has demonstrated definitively that Disney’s approach in sidelining and belittling Luke and the story of the original and prequel trilogies in order to tell new stories in that universe was not only unnecessary, but completely wrong. By starting with a fresh style and a lone gun for hire in a new, small frontier in a corner of the universe it established a new dynamic in the transition period between the fall of the Empire and the establishment of the New Republic. 

But as it continued to flesh out that small corner, we started to see bits of the familiar return from a variety of sources - some from the films such as Trandoshans, IG units, Jawas, Ugnaughts, AT-STs, Mos Eisley’s Docking Bay 94 populated with Pit Droids, Tusken Raiders; others from other media such as Cobb Vanth, Bo-Katan and the Mandalorian Death Watch, Ahsoka Tano (and soon hopefully Grand Admiral Thrawn!), and Dark Troopers from the 90s game DARK FORCES. Others still fleshed out things we’d heard about in previous stories but never seen - krayt dragons, krynkas, Quarren. And at the heart of it all - the Mandalorian creed and the mysterious and powerful Force-using species. We care about and are interested in all of these things because they are familiar elements of the Star Wars Universe, and we care about what new things Mando and the Child encounter because they are grounded in such elements to which we can already relate.

Most of the credit for this change in direction is due to the respective efforts of creator John Favreau and Executive Producer Dave Filoni. Favreau’s early contributions were largely responsible for the dramatic success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and he has been involved with Star Wars for some time (voicing characters in SOLO and THE CLONE WARS). Filoni, himself the creator of THE CLONE WARS, has long effectively been George Lucas’s personally selected designated successor as the sage of all things Star Wars. Unlike JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson (relative neophytes to Lucasfilm, who seemed to be unable to move beyond their nostalgia for A NEW HOPE and desperation to spit on Lucas’s prequels), Favreau and Filoni have an understanding of the already-significant diversity of the Star Wars Universe, of its values and potential. 

Favreau, Filoni and the fabulous team of writers and directors they collaborate with have treated the existing source material with respect (the same source material their boss claims not to exist), and have both intertwined and extended it in new ways that make sense and add depth to what came before. The production design has drawn on both the existing worlds of the original and prequel trilogies (and yes, even what would be yet to come in the Disney Trilogy), while referencing the original concept art of Ralph McQuarrie and Doug Chiang (the concept art based credit sequences are particularly inspired) and creating new environments, species and spacecraft that add greater diversity to those worlds. Even Ludwig Görannson’s music has hit it out of the park - not merely rehashing John William’s greatest hits (another area where the Disney Trilogy fell surprisingly short), but creating a whole new aesthetic that feels right for the style of the show, but is unmistakably Star Wars. In short, THE MANDALORIAN feels like a true addition to the Star Wars universe, which seemed impossible after the lukewarm reboot of the Disney Trilogy. 

YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT ME - TELL YOUR SISTER. YOU WERE RIGHT.

So this is why, when we first see the X-Wing appear, the hooded figure walking down the hallway, and the brilliant green blade - followed by the decisive elimination of the Dark Troopers through Gideon’s ship and the corridors leading to the bridge - longtime fans across the world could no longer contain their emotions, with many breaking down into tears of jubilation and relief. After being teased with horrible “subversions of expectations” and being told that our “theories sucked”, finally we actually got what we wanted after all this time - a reason to hope again. 

This is the Luke Skywalker we’ve wanted to see after 37 years - not the naive farm boy or reclusive hermit, but the mature and powerful Jedi Master - and finally seeing him at his peak validated our feelings of frustration and neglect over after the past five years of mediocrity that was Disney’s attempt at rehashing Star Wars. It confirmed to us what we always belived: that Star Wars was not, after all, a one hit wonder and that the lightning in the bottle could be recaptured - if wielded by the right custodians who continue to explore the potential of the Star Wars universe to tell great new stories. 

[aion-rsa]

Star Wars: The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8 Review – The Rescue

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This Star Wars: The Mandalorian review contains spoilers.

The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8

The core of The Mandalorian has always been the connection between Din Djarin and Grogu. After the first live-action Star Wars TV offering proved in its first season that a story about a faceless Mandalorian could have so much heart (something I hope remains true in the many upcoming shows), that connection became even more vital to the storytelling in the second outing. Instead of the twisted family relationships between the Skywalkers, Din and Grogu were a found family dream, propelling the Child into households everywhere. Unfortunately, at the end of season two, Din and the Child’s heartfelt connection doesn’t quite feel as central as it should.

This isn’t the smartest show in the streaming world, but it is still one of the most fun. Din finds the location of Moff Gideon and the captured baby with the help of Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, Bo-Katan Kryze, and her lieutenant Koska Reeves. Their two-pronged rescue mission goes surprisingly well, the squad of Mandalorians and Din himself taking out stormtroopers, dark troopers, and finally, Moff Gideon. But when Din delivers Gideon alive to his allies, it’s clear this is only less than half of the former ISB agent’s plan.

Stream your Star Wars favorites right here!

Gideon tries to turn Din and Bo-Katan against one another, using his knowledge of Mandalorian tradition to initiate a fight. To truly gain the throne, he says, Bo-Katan has to win the darksaber from Din in battle. It’s both a keen portrayal of the nature of power (someone always must be humbled, especially according to an Imperial who thinks of all of the good guys as “savages”) and a classic manipulative villain. Although Gideon’s plan is clear, it doesn’t work. Eucatastrophe appears in the form of Luke Skywalker, who in the best Jedi fashion, breaks all the rules to save the day.

Din’s hard choices — whether to give Grogu to the Jedi, whether to let Bo-Katan kill Moff Gideon, what happens now that she has to, by tradition, take the darksaber from him by force — take a back seat. Instead, the energy of the final minutes is sapped by a cool but uncanny Luke, Mark Hamill’s welcome presence digitally de-aged far enough that he sometimes looks like his sketchy Battlefront avatar. That game keeps ahold of its medal as the best inter-trilogy appearance of Luke, too. Where his dialogue in the game emphasizes his kindness, on the show he’s first a warrior and then a plot device, interchangeable with the general concept of a Jedi.

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Not to say I don’t want to see more Luke, but that bit of fan service sprinkled this episode with sugar when I wanted more substance. Frankly, I didn’t find the CGI appearance too off-putting on its own, although it’s even worse when Luke turns away from the camera toward the end. Luke’s voice doesn’t sound the same anymore, and his eyes don’t have the same spark. I wonder if it would have been better or worse to have cast fan favorite Sebastian Stan or another look-alike. The ambiguity itself speaks volumes.

Luke’s presence is clearly a case of Jedi ex machina, but I was so delighted to see him that I can’t present that as an entirely bad thing. (There’s even a bit of “we called it” pleasure in there.) But as elsewhere in the episode, the build-up goes on a bit too long compared to the payoff. Luke’s dialogue is sparse and lacks emotion. As usual, the music does a lot of work here, diverting from the Star Wars method of leitmotif to give Luke a new, mystical and melancholic introduction.

Even the long-awaited fight between Moff Gideon and Din wass more setup than payoff. Surely some of the time spent reminding us the beskar steel was strong, crafting a meticulous order of operations for how tough various types of metals and glass are, could have been traded for a more dramatic setting than a single hallway. The darksaber fight was cool, with the blade setting the wall on fire and Din using some impressive footwork, but the combat didn’t travel, didn’t tell its own story with acts and beats the way the best Star Wars duels do.

I’m also torn on the fight scenes with the infiltration team. More often than not I ended up wondering whether the cool stunts were going to get the good guys killed, their eagerness to get up close and punch seemingly unnecessary and unsafe when the stormtroopers have blasters. But at the same time, it was great fun to see a team succeed with such competence, the good guys well matched with the bad. It was especially exciting because it’s a team of almost all Mandalorians and all women, armored and weighty. Moments like Cara Dune’s gun jamming reminds us Star Wars is a janky universe, its heroes subject to inconveniences as well as epic stakes.

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Like last episode, the relationship between Din and the Child drives the titular Mandalorian’s every action. His love for the baby is the whole reason he puts himself in so much danger, goes to such physically taxing lengths. But they don’t actually interact very much in the end. Even the baby plaintively reaching for Din while handcuffed doesn’t reach the tear-jerking emotions of the scene where Din laughs just seeing Grogu responding to his name. The emotional connection between the two has been well established already, but this is the finale: it shouldn’t coast on the good will from the rest of the season but should make the connection even stronger so it can twist the knife even further later. The very beginning promised some neat characterization between the good guys. There’s a lot to say about the relationship between Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians. The scene where she and Boba meet is delightfully prickly, everyone willing to fight at the drop of a hat. Bo-Katan dismisses Boba as a clone. Boba, perhaps comforted by Din’s quick acceptance , resents her self-proclaimed right to the contested throne. Koska being so willing to fight on her leader’s behalf gave some great heat to the scene. I love the idea that the two groups have such a deep fissure between them since it illustrates exactly what Bo-Katan is trying to unite, how hard that will be, and why not all Mandalorians might agree with her. It’s also just fun, a sort of Chekhov’s gun of that many people in Mandalorian armor being in the same dingy room together.

There was plenty to love in this episode. I gasped out loud when Moff Gideon nearly shot himself, winced when it looked like the dark trooper would smash Din’s helmet in, and felt that old, old love for Star Wars when it became clear the X-wing held no ordinary pilot. Seeing Luke in the flesh was a delight despite the flaws, reminding me of how much I love the central fantasy of Return of the Jedi: a super-powered nice person can save the day on both strength and kindness. Bo-Katan, Fennec, and Cara were wonderfully cool and central, too. Din showing Grogu his face was touching and long-awaited.

But Din letting the Jedi — any Jedi, but especially one he doesn’t know — walk away with the baby feels wrong. Maybe next season, we’ll see a repeat of the show’s beginning: Din having second thoughts and going to retrieve his son again. The tease at the end of the episode suggests a lot more Boba Fett in season three, a not unwelcome prospect due to Temuera Morrison’s good performance and one that might have made filming during the pandemic more feasible. But I’m left lukewarm about this episode. Even as it wowed with individual moments, the arc of “The Rescue” overall drifted too far from Din and Grogu. Surely some of the time devoted to build-up, shiny plot threads, and cameos could have been traded for a little more time with the iconic duo.

The post Star Wars: The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 8 Review – The Rescue appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[wardencommanderrodimiss]

More AA Star Wars AU, now moving to the Next Gen.

Kristoph is a Senator from an old, powerful political family who seems initially favorable to the Jedi. He worked with Phoenix during Phoenix’s initial investigations into Senator von Karma’s corruption, but he’s just been biding his time to figure out how he can frame the Jedi for treason against the Republic. Which he does. The Republic’s armies turn against the Jedi and it’s a little less massacre and a little more civil war, albeit a short one that ends with the Jedi being pretty badly massacred. But the chaos of a galaxy being suddenly plunged into a short war against what were supposed to be its peacekeepers - though who have been more and more disdained for more shutting themselves away in their temples and less trying to keep the peace - leaves time for some actual treason against the Republic to be committed.

Kristoph is busy attempting to consolidate some power and position himself as the power behind the next chancellor, and every chancellor after, and then he kind of looks around and finds that the planet of Khura’in has done some actual treason against the Republic and actually gone off and straight taken over, and this is an Empire now, with Empress Ga’ran at its head, and her husband ruling Khura’in specifically. And Kristoph is just like “what, no, this was supposed to be MY power-grabbing opportunity!” and he turns around and starts trying to track down the last of the Jedi so that he can organize them into a rebellion against this new Empire, so that when it falls, Kristoph can be the hero who leads a new government out of this empire’s ashes.

Phoenix is aware that Kristoph is a backstabbing bastard, but since he’s not running a shoot-on-sight policy against the Jedi right now, Phoenix deigns to work with him. Phoenix doesn’t trust him enough to let any of his friends work with him, though.

(I’m gonna say that the Gavins are from Naboo, simply because I think it’s funny and also makes sense that they would come from somewhere with such culturally extravagant fashions. Also this from last time we were on about this AU:

Klavier with two different extravagant hairstyles every day and Apollo’s like “we are rebels and smugglers on the run how the fuck do you do that”. I’ll come back to Klavier later.)

Miles, Franziska, Gumshoe, and Ray fled to Zheng Fa, a planet that was nominally part of the Republic, but always valued its freedom and distance from the Senate, and which has now pulled even further away from the Empire. Zheng Fa is in a position that it can be neutral on the Empire and maintain that independence, bolstered by support of its clone army, identical and terrifying soldiers in black loyal only to the royal family. Lang, no longer a Senator, is now the general of this army. Justine remains in the Galactic Senate, the powerless body that it now is, but she has sent her son to take sanctuary on Zheng Fa, afraid that someone may try to use him to get to her. Sebastian, like Lang, has left the Senate; he has some weak connection to the Force, not enough that he was taken by the Jedi, but enough that Miles is now training him in secret. Lang is glad to have their help, having previously been betrayed by his lead bodyguard, Shih-na, who turned out to be a Clawdite assassin. As is the kind of shit that happens here.

Right before the fall of the Jedi, Phoenix was given an apprentice, a Togruta girl named Trucy, who he hides away on Dathomir. He trains her as a Jedi whenever he can sneak away back to Dathomir, and while he is gone, Maya and Pearl train her in the ways of the Witches. 

Returning to the topic of Khura’in, it has always harbored dislike of the Jedi, much like Mandalore, despite Khura’in being a core world. Members of the Khura’inese royal family are often uniquely gifted in the Force; the Jedi have historically sought to bring them for training in their temples, while Khura’in refuses to give up its royal children. However, without the rigid structured training of the Jedi, these often become dangerous to themselves and their people - reckless, cruel, and susceptible to corruption by the dark side. Khura’in is often rocked by infighting, and it sees frequent turnover in its representatives in the Galactic Senate as new Queens come to power and appoint new senators. 

The citizens, and the Republic and the Jedi at large, hoped for some stability when Queen Amara gained power. She opened her planet to the overtures of the Jedi and soon married Dhurke, a Jedi Knight who had been sent on assignment to Khura’in. This is wildly against the Jedi Code, and he probably should’ve been tossed out of the Order, but the Council made an exception for him because they were desperate to build a relationship with Khura’in. Dhurke and a few other Jedi founded a training academy on Khura’in; Queen Amara was still reluctant to give Force-sensitive children up to Coruscant, but bringing aspects of that Jedi Temple training to Khura’in is a compromise everyone was willing to make. On giving birth to her first child, Amara agreed that as soon as he showed signs of Force-proficiency, she would allow the Khura’inese academy to train him, and eventually, when he was older, allow him to go to the Temple on Coruscant for further training. 

Unfortunately, Amara was assassinated, and it was blamed on her Jedi husband Dhurke. He managed to escape from the planet, taking with him the Force-sensitive children he had begun to train, and the Jedi who had come from the Temple, into exile. Some Jedi chose to stay and fight in Khura’in’s civil war to overthrow Ga’ran, while others returned to the temple on Coruscant and were told that the Jedi could not intervene, as this was a civil matter for Khura’in. After several years of fighting, Dhurke sent most of the Khura’inese padawans to Coruscant’s temple to keep them safe there; he kept with him only his own child, Nahyuta, fearing that some agent of Ga’ran’s would find Nahyuta were he in the Temple on Coruscant. 

Apollo is a Togruta boy who was found alone orphaned on Khura’in, where Dhurke took him in and began training him as a Jedi. Apollo was then sent to the temple on Coruscant and trained there; he was a teenage padawan when the Republic turned against the Jedi and he managed to escape the fighting. He eventually joined on to the crew of the Cosmos, a trader ship whose crew included pilots Starbuck and Clay, mechanic Metis, Mandalorian-exile weaponsmith Aura, and an ever-increasing number of droids that Metis and Aura built. 

Aura and her brother Simon were the children of Death Watch exiles living on Mandalore’s moon. After their parents were killed in the fighting between Death Watch and the Mandalore governing forces, the two of them left their home to sell their services as mercenaries. There they met Metis and her daughter, Athena, a Force-sensitive child who Metis refused to give up to the Jedi, and she has been on the run since, determined to keep her child whatever it took. They travel together for years and get a small ship of their own, but they are caught in the civil war between the Republic and the Jedi, attacked, and separated. Metis and Aura make it out to join a freighter crew with their skills; Aura privately blames Athena for the loss of her brother, being sure that the Republic/Empire came after them because of Athena’s Force-powers.

Simon and Athena, however, do survive, and with them Simon’s droid TK-A4 (”Taka”). Unsure of what to do next, they return to Mandalore and for a time join the Mandalorian fight against the new Empire. While they’re there, Simon steals the darksaber, because why not. Nobody else here deserves it! When Mandalore falls to the empire’s control, the two of them flee and become bounty hunters, seeking any Jedi survivors who would be able to train Athena. They hear rumors of Phoenix, and on hunting him down, he sends them to Zheng Fa for Athena to be trained by Miles.

Meanwhile, Klavier, Kristoph’s younger brother, who Kristoph’s been hoping to raise into a staunch and loyal political ally to help Kristoph with his end goals, decides that he doesn’t have the temperament for politics, and together with a member of Kristoph’s guard, Daryan, runs off to become bounty hunters. They aren’t terrible at it, but Daryan has more love for money than he does sense in his head, and deciding that it’s the real best way to get rich, Daryan, against Klavier’s wishes, turns their crew to spice smuggling and gets them caught up in a terrible triple-crossing scheme that ends with their whole crew, except Klavier and the blind Togruta bounty hunter Lamiroir, who hired onto their ship a few months prior, dead.

Left stranded, and regretting every choice that has led him to this moment, Klavier almost considers returning to his brother, and politics, but Lamiroir talks him out of it. She reminds him about all the monstrous deeds they’ve seen that the Empire has done, and how ineffective the Senate is. If they want to do something to save the galaxy, it’s got to be done from the front lines.

Apollo separates from the crew of the Cosmos, hoping to find his way back to the Khura’inese exiles and find Dhurke and Nahyuta again. He ends up crash-landing on Dathomir, where the Fey clan find him and rescue him. Trucy latches on to him immediately, eager for news of the galaxy at large, and having hoped for a pilot to find their way to Dathomir to help Trucy leave and go looking for Phoenix again, having sensed that he’s in trouble. Apollo agrees, not wanting to piss off a clan of witches when he’s at their mercy, but once they’re off the planet, Apollo and Trucy quickly find that they were both Jedi once, and bond over that and the fact that they’re both some of the only Togruta they’ve met, having both grown up amidst other species in the time since the Jedi were destroyed.

Their quest to find Phoenix, which has already waylaid Apollo’s quest of finding Dhurke, is further waylaid when they pick up a distress signal and go to the rescue of Klavier and Lamiroir. They end up banding together in opposition to the Empire, which is after them for reasons unknown (it’s Lamiroir; she doesn’t remember she used to be a Jedi), and several crime syndicates who are after Klavier for what Daryan did to screw them over. Klavier still believes the lies about the Jedi, that they were enemies of the Republic, which makes this a bit of a difficult arrangement for Apollo and Trucy. Their weird little crew is finally rounded out when Trucy’s search for Phoenix brings them to Ema, a part-time mechanic, part-time medic, who is very sick of her dull life, which has been dull since she met Phoenix like, over a decade ago, and signs onto the ship without any of them asking her to come with them. (Trucy was gonna ask though.)

They pretty much just careen around the galaxy helping people, fighting criminals and Imperials, and doing crime themselves.

-

Species Breakdown:

Human: Klavier, Kristoph (Naboo), Simon, Aura (Mandalore)

Togruta: Apollo, Trucy, Thalassa

*I decided Apollo’s a Togruta because they’ve got the montrals that could be like Apollo’s hair horns, so now the rest of his family is, too. Maybe Trucy’s only half Togruta? Maybe Zak was human. I’m not sure what concept I like best.

And everyone else again, I don’t know! Suggestions?

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars The Mandalorian: “Redemption”-Review

The Mandalorian closes out its debut season in a finale that is action packed, thrilling, and outrageously fun.

(Review contains spoilers)

Moff Gideon has The Mandalorian and his allies pinned down. The child has been captured by Imperial scouts and is on its way to be delivered to the enemy. Kuiil has already given his life. It will require quick thinking and grit for the newly minted team to make it out of this situation alive. Luckily for them, they have an assassin droid turned nanny on the way to the rescue.

Although season showrunner and writer Jon Favrea maintains a sole writing credit for this finale, director Taika Waititi’s creative stylings could not be more apparent. Known for oddball comedies that lean heavy on improvisation such as What We Do in the Shadows or his massively successful reinvention of the Thor franchise in Thor: Ragnarok, Waititi may originally seem to be an odd choice for such a climactic hour of television. The stakes could not be higher for our cast of characters and while The Mandalorian has never been a particularly dour show, it is easy to worry that some of the tension so desperately laid out in last week’s installment by Deborah Chow would be lost in the process.

Favreau and Waititi prove to be a perfect match though. Waititi’s experience in comedic direction and also blockbuster action proves to be a natural fit for an episode that runs the tonal gamut and features some knockout set pieces and moments of character driven quiet. He proves just the right kind of deft hand to guide The Mandalorian through these big emotional and spectacle moments and in the process it makes “Chapter Eight: Redemption” easily the strongest episode of the series.

Much of what made “Reckoning” stand out was that a larger series ensemble was finally allowed to exist and breathe. We spent so much of the series following a lone Mandalorian, or I guess we can finally start calling him Din Djarin, and his little child fugitive, that there was a fun thrill to seeing him get to be a team player alongside much of the rest of the cast we have built throughout the season. “Redemption” thankfully gets to build upon this even further. Even with poor Kuiil dead from the opening, Greef Carga, Cara Dune, and Din are all working together as a desperate team with their lives and futures on the line. Waititi mines all three actors for some great character interactions and his skill for ensemble comedy shines here as the different personalities get to butt heads but also shine. Much of “Redemption” sees the crew working together to not only save themselves, but one another by thinking their ways out of tense situations. It does come as a disappointment that as we get to the episode’s inevitable conclusion that so much of this new found group is stripped and scattered and we end with a series status quo that is not much different than the one we created back in the third episode of this season. It represents an unfortunate bit of back peddling by Favreau that can’t help but feel like a wasted opportunity for the future.

It is welcome that despite the incredible stakes present in “Redemption,” that Waititi’s humorous sensibilities shine through so clearly. A cold open following the two bored, incompetent, and cruel scout troopers, played by Jason Sudekis and Adam Pally ,that captured Baby Yoda is absolutely bursting with Waititi’s personal brand of comedy and skill for improvisational dialogue. It has more personality and feels more creatively fresh than almost anything else that Star Wars has delivered this year. Within the span of several minutes Waititi and Favreau craft these two troopers as two confused and nasty grunts that are caught up in the schemes of madmen. They oscillate between sympathy and hatred, and there are few moments as satisfying this episode as when IG-11 arrives to brutally dispatch them.

IG-11. Oh boy, IG-11. The herky-jerky assassin droid has been a treat for this series since the start. His appearance in the first episode of the season was pure action packed joy and voiced with dry practicality by Taika Waititi. “Reckoning” introduced a fun wrinkle that saw this droid repurposed for nannying and personal care and “Redemption” finds joyous, bloody fun in the marriage between the two. I challenge any viewer not to be cackling with glee when IG-11 with Baby Yoda strapped to his chest speeders into town laying waste to all in sight. It’s an incredibly fun and joyous moment that Waititi directs with glee and clear affection.

Unexpectedly, IG-11 also becomes key to Din’s own emotional arc for not only this episode but the series. There is so much packed into “Redemption,” but it all carries with it an almost effortless efficiency. Not only does IG-11’s violent rescue of Baby Yoda lead him to save Din and his allies, but it also provides a smart dovetail to Din’s subplot regarding his childhood hatred of droids. When injured, Din is forced to make himself vulnerable to his droid ally in a way that he hasn’t been able to so far. It makes for a quiet moment of character growth that also allows us to finally see Pedro Pascal’s lovely face, even if it is dirtied with sweat and blood. This moment of rescue and intimacy between two adversaries turned allies makes Din’s sadness at IG-11’s eventual sacrifice all the more believable. IG-11’s explosive end is a heartbreaking moment both in that it’s so rough to see Favreau remove such a strong character from play so soon after reinventing him, but also due to just the amount of joyful personality Waititi has injected into him all season long.

It is a little odd that I haven’t really talked much about Din yet. It is after all his show, but given that Pascal’s often wordless physical performance has carried much of this season, it makes sense that the finale allows much of the supporting cast chances to shine as well. This is far from a bad thing and all the same Din gets a rather exciting and emotional close to his season long arc heading into the future. The mysterious armorer returns to not only finally grant Din his signet, but to also offer him a goal for the future. Just as Din was saved as a child by some roving Mandalorians (who were apparently aligned with Death Watch terrorists which is something that I hope we really breakdown in the future) Baby Yoda is also a child that is lost and is now in the care of their culture. For all intents and purposes Baby Yoda is a foundling and his future is in the hands of Din. Whether he returns the baby to his people, whether they be other “Yodas” or the ancient Mandalorian Jedi rivals, or even raises the baby to be his own child, the two now form a clan of two, which functions as both a fulfilling close to Din’s seasonal arc, but also a fun status quo for the future.

Speaking of the future, Giancarlo Espositio’s Moff Gideon is very clearly positioned as the series’ big bad, at least for the moment. Espositio plays Gideon with a mysterious gravitas that is threatening and intriguing, but so much of the character still remains an enigma. Who this man is and how he knows so much about our heroes is just as much a question as why he wants our little green child to begin with. Oh, and he also happens to be holding the ancestral weapon of the Mandalorian people, the Darksaber. It’s one hell of a final shot for fans of the television side of the Star Wars universe, and it’s frankly surprising that this one of kind lightsaber not only looks so good in live action but makes the leap out of animation at all. No wonder its wookieepedia page has been trending for days now.

“Redemption” closes the book on what has been an uneven, but ultimately fun season of television and does so by delivering an hour of television that is joyous, moving, bursting with spectacle, and just flat out fun. The Mandalorian may not ever be shooting to be prestige television and will doubtfully ever get as strange and contemplative as The Clone Wars or Rebels were at their heights, but Jon Favreau has crafted a new corner of the Star Wars universe that is begging to be returned to. (Thankfully we have less than a year to do so!) It also introduced us to a smattering of new creative voices that bring something exciting to the franchise. Waititi and Chow in particular are clear standouts and should be brought back to the galaxy far, far away pronto.

Score: A