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stormkobra-5 · 3 years ago

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The Heir of Djarin

Episode 2: The Heir of Djarin

Summary: The Girl Misplaced has been on Yëa for three years training under Din Djarin. Now she’s ready to receive an inheritance wholly unexpected and earn her title as a Mandalorian, but her path, to Din’s disappointment (though maybe relief), does not lead to the path of a bounty hunter, but of something entirely different.

A/N: What’s this what’s this? Bo-Katan? It’s not what you think.

Notes: None

Warnings: This story is rated 14+ for canon-typical violence, action, and language. The main character is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the sake of the plot, so there is mention of distrust, social anxiety, self-doubt, and emotional damage. Later chapters may involve mature themes for drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and clubs that imply adult entertainment (the main characters do not take part). Nothing explicit in any chapters.

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Din grabs me by the back of the neck, takes a step, and flips me clean over him. I land on my back with a grunt, the breath whooshing out of my lungs. Din patiently waits for me to catch my breath. “Your timing is good, but your execution is weak. You have to put more of an effort into shifting my weight.” “Yeah. Sure. Because you’re not wearing twenty-three hundred pounds of pure beskar.” I’m wheezing as I move onto my elbows. “Where the hell did you learn to fight, again?” “The--” “The Children of the Watch, the Fighting Corps, yes Dad, I’ve heard the stories.” Even after three years, it still feels odd to start calling Din-- who has, essentially, been my father, everything a father should have been that I missed out on-- Dad. It happened on accident, honestly. We’d been practicing stealth. He’d been rattling off things for me to remember for like fifteen minutes straight, and I finally just burst out, “Yes Dad, I know.” Ever since it just kind of... stuck. At first it was horrible. I shut down for like a week until I came out of my shell, and I stuck with calling him Dad. It felt good. I’d never had a father. I’d never been able to say Dad with any real warmth to anyone until about a year ago. Din didn’t mind at all. In fact, if anything, he acted more Dad-like than ever. Din reaches down and grabs my outstretched hand, pulling me to my feet. He watches me for a second, then takes the standard number of steps back. From a nearby boulder, Grogu happily gobbles up some frogs I’d caught earlier, watching my training eagerly. For the last three years, Din has diligently taught me all he knows-- not only to become a Mandalorian, but so that I’m not lost in this world. I’m now fluent in Mando’a of all forms, I can read and write Aurebesh, and have somehow managed to understand the Galactic Standard Calendar. He’s taught me history and given me maps of quadrants and Rims and territories. He’s given me books on races, creatures, and cultures of different worlds. He’s taught me the Mandalorian Creed and Resol’nare, the Six Actions, making me memorize them until I could recite them without thinking. He’s taught me how to fly both ships he owns-- a refurbished silver Naboo starfighter, and the legendary Boba Fett’s Slave I. I fare much easier in the Slave, surprisingly enough. Somehow, Din has had connections to two of the most important Mandalorians: Lady Bo-Katan Kryze and Boba Fett, who, without heirs, trusted all of his belongings to Din, with whom he had worked with on occasion. Even that pales in comparison to the object he holds secret: he once took me to a little lean-to concealed in the woods which held a lightsaber hilt. I remember my awe at seeing the Darksaber, that burst of electric sound and hum of energy as the blade came to life. The glow of ultra-black with a sheen of white, and how Din was surprised when my swings were perfectly balanced. I was, too. Since, I haven’t seen the Darksaber, and I’ve never asked to. I’ll see it again when I’m ready for... whatever it is that I need to be ready for to see it again. However badly I want to wield it. My blasters feel clunky and useless in my hands, though my aim is nothing short of a sharpshooter’s now-- although I do like the sound my twin WESTAR-34 pistols make, I much prefer the way the Darksaber felt. Light, balanced, an extension of my arm, the way it seemed to mold with my hand even when my instinct was to default to a reverse grip. Nevertheless, Din has taught me all forms of combat. Hand-to-hand, blaster, projectile, rifle, blade; not to mention the physical aspect. After three years of working hard, I’m fit, healthy, fast, and agile. I can run halfway up the trunk of a tree, flip, and come back around in a punch. I think Din’s jealous, but he’d never admit it. On top of all that, somehow he managed to teach me how to hunt both prey and bounties. How to track and forage and survive with nothing but the clothes on my back and my surroundings. He helped me tune my senses to always be alert and observant. I’m a much different girl from the one that landed here what feels like an eternity ago. And now I’ve noticed that Din has paused. He hasn’t attacked me yet. I drop out of the fighting stance, knowing him well enough to see that something’s distracting him. “What is it?” “...I have... nothing left to teach you,” He admits softly, almost regrettably. He heaves a sigh. “Your birthday’s tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’ll get your inheritance. You’ll be able to go off into the galaxy and start your own life.” I smile, coming over to throw an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll come visit, Dad. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.” “I know. But the life of a bounty hunter is dangerous. The guilds are tough. Working your way up can be difficult. Maybe, since you’re a Mandalorian, you’ll have an easier go of it, but... What?” He’s noticed that I’ve stepped back, wringing my hands and avoiding his gaze. “I... I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.” “Oh?” “Yeah.” I take a deep breath. No sense in putting it off. “...I don’t want to be a bounty hunter.” His silence makes me nervous. “I-I mean... I want to be a doctor. I want to heal people. Help them.” I don’t want him to think he’s spent these years training me for nothing. Besides, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. I can practically feel Din frowning. “You know that the First Order wants Mandalorians dead, right? Not even bounty hunting is safe, but it gets their dirtiest jobs done so they let them go. But living out in the open is a death sentence. There will be nowhere in the galaxy that a Mandalorian will be able to be a doctor, nowhere but the Resistance.” When he sees my face, he gets it. “Oh.” “I want to join the fight. From the sidelines, as a doctor, but I’ll fight if I have to. I can fly a ship pretty good, even in a dogfight-- I can beat you any day, old man.” “Hey--” “I want to help free the galaxy, Dad,” I add, a little plaintively. Din sighs, watching me for several moments, before nodding. “This is your path, then.” He crosses his arms. “Go pack your things. At first light tomorrow, we leave for Takodana.” Curiosity pricks at me. “Isn’t that where Maz lives?” I haven’t seen her since she told me I could never go back to Earth, but I know the name of her favorite planet well enough. “She’s the only one who knows where General Organa is. In order to get into the Resistance, you’ll need the general’s permission.” My face breaks into a wide, beaming smile. “So you’re coming with me, then?” “To Takodana,” Din specifies, “No further. I’m too old to join a Resistance.” He walks over to scoop up Grogu, who laughs at suddenly being lifted off of his boulder. “Put your things on the Slave, by the way. I’ll take the Naboo fighter.” My grin grows, if possible. I love flying the Slave. It’s a highly maneuverable craft that seems to know my every thought before I can actually perform the move. It moves with me, rather than me moving the ship. It’s no wonder that Boba Fett, and before him his father Jango Fett, loved it so much. I nod and race off. Our hut has changed locations, after a monsoon flooded us out and into the shelter of a nearby pine on a ridge-- now I have my own room. My own little closet and drawer and cot. It’s only big enough for the cot, really, but it has a door so I can change privately. And it’s absolutely covered in art. I made the paints from scratch, and I use a paintbrush made of a stick and rabbit hair. In yellows, blues, purples, and greens are various depictions of flowers, animals, and even one picture I worked on for weeks of our little family here. I usually pause to figure out where I can add more, but I’m starting to feel like Rapunzel (long hair included), except I’m free whereas she’s trapped. No more chains. I only wish the rest of my family had been sent here with me. I try to only think of happy memories with them, not the fact that we’ve been separated over so vast a distance. It’s painful, but I’ve come to accept it. Hanging on my neck always is the bear claw. I launch myself into my room and yank my knapsack out from under my bed, butterflies in my stomach. It’s happening! A doctor in the Resistance! A Mandalorian! I’ll get to see space! Even in three years, Din has never let me fly the Slave or the Naboo fighter anywhere farther than the edge of the atmosphere, where black domes overhead instead of blue, but I can’t see much from there. Flying in space, amongst the stars, without barriers, I’ll be completely, absolutely free. Of everything, in any space and time. I pack only what I need-- a couple changes of clothes, which is really all I have. Although, I do make it a point to carefully wrap and stuff into the pack a gift from Grogu: a rock he painted especially for me. I’ve long finished by the time Din and Grogu arrive. I beam at them. “Hey guys! Long time no see!” Grogu reaches for me and Din passes him on. I set the little guy on my lap, bouncing him up and down. He giggles, fiddling with a little tarnished silver knob apparently from the first ship he was on with Din, the fabled Razor Crest. Din carries something under his arm, a very large burlap sack. Inside, I hear the telltale clank of beskar-against-beskar, and I go alert. “...What’s that?” Din sits down before he answers me. “Besides my own, I have two other sets of armor. One had belonged to Boba Fett. He came to me to deliver it personally in his final days, and told me to pass it on to a foundling, if I could find one. Grogu’s safety, however, came first, and I found myself remaining on Yëa for his sake. The other set, however...” He places a hand on the sack beside him. My heart is pounding with excitement. “It was given to me by Maz. The fate of its owner remains unknown to me. But it will suit you, in fact, is all but meant for you.” He opens the sack, reaching in carefully. With both hands, he extracts a helmet. Smaller than his, clearly made for a female, sharp-angled. Its cross-shaped visor is more triangular, with diamond eyes and a sharp staff running down the length of the face. A rangefinder sticks up from the earguard on the right side. It’s old-- very old. Its paint has been scratched and worn away to reveal the beskar beneath, but the white and pastel blue can still be seen, as can the eyes and beak of an owl on the forehead. Gently, I reach for it, fingers grazing the helmet. “This armor belonged to Bo-Katan Kryze.” My head snaps up to meet where I believe his eyes are in astonishment. “Bo-Katan...” He’d told me stories of Bo-Katan, the last of Clan Kryze, heir the the duchy of Mandalore. If she had had the Darksaber, she would have become the duchess of Mandalore and begun to rebuild, but her fate led her elsewhere before she could wrest it from Din in combat. He knew very little of her otherwise, so her story was mysterious and full of holes for both of us. But to have her armor... “You, Laylah, will become my heir,” Din continues, “And when the time comes, I will pass unto you the Darksaber. You will rebuild Mandalore to all it once was one day, as she wanted to.” Din had talked about me restoring our ancestral home so many times, I honestly had accepted it long ago as a part of my destiny. Rebuilding on the cursed planet of glass can either be good, to cleanse it, or I can find a new world for our people. But in either case, the First Order has to go. I can help with that. “So therefore, I think it’s only fitting that you be given her armor to carry on her legacy as well as mine.” I balk, just now understanding. The meaning behind giving me Bo-Katan’s armor is immense, and the gesture itself has me feeling breathless. “...You’re giving me her armor?” My voice is hardly a whisper. “It’s what she would have wanted,” Din answers, “You may have been born in a time and place far from here, but you are more a Mandalorian than many who have the blood in their veins. You’ve proven this by your dedication to learning the Way, and now you’re on the path to restore Mandalore. Therefore, I gift her legacy to you-- you are to repaint it, call it your own, but with it always remember those who came before you.” My hands are shaking as he offers me the helmet. The only armor besides Din’s that I’ve seen is Boba’s, but then it was from a distance as he checked on its integrity and I didn’t dare ask to touch it. It wasn’t my place. But now... this armor... With an unsteady grasp I take the helmet of Bo-Katan. “Before you put it on,” Din says, taking one of my hands in his, “There’s something else: before we leave Yëa, you need to be formally accepted. There are no ceremonies or traditions here, no gai bal manda, not in this place, but my word enough will make you into a Mandalorian.” I suck in a sharp intake of breath. Oh hell. It’s happening. Right here, on this couch made of wicker and wood, I’m about to become an official Mandalorian. A part of their Way, their people. I’ll no longer be Laylah Evergreen, The Girl Misplaced. I’ll have a real identity in this world. “Are you ready?” I nod, and we stand together. “Laylah Evergreen of Earth, are you ready to swear yourself to the Creed?” I’m trembling all over, and it’s difficult to keep a smile under control. “I am.” I force my voice to remain unwavering. “Firstly, your armor is an inheritance. Do you swear by your life to honor those whom bore it before you?” “I swear it.” “Do you swear by your life to uphold the virtues of strength, honor, loyalty, and death?” “I swear it.” “Do you swear to protect the innocent, to lead with courage, and to answer the call of any Mandalorian?” “I swear it.” “And lastly, do you swear to uphold the honor and dignity of Clan Djarin?” “I do.” Din nods, letting out a breath of something like relief. “Then in the name of the Mand’alore, I rename you Laylah Vhaene-Besu of Clan Djarin. Vhaene was the name of my mentor, Besu the name of my mother. I know that you will carry these names well. Your last name, Evergreen, must now be forgotten, for you are now my heir and daughter, a Mandalorian. You are not who you were before.” I can’t stop the beaming grin, or the tears. I think maybe Din might be smiling underneath of his helmet, based on the grip of his hand. He gestures to the helmet. Without hesitation, I lift it up and pull it onto my head. The fit is perfect. It’s as if the inside of the helmet has been molded to my skull. Visibility through the visor is limited, but after a moment, a system powers up. It’s like Iron Man’s helmet in here, like a VR set. I can see all around as if I weren’t wearing the helmet, and on the left side, in my peripheral, is a panel of atmospheric conditions, an ammo count, flamethrower fuel gauge; on the right are my own vitals. I smile, though I know Din can’t see it. “Welcome to the Creed, Laylah Vhane-Besu Djarin. You’re one of us now.” He nods slowly. “This is the Way.” “This is the Way,” I answer. Din sits down, and I follow suit. My knees feel ready to give out from the surreal event. That’s it. I’m a Mandalorian. Grogu toddles up to sit on my lap, babbling happily away. “Well, Laylah,” Says Din, “I’d get to work painting that. Beskar is special-- any paint will stick to it. That armor needs to have your special touch to it before we leave tomorrow, and we need to fix your leathers.” I lean over and give him a hug. Our helmets clack together. “Thank you, Dad.” “You don’t have to thank me.” He waves me off after a second. “Now, hurry up. Fixing up your suit is going to take all night.”

- - -

He was right, of course; he always is. It take me several hours to paint the beskar, because I intentionally leave scenes of wear, scrapes, dents, and scratches alone. When Din asked why, I’d told him, “Because Bo-Katan worked for these. I’m not going to erase them.” He’d nodded with approval and let me carry on. Ever since I’d decided to become a Mandalorian, I’ve been dreaming a color scheme for my armor. Jango’s was blue and white. Boba’s was green and rust-orange. Bo-Katan’s was pastel blue and white. Din’s is pure silver, but his black and brown leathers made up for the lack of paint. I choose ultraviolet. A sheer indigo-purple, accented by black on the helmet and breastplate, and shiny, soft black-dyed leather straps that Din had been making for me ever since he saw me sketching ideas for how I wanted the color scheme to go-- I’d had no idea until now. Bo-Katan’s old jumpsuit-- a singular, one-size-fits all, black outfit that fit like a nice pair of leggings-- fits me well. Din takes my measurements and we spend the next several hours making me a shirt and pants of matte black leather. We switch out and adjust the buckles to the plates of beskar. By the time mid-morning hits of the next day, my suit is finally finished. Din and Grogu patiently wait while I put on the jumpsuit, the leathers, and then spend a good hour strapping on all of the beskar plates. I slip on the gloves, the soft leather boots, the tattered, one-shouldered black cape that was once Din’s and tying it securely beneath my pauldron. I put on the twin-holster belt, the vambraces, one with a flamethrower and one with whistling birds. The numerous knives. The rifle, a different kind from Din’s, goes over my shoulder and across my back. When I’m finished putting on the body armor, I’m covered from head to toe. Even my neck is guarded by the turtleneck of the bodysuit and then a leather collar. Despite this, it’s breathable. It’s lightweight and maneuverable. I could kick ass in this without breaking a sweat. Before even thinking of putting on the helmet, I tie a piece of green plaid (all that’s left of the shirt I had on when I first arrived here) around my head to keep stray strands from falling into my eyes. I rebraid my hair into its traditional rope, which stretches all the way down to my knees. I pull it up, and tightly wrap it around my head, behind the makeshift headband, and am able to circle my head almost three full times. I secure it well, then pick up the freshly-painted helmet of Bo-Katan. My helmet. I’m adding my legacy to hers, and I wonder what she would think, if Din is right that she would want this and even be proud of it. I wonder. I flip the helmet around, and put it on for only the second time in my life, but now with the complete set of beskar. I didn’t completely feel it when Din had named me his heir and daughter last night, but now, as I turn to look in the mirror, I realize it fully. Of course, it’s not a real mirror. It’s a piece of scrap metal polished to serve as one. But what I see makes me stand still with shock, and I unashamedly stare at myself for several minutes in awe. Laylah Evergreen is gone, replaced by Vhaene-Besu Djarin. Dead? No, not entirely, for I still carry her first name. But standing before me isn’t the loser teenager from Earth, but a Mandalorian woman with two legacies to live up to and a grand fate of restoring a world on her shoulders. I have to sit down. It hits me. What would they think? My family, if they saw me now, what would they do? I’d gone far beyond my hopeful-hobby of one-day cosplaying. I’m supposed to do something very important. I’m joining in the fight to free a whole galaxy. I wonder what they would think, and then I take a deep breath. I put the mirror back on my bedside table and exit my room. Din jumps to his feet when he hears me coming, whirling around to face me. In his arms is Grogu, who openly awes with wide eyes and an o mouth. Both are speechless; without saying a word, I incline my head, as I see Din do so often. He lets out a breath he must have been holding. “You’re as much a Mandalorian as one born and bred on Mandalore itself. It’s in your heart, if not your blood, and heart oftentimes matters more.” The praise has me beaming. “Thanks, Dad.” He hoists up Grogu. “You ready to go, kids? Maz is expecting us.” Grogu chirps excitedly, and I snatch my pack. We leave our little hut and follow the path through the woods that leads to the meadow where the ships are. Din’s is closer to where the path meets the meadow. Smaller, faster, capable of lightspeed and certainly maneuverable, his Naboo starfighter is a relic, specially commissioned by the Queen of Naboo herself. They aren’t built like this anymore, and it’s old enough to be off the radar. The Slave is bigger, bulkier, but a more satisfying ride. The turrets are louder and more powerful. The whole ship can fly in any direction from any direction. Its faded paint job of green-and-burnt-ochre reveals its silver paneling beneath, and the transparisteel is clouded at the edges with age, but it’s still a beauty and perfectly capable of putting up one hell of a fight. Even if I do sometimes have to kick the underside of the cockpit to jostle the wiring a bit. “Alright. Head to your ship, and follow my lead. You’ll be exiting the atmosphere and engaging lightspeed for the first time, so you’ll need to do exactly as I say.” I’ve stopped short to stare at him. It’s never been my ship. It’s been the ship. The Slave. Never my ship. He turns, almost smug. “Didn’t I mention that? The Slave is part of your inheritance. Boba wouldn’t want it sitting here uselessly, collecting rust and dust. Even a Resistance doctor will need a ship, I’m sure, and if necessary you’d be one hell of a wingman.” I’m running to him before he’s even finished his sentence, throwing my arms around him. I’m still not used to his kindness, to the fatherly gestures and caring. A part of me still expects him to abandon me, like everyone else. But something-- the very same something that compelled me to move Grogu’s cradle the night a branch came flying through the window because of a windstorm, that made me warn Din about flooding days before our hut was nearly washed away, that made me switch trajectories last-minute and avoid getting an engine-full of birds-- lets me know that he never will. That he does care for me, maybe even love me, and I know that I would do anything for him or Grogu in a heartbeat. I’m glad for the mask, because he can’t see my tears. But he might hear them in my voice. “Thank you, Dad.” “You don’t need to thank me,” It’s what he always says, but his voice is full of warmth. “This is all yours. Except for the jetpack. You can’t have that until I’ve trained you for it.” I feign disappointment, sagging over dramatically. “Aw.” Din chuckles, then gives me a shove. “Get to your ship, Mando.” “Do I have to change the paint job on the Slave?” “No. Why?” “Boba worked hard to paint that, and even if he didn’t do it himself, then he probably paid for it. Painting a ship that big has to be a pain in the ass. I wouldn’t want to erase his hard work.” I feel like Din smiles. “...And you probably wouldn’t want to spend the next few weeks breaking your back painting a ship instead of hurrying up to join the Resistance, would you?” Huh. That honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind. “...Huh. Well, now that you mention it, no I would not.” Din chuckles. “Alright then. Get to your ship. And remember, follow my lead.” “Yessir!” I slur, and bolt for the ramp of the Slave. For the ramp of my ship. I secure my bag and close the ramp, ensuring that it’s airtight and that life support is activated, before going to the cockpit. It sits kind of like a space shuttle cockpit. I have to lay down on my back, strap myself in, and I’m only right-side-up in flight-- not that it matters in dogfights. I power up the Slave, relishing the purr of the engine whirring to life. The lights flicker on the cockpit-- I deliver a swift kick to the panel’s underside and they blink to full brightness. I flip on the comlink. “Any chance we might be able to pick up a calibrator in Takodana?” “Finding parts for the Slave will be difficult. We’ll have to either pay for custom-made, scour the junkyards, or upgrade the whole control panel.” “Yeah, but, say the upgrade doesn’t match the aesthetic...” Din laughs lightly. “I’m sure we could request that it not be changed. It will be extremely expensive, though, and tough to find somebody willing to work on an unregistered ship. That’s illegal in most parts these days. Guess you’ll have to keep kicking it.” “Noted.” I see a flash of silver, and over the comlinks I hear Grogu squeal happily as the starfighter picks up speed. “I’m away. Your turn.” I grin, gripping the control throttle. Suddenly the buttons and gauges disappear, and the ship and I are just one. Sometimes I feel like the ghost of Boba Fett inhabits this thing, and it makes me feel comforted, like I’ve got a very special co-pilot. My rangefinder comes down, enhancing the specs. Everything looks good so far, so I lift the ship up until its vertical. I see the glint of Din’s starfighter nearby, and pull away from the forest floor to follow. “Up and away. Now what?” “This is your first time exiting an atmosphere. You have life support engaged? Inertial dampeners?” “Yep.” “Then you’re set, kid. Just follow me in a steep ascent.” After the initial trembles of an old ship taking flight, the Slave levels to a calming hum of power and energy. I absolutely dwarf Din’s starfighter as I come into position behind him and off to his right a bit. “Lookin’ a little smaller than I remember, Dad.” “Very funny. Do you have your rangefinder down?” “Affirmative.” We’ve reached it: the edge of space. The final frontier I’m about to brave for the first time. Butterflies and adrenaline have replaced all of my internal systems, and I feel light as a feather. “Just a question, anybody spontaneously get ripped to shreds when entering lightspeed?” Din’s silent for a second. “Dank farrik, Laylah, you have to say that? Thanks for the unnecessary worry.” “Sorry.” I wince. Even now, I don’t like it when I frustrate him. “Guess I should just shut up and do what you say, right?” “Yes. You should. Alright, ready? Just pull up with me. We’re just gonna glide into space.” “Got it, Silver Leader.” “No codenames.” “Got it, Dad,” I correct, stifling a laugh. Din’s starfighter pulls up. I start to pull back on the throttle. Without even quite realizing it, we’ve left the atmosphere and are now in the blackness of space. The Slave hovers stationary for a second as I take it all in. The endless velvet of the universe stretches out before us. Countless stars, splattered like rain, twinkle and light even the farthest distances. Vast clouds of pink, orange, and umber are spread across the expanse. So full of such wonders, it’s a miracle that life can’t just be here, a crime that no one would ever see its full glory and wonders. My hands itch to pick up a brush and paint the scene before me. Instinctively, I reach for the glass, letting out a breath I didn’t know that I’d held. “It’s beautiful...” “That it is. This is only a part of what you’ll be fighting for, kid. See all those stars? Every one of them has a planet where people exist in fear of the First Order. All of their hope rides on the Resistance. Their lives will also be placed in your hands when you join.” He pauses, then, “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” I hesitate. Suddenly it all seems like to much. A part of me wants to turn around and exist peacefully with my father and baby alien-Gizmo brother for the rest of my life and wait for the Resistance and the First Order to battle it out. But the other part squashes that one flat. Mandalore will never be free while the First Order reigns. Will I tell my people that I ate demon-rabbits from hell instead of fighting for them? An easy path is not always the right path. And it sure as hell isn’t mine. There’s something pulling me, calling me, and I swallow my fears. To Din, I say, with enough conviction and determination to convince myself, “Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule. Loyalty is life, for without one’s clan one has no purpose. Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead. Death is life, one should die as they have lived. “Mandalore will not be rebuilt by hands that sat idle instead of fighting for their freedom. They deserve a leader with strength and honor. I will not betray my loyalty to our people by ignoring their struggles. I will not die without having lived a life that my legacy and inheritance would be proud of. I am a Mandalorian: This is the Way. This is my way.” For several seconds, Din is silent on the other end. Then I hear him chuckle, and I smile. “Spoken like a true Mandalorian.” His starfighter swerves a little closer. “Maz calls you The Girl Misplaced. I think, maybe, that it doesn’t mean what you think.” My beaming grin hurts my cheeks. Maybe he’s right-- I’ve fared much better in this strange world than I ever did Earth. Maybe I was meant to be here, but was born on Earth and later, the universe fixed its mistake. “I’m proud of you, Laylah. I just want you to know that.” I’m crying again. I can’t say anything in response. The person that was my biological father only called me names and hurt me. Never once did he say that he was proud. “...I’m glad you’re my father, Din Djarin. You’re more than I ever wanted.” I hear Din chuckle. To me, from here, it looks like he’s reaching under his helmet to wipe at his face. “You crying?” “Mandalorians don’t cry.” The laughter is clear in his voice, and it spreads to me. “Au contrare, my shiny friend,” I laugh, “For I, myself, am crying at this very moment. What about you, Grogu? You crying?” I hear him babble a bit, and Din chuckles. “We’d better get going. Maz is expecting us in a standard hour, and the lightspeed journey is about half that.” “So what now?” “See the lightspeed button?” “The one you told me that I was not to push under any circumstances unless you told me to? Go on.” “Well, now I’m telling you to. Punch it!” Just like that, Din’s starfighter is sucked into the interplanetary portal of lightspeed, gone before I can blink. My coordinates are already locked on Takodana, and I do what Din said to eagerly. “Alright baby, let’s see what you’ve got!” For the first time in my life, I hit the lightspeed button. The Slave shudders, lurches, and then the pinprick lighting of the stars begins to scream past as a blue-white blur. I feel my stomach drop and I let out a whoop of adrenaline. “YEAH! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” The Slave hurtles through lightspeed, and I barely have to touch the controls as it brings me closer and closer to the source of that incessant pull.

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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From Pop! to Tabletop: The Best Funko Finds

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This article is presented by Funko Europe.

FunkoEurope.com is the home for Funko for fans across Europe

Everyone is a fan of something and Funko has something for everyone!

From exclusives, to hidden gems and brand new products, FunkoEurope.com has it all!

With a huge range of products from collectibles, to games, to toys, to advent calendars, to soft toys and even fashion accessories, FunkoEurope.com is the ultimate shopping destination for pop culture fans!

Visit FunkoEurope.com now and add to your collection today!

Ever since Funko popped onto the scene in 1998, the collectible company has gradually dominated bookshelves, desks, workspaces, and almost any surface their vinyl figures can fit. In addition to a uniquely distinctive look, and an accessible price point, the best part about the immensely popular Funko Pop! Vinyl figures in particular is that there is something for fans of nearly every pop culture franchise out there

Immediately recognisable due to the unique styling, the vinyl figures have permeated mainstream — and made collectors out of people who may not have previously ever purchased a premium collectible like an action figure or replica. But Funko is also more than just the vinyl Pop!’s. The company likewise sells clothing, as well as licensed board games, card games, toys, other collectible forms and premium fashion accessories brand, Loungefly.

So take a look ahead at some of the tastiest Funko collectibles you might want to Pop!ulate your home with.

Funko Pop! Vinyl: Star Wars: The Mandalorian: The Mandalorian Flying With Jet Pack Figure

Din Djarin is a Mando on a mission, and Grogu is along for the ride. Capturing the Season 2 moment where our hero zips to the top of the Jedi Temple on Tython, this flying Funko Pop! captures all the things we love about the Disney+ show: A stoic Mandalorian, a smiling The Child, and jet packs. This is the way to a cool collectible.

Buy the Funko Pop! Vinyl Mandalorian Flying w/ Jet Pack here

Funko Pop! Vinyl: Back To The Future Part II: Marty In Jacket Figure

To save his future-son from Griff’s youth gang in 2015, Marty McFly has to look the role in Back to the Future Part II. This baggy jacket may not look like much, but the auto-adjusting fit will help Marty pose as Junior (although the uni-size form fit on his left sleeve is broken). This Funko Pop! comes straight from the scene before our hero learns an unfortunate lesson about Hoverboards and water — which is better than learning the hard way about the jacket’s potential for asphyxiation.

Buy the Funko Pop! Vinyl Marty in Jacket here

Pop! And Tee: Star Wars – The Mandalorian (Death Watch)

The Death Watch clan have, let’s say, a complicated, role when it comes to clashes about the future of Mandalorian society. But these keepers of the old faith of Mandalore did show up just in time to save foundling Din Djarin from Separatist forces. That alone is a pretty good reason to immortalize these warriors from The Clone Wars and The Mandalorian with a collectible combo featuring both a tee and vinyl figure. Jet pack not included.

Buy the Funko Pop! Death Watch vinyl figure and tee combo here

Funko Pop! Ride: Masters Of The Universe: Skeletor On Panthor (Flocked) Vinyl Figure

Tin-tongued dolts, metal-munching morons, flea-bitten furbrains, pathetic pitiful pinheads: Skeletor is surrounded by bumbling idiots and nincompoop employees. And then there is Panthor, his purple panther who doesn’t speak, but is the most loyal giant cat a villain on Eternia could ask for. And unlike Battle Cat, he doesn’t even need armor. This Funko Pop! Ride with a “flocked” fur Panthor brings these best baddy buddies to life.

Buy the Funko Pop! Ride Skeletor on Panthor vinyl figure here

Funko Pop! Vinyl: HALO: Master Chief With MA40 Assault Rifle In Hydro Deco Figure

When it comes to being the star of one of the best video game franchises of all time, Master Chief has earned the right to dress a little snazzy. And “snazzy” explains the United Nations Space Command hero’s duds in this Hydro Deco outfit. But Master Chief still means business with his MA40 assault rifle because a killer look is not enough to defeat The Covenant.

Buy the Funko Pop! Master Chief in Hydro Deco vinyl figure here

Funko Pop! Vinyl: WWE: Hulk Hogan Vinyl Figure

Hulkamaniacs know the power of 24-inch pythons can bring anyone down to size, and this Hulk Hogan Pop! does it quite literally. As the vinyl Hulkster tears off his shirt, you can almost hear the WWE icon say, “Brother,” encouraging you to get back to work.

Buy the Funko Pop! Hulk Hogan vinyl figure here

Funko Pop! Vinyl: Marvel Comics: Spider Armor MKIII Figure

Tony Stark is known for his nice suits, but Peter Parker is no slouch when it comes to having a collection of souped-up threads, or armor in this case. Designed for battling the Sinister Six within the Amazing Spider-Man comics, ol’ webhead’s armor is designed by Pete, and features customized weapons and defense mechanisms tailored to individual foes. It also looks pretty sweet, and Spidey only breaks it out for special occasions.

Buy the Funko Pop! Spider Armor MKIII vinyl figure here

Funko Pop! Vinyl: Marvel Studios WandaVision: Halloween Vision Figure

In the world of WandaVision on Disney+, a resurrected (or zombie?) Vision has to disguise his true form to hang out with his Westview neighbors, but when Halloween rolls around, he can just appear as himself — sorta. This Funko Pop! Vinyl figure taps into the buzzed-about series by showing Viz dressed in his comic-book costume for trick-r-treating. He looks a little concerned, but maybe he just wants some bubblegum for his cute jack-o-lantern bucket.

Buy the Funko Pop! WandaVision Halloween Vision vinyl figure here

Funko Games: Back To The Future: Back In Time

Funko Europe Exclusive

Great Scott! It is back to Hill Valley, 1955, in the BTTF-based game where up-to four time traveling players take on the characters of Marty, Doc Brown, Jennifer, and Einstein (using a DeLorean game piece), and must ensure George McFly and Lorraine Baines fall in love. Of course, even if they avoid Biff and his gang, players still need to cooperate to make it back to the clock tower on time to travel—say it with me—back to the future! And if they fail, the entire McFly family will fade from existence, which sounds pretty heavy.

Buy the Funko Games Back to the Future: Back in Time game here

Loungefly: Star Wars: The Mandalorian: The Child Cradle Mini Backpack

“Wherever I go, he goes,” and you can also go wherever with The Child in this Loungefly mini-backpack from The Mandalorian. The premium faux-leather pack is a fashionable piece inspired by Grogu’s floating cradle. And the little guy himself has got your back by looking out from behind with a cute little face and bright, wide eyes. Because he is always in the mood for a snack, the zipper is connected to a bite-sized frog attachment. Of course the pack carries stuff on the inside—and is lined with stylized Grogu illustrations and Aurebesh script—because bounty hunting is a complicated profession, but hauling your beskar ingots shouldn’t be.

Buy The Mandalorian “The Child” mini backpack from Loungefly here

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