#then again with the glassing of mandalore

[quarra]

And please, can they fucking LIVE at the end?? I am SO TIRED of star wars canon building up awesome, cool, GOOD people and then murdering 99% of them for the sake of making yet another Rebellion story.

So that was fun, now I want stories about actual Jedi instead of characters who leave and/or betray the Jedi.

Give me Kit Fisto during Nahdar Vebb's Padawan years.

Agen Kolar and Eeth Koth go on an adventure together.

Shaak Ti connecting with the clones on Kamino.

Luminara Unduli and Barriss Offee.

Yoda as a youngling.

Plo Koon as a Padawan.

Quinlan Vos getting into shenanigans at literally any point in his life.

Depa Billaba and Mace Windu.

Stass Allie learning Force healing so we can get a firmer worldbuilding answer on what that even is.

Really dip into the deep deep well that is the Jedi and explore characters that could use some actual exploring and show us everyday Jedi life for once.

[stairset]

Maybe it's just because of where I live, but the whole "Satine didn't like that her people were a bunch of warmongering imperialist assholes and told them to knock it off and implemented gun control and made the Jedi Torture Boxes illegal so that her people could rebuild and move on from their violent history of civil wars that reduced their planet into a nearly uninhabitable wasteland in favor of focusing on more productive things like art and education and this is literally cultural genocide and she's erasing history and she should've been a villain blah blah blah" take has always been so weird to me. Like I have absolutely seen people say things like that in real life all the time and about 90% of them have confederate flags on the back of their pickup trucks so. Yeah.

[sweetercalypso]

Pearl Rosary || Din Djarin

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Priest of Mandalore!Din Djarin listens to your sins during confession

Notes: part three in my week of horror series! minors dni; public(ish) sex, finger sucking, deepthroating, cock worship, facial, reader is a Mandalorian who takes her helmet off, so much religious imagery

In the Cathedral of Mandalore, there’s only just enough light to make out the back of the wooden pew in front of you. The doors and windows are adorned with an ornate red glass that wash the chapel in a somber crimson gloom, a reminder that only those dedicated to their creedal faith are permitted inside.

The nave is silent beyond the occasional clink of beskar and the solemn bells ringing overhead in hourly intervals. You’d counted three resounding chimes, then four, then five, as the day stretches on outside the walls of the chapel.

In your tightly coiled spiral of pensive rumination, time seems to stand still.

Your eyes snap up as another Mandalorian passes by your aisle in their departure from the confessional. The small curtained booth at the front of the church has a strangely foreboding presence, and you’d been working up the courage to step inside all day.

The front doors close, and you’re left with your guilt once again.

If you admit to the thoughts weighing on your conscience, maybe you’ll have the chance to repent. Or, if the pit of dread in your stomach is any prediction, you’ll be cast out for your inclination towards a life of sin.

Before you can work up the nerve to decide whether to gamble your fate, the head of the church, Din Djarin, steps out of the other side of the confessional, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiff ache of being confined in his narrow compartment.

His armor has grown dull with age and wear, buffed with a flat luster that speaks of its obstinate strength.

Others have said that his appearance makes him seem ordinary, but you’ve always thought that his mannerisms were what set him apart. His imposing stance, his commanding way of speaking, the way his head tilts when he’s deep in thought – he’s beautiful if you know where to look.

When he turns in your direction, your breath catches in your throat.

“You’ve been here for quite a while.” His voice has an unexpected warmth that licks up your spine. “Are you here to speak with me?”

Your eyes flicker warily to the confession booth. “I’m not sure.”

He seems to pause for a moment before making his mind up to join you, floorboards groaning under his heavy boots as he draws near. You shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, squirming under the spotlight of his attention. He stops at the end of your row and rests a hand behind you on the back of the pew.

“We can speak out here if you’d prefer.”

You’re surprised that he’d recognized the source of your unease, though you’re not sure if he realizes why the embrace of the confessional is so distinctly unnerving.

The people of Mandalore are not known for their empathy, especially not those held in high regard by the church. Din Djarin is a fiercely orthodox man, and you doubt he understands the position you’re in.

“I’ve seen you during services,” he comments. “Always so attentive.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought of being recognized in the mass of devoted warriors that frequent his sermons. Is your shame so pronounced that you stand out in a crowd? “I didn’t know you paid attention to the assembly.”

He hums in response. “I care deeply for everyone in my congregation, especially those who are in danger of losing their faith. Tell me, what’s been troubling you?”

You hesitate before answering, skirting around the truth as much as you can, as much as he’ll let you.

“I’ve had… impure thoughts, father.”

“Oh?” His voice is rich with interest. “Indulge me, cyar'ika. What tempts you?”

His smooth, full baritone makes it impossible to deny his entreaty, like he’s wrenching your secrets from the far reaches of your mind.

“I’ve thought about… taking my helmet off in the witness of non-believers. I’ve thought about what you look like underneath your armor.” You pause for breath. “I’ve thought about your image at improper times.”

His chest falls with a heady sigh, though the sound is lost beyond the rasp of his modulator. “I see. And how do you think you should pay for your transgressions?”

The presence of other Mandalorians can be heard from outside the chapel – an admonition of what you have to lose if you are turned away. The air in the room shifts. Your hands flex at your sides.

“I’ll do anything.” You push forward onto the edge of your seat, ardently pleading for your chance at repentance. “Tell me how to make things right.”

He shifts in place, mulling over his options for what feels like an eternity. You swallow the urge to scream as silence rings in your ears.

Finally, he speaks.

“Maybe you’re too curious,” he decides. “Too concerned with things you cannot have.”

Your fingers dig into your palms, awaiting the final blow of his judgement.

“I think you need to experience firsthand the gravity of your desire.”

He leans down like he’s sharing something that no one else can hear, a sentiment too clandestine to be born in a house of worship.

“This is a sacred place,” he explains. “If you’re going to commit an act of sin, let it be here.”

You’re taken aback by the implication of his words. You’d been expecting a show of indignation, maybe even outrage for your betrayal of the Way, but it seems like he’s encouraging your lapse in faith. Surely, you’ve misunderstood.

The hand caressing your shoulder tells you that you haven’t.

“Revealing yourself to anyone a sin, and the public would have you exiled for removing your helmet. But here, in the presence of a higher being, I will make an exception.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his hands are on the underside of your helmet, tipping your head back with the force of his grip. The fabric of his gloves glides against your jaw as he lifts your beskar veil and exposes you under the chapel’s dim, ruddy glow.

You squint at the sudden shift in the light, surprised to discover what your dark-tinted visor had been hiding from you. The red halo cast around him is much more intense without the obstruction of your helmet. His outlined form burns with a fiery sanctitude that makes you shudder.

Your attention is drawn to his hands ghosting over your face, cradling your cheeks with a curious touch. The pad of his thumb presses against your mouth, tugging at the plush of your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?”

You swallow thickly and chance a look up at him, finding your face in the reflection of his visage. Your lips part in fascination at the sight of your own eyes staring back at you.

“That’s it, open up for me.”

His thumb presses further into your mouth and hooks behind your teeth. The taste of the holy chrism melts across your senses, balsam and olive oil and something you can’t name. When your tongue swipes out to meet his digit, he hums low in his chest and pulls his other hand back to curl around his belt.

“Does this make you feel good? Corrupting a man of faith?”

You whimper around his thumb, eyes blown wide with lust. The metal buckle at his waist glints in the low light, seemingly pleading for your touch. You don’t know how far he’ll take this lesson, but you’re hoping it ends in a mutual exchange of sin.

As if persuaded by your thoughts alone, he works open his belt and the fastenings of his pants, revealing a patch of tawny skin that contrasts the muted tones of his beskar.

“You need more than this, though. Don’t you?”

With a low hiss, he pulls his hardening cock from its confines, and your mouth waters at the sight. He’s eager, alive, twitching in his tight grip. The tip of his cock weeps as he bucks into his hand.

The heat simmering in your belly has grown into a blazing flame. When he swaps his thumb for the head of his cock, your thighs clench with the urgent need to consume him in every way.

His warm, salty taste is so human, so unlike the righteous figure he’s made out to be. You can almost picture what the rest of him looks like by the glimpse of what he’s offered you.

Your lips wrap coyly around his length, an earnest appeal for his approval.

The tint of his visor hides his eyes, but you gaze up at him anyway in hopes that he meets you halfway, that he commits the image of your debauched affair to memory.

“C’mon, this is your chance to atone.”

You trace the vein on the underside of his cock, tongue laving over him in search of a reaction, in search of redemption through your greedy act of worship. His hips stutter in response and the head of his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth.

He mumbles something akin to prayer and focuses his efforts, sliding further into your mouth until your nose presses against his pelvis and his cock settles in the back of your throat. You gag at the foreign pressure and try to pull away, but he settles a hand on the nape of your neck to hold you in place.

“That’s it, take it all.”

His thrusts are slow, lazy, careful not to overwhelm you. When he moves, it’s a gentle drag over your tongue, not the heedless intrusion you’d expected from him. He bucks his hips like he wants to know you’re enjoying it too.

“Fuck,” he grunts, chin dropped to his chest. “Your filthy mouth was made for this.”

You wish you could see him without the beskar disguising his reaction. The heave of his chest, the flex of his hands, the jump of his cock when you tongue the right spot – his body is so expressive, you have no doubt that his face would be too.

A few more juts of his hips and he’s pulling out of your mouth and forming a fist around his length, flushed skin glistening with your spit.

He chokes out a broken noise and angles his hips towards you, painting the evidence of your transgressions over your cheeks and your lips.

You touch your fingers to your face when he pulls away, eyeing his handiwork with a sound of approval. This part of yourself, it’s his now. Desecrated for the use of someone more sacred than yourself.

The corners of your mouth stretch into a grin. This is exactly the forgiveness you were looking for.

[antianakin]

"You can't tell me Vader isn't redeemed at the end when he regains his autonomy to save his son."

Ho boy, YES I CAN!

You know why? Because multiple ENTIRE CULTURES are still eradicated.

There are a HANDFUL of Jedi left alive when Anakin dies. Out of THOUSANDS. Think about that one again. Literally only a few that we can confirm are actually alive when Anakin kicks the bucket (Luke, Ahsoka, probably Ezra). Most of the rest were killed during Order 66 (a LARGE number of which Anakin was directly responsible for killing) or were hunted down BY ANAKIN in the last 20-odd years. Or were turned into Inquisitors that Anakin personally tortured for years, forcing them to live among the frozen remains of the Jedi just for extra shits and giggles, until all of them were killed off, too.

There are TWO clones we can confirm are left alive when Anakin dies, out of MILLIONS. Two. I'm counting this one as a second genocide that Anakin helps commit during Order 66 since that's effectively what it ends up meaning for the clones.

And this doesn't count the number of planets we know were devastated by the Empire that Anakin helped put into place and keep in power like Lothal, Ryloth, and Mandalore.

So you know what? No. I don't honestly give a shit that he saved one person that is related to him in the end. I don't care that it meant he had to make a personal sacrifice to do it. I don't care that he had to finally grow a fucking spine in order to kill Palpatine. There is nothing Anakin can do here that will EVER redeem him for the lifetime of absolute atrocities he has committed. There is no sacrifice Anakin can make that wipe out the oceans of blood he lives in.

The Jedi are still dead. The clones are still dead. Mandalore is still glassed. Ryloth and Lothal will take generations to recover from the decades of war and oppression they've lived through. Anakin's death means NOTHING because the people he's ACTUALLY hurt with his actions aren't the reason he decides to kill Palpatine. He can't kill Palpatine in order to save people he doesn't know, or because it's the right thing to do, or to provide the tiniest bit of justice to everyone he's hurt. He does it specifically to save someone he already loves and considers family.

There's no redemption in that for everything he's done. How could there be? Everything he's done is completely irredeemable to begin with.

[materassassino]

Oh, they really did the stupid thing I hoped they weren't. Jesus wept.

The Mandalorian Chapter 22: Guns for Hire

[jessicas-pi]

For the AU Ask Game

What about any members of the Ghost crew in a Jurassic Park situation?

this. uh. might not be what you had in mind? But it is situation straight out of Jurassic Park and it is the Ghost crew members and it's what I was inspired to do so I'm gonna say it kinda counts!

--

Hera had never regretted anything more than she regretted accepting this invitation.

She should have known better. She should never have agreed. But---but Sabine had been so happy.

Sabine hadn't been happy in a long time.

(It had seemed like she might be, when she'd had hope for finding Ezra, but... well. That hadn't gone very well. There had been an argument, and Sabine and Ezra hadn't talked in months.)

"There's this scientist," Sabine had said, when she was trying to convince her to go along with her. "He's been collecting bio-samples from parts of Mandalore since before the Empire glassed it. He's cloned animals and plants, and begun to repopulate one of Mandalore's moons with them. The whole thing is a park. There are species that were wiped out in wars almost a century ago. He's healing my home, Hera."

The problem was, cloning was not allowed by the New Republic, and they were trying to shut down the project. This scientist sought Sabine out, asking her to come see what was being done, hoping that having a war hero vouch for his project would help convince the New Republic to make an exception.

And Sabine had begged Hera to come along, too. The scientist had added that she could bring her son, that there was a petting zoo filled with cute little critters, that he would have a wonderful time.

At the time, Hera had thought it was perfect---they could bring Ezra, and Zeb, too, and Ahsoka, and it would be an opportunity to try and mend burned bridges and bring their family together again.

She was so, so wrong.

The animals---the big ones, the mean ones, the ones that the scientist hadn't mentioned---were loose. The fences were all down. The power was out. Zeb was stranded. Ahsoka was missing. And worst of all, her kids---Sabine, and Ezra, and her own precious little boy---were out there. In the dark. In a storm. Alone.

And Hera was stuck in this control building, with all the lights out, at the end of a long table, unable to do anything but eat half-melted ice cream and wish that they were all home.

(She would not be endorsing this park.)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he���d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

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[ruusaanrambles]

Star Wars is a dystopia, and why Lost Stars is my favorite Star Wars novel.

(Vague spoilers only) Really, I just love any Star Wars media that strongly represents the dystopia that Star Wars is. Lost Stars, Inferno Squadron, Aftermath, Fate of the Jedi, and Andor all spotlight various parts of this dystopian galaxy.

In lost stars the main characters, Ciena and Thane go from being children on a planet not yet part of the empire, to training as their planet begins to change, to being well oiled cogs in the imperial machine.

It shows very clearly the change a person must go through to be within the empire without breaking. How it starts with the compromises you make with yourself, justifying atrocities in the name of peace. Dehumanizing entire groups of people, with the help of the propaganda around you telling you the rebellion are vicious terrorists that must be destroyed at any cost.

From one angle lost stars is about a very special relationship two people have with each other even though the most turbulent of times but what I see is an incredibly well done description of the internal struggle of two imperial soldiers as the Empire grows and fights to crush the rebellion.

How can someone who is not entirely evil be complicit in the destruction of an entire planet. Of millions of innocent lives. Of cultures.

How do they become more biased, desensitized, and cold to the plight of other beings?

what comprises does it start with?

The time of the Empire was one where absolute control at any cost was valued. Alderaan was turned into rubble, to send a message to the rebellion. Jedha city, a place with incredible cultural significance, was leveled to kill the rebels, the terrorists as they were called by the empire. Mandalore was glassed. How do you justify that? Again, an armed populace, some of which joined the rebellion whom I reiterate were called terrorists in imperial propaganda.

There are so many more layers to the dystopia that Star Wars is but for now I leave you with this. For me, Star Wars as a dystopia is so captivating because it’s so familiar.

The dystopian elements of Star Wars are familiar to me.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two: Clan of Three

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers and a heavy role to bear. Now reunited their journeys across the galaxy are just beginning to complete their final mission.

Word Count: 7.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, massive injuries, some wholesome moments, sad as fuck father-daughter moments, massive angst, PTSD

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“We shall be rid of the Mandalorians once and for all,” Gideon turns around looking at his fellow warlords, “Long Live the Empire!”

“It is time to retake our home world….I need volunteers from both tribes.”

“I will go.” “I will go.” “I will go.” “I will go.”

“Is that the voice of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze?”

“We knew you would not forsake us, Lady Bo-Katan. We have failed you, but our blasters remain in your service.” They lower their heads slightly bringing a hand to rest over their hearts.

“I will only wear a dress on Naboo. I was told that it’s the most beautiful planet in the galaxy. And there are lakes and waterfalls and fields of flowers and planets as far as the eyes can see. So if you want me to wear a dress it has to be on Naboo.”

“With the uncomfortable shoes?” He asks and you smirk, “We’ll see.” The two of you stare at each other a silence falling over you two its two magnetics coming together. His hand covers your eyes the other pulling off his helmet then his lips meet yours.

“Look, I have no idea what that boy’s intentions are, but…I do know that he would be lucky to have you.” Din says and you lift your head up looking at the older man, “Really?” You ask and he nods and it grows silent once more before you speak up.

“Do you feel like everything is going right that it’s meant to go wrong?” You voice your fear for only him to know, “Every time we get close to winning something horrible goes wrong,” Your tone gets slightly frantic all the possibilities making you more nervous.

Din grabs your shoulders making you look at him, “I promised you I was never leaving you and I’m not. Ever.” He reassures and you nod before he pulls you into his arms just holding you there. His chin rests on the top of your head nothing is said between the two of you but you could tell he meant every single one of his words.

“I love you, dad…” You say and he freezes slightly before his arms squeeze you tighter to him, “Love you too, kid.”

“Those aren’t Mandalorians.” You call out as they immediately take fire, ambushing you all, “They’re Imperials! Take cover.” All the Mandalorians take cover firing at them.

“It’s an ambush!”

“Thank you for gathering the Mandalorians into one place,” He says, and you are unmoving. Moff Gideon was back. He finds delight in seeing the horror and pure terror in your expression as the Mandalorians behind the blast door has no choice but to watch. “Thanks to your planet’s rich resources, I have created the next-generation Dark Trooper suit forged from beskar alloy,”

“Why don’t we take your fleet off the board while we still have the element of surprise? Activate the interceptors and bombers.” He orders and Bo-Katan slams her fist against the glass.

“No!” the Klaxon alarm blares as the Interceptors and Bombers are activating, “In but a few moments, the Purge of Mandalore will be complete.”

“Kaz, get up. Kaz, kriffing get up and fight. Please stop! Please don’t do this…I’ll do anything please don’t I beg you!” You shout as he takes in your features one last time though tear-filled and bloody you still look beautiful in his eyes, “Kaz, please get up!”

“I love y-” The blade cleaves through his body as a scream of anguish rips through your throat.

“None of this would have occurred if you had accepted. He’s dead because of your actions, princess.” Gideon mocks you as you’re sent into a spiral sobs racking your body and hyperventilating from the shock that has taken over.

You didn’t deserve happiness…you would never love again. You had nothing left in you to love. Your happiness, your love, and yourself had died right alongside him held in his arms with dead promises to visit the far-off planets you dreamed of.

You were in a daze as the commandos practically dragged you through the halls, and you didn’t hear Din’s shouts, didn’t hear anything it was a blur until you were brought into a room and you’re dropped to your knees and chained to the floor. It repeated in your head like a broken melody, his face…his beautiful face draining of life.

“I love y-” Drain of tears as you felt no emotion, you didn’t feel sadness, loss, anger, sorrow, anything. It was empty. The doors before you open up but you barely acknowledge it glance up and seeing Gideon enter removing the beskar helmet and holding it to his side a malicious grin on his face.

“Where’s the fight, dear princess? That fire….that rage… not going to get your revenge?” He taunts standing before you and you gaze up at him, your eyes red and puffy your throat strained and dry from your sobs and screams.

“Just kill me already…I have no use for you.” Your voice is dead and flat and he chuckles his hand grabbing your chin your lifeless eyes are forced to look up at his wicked gaze, “Oh but that would make things so much easier for you wouldn’t it? Be reunited with your Mandalorian..” He rises dropping your chin and your head drops down.

“Get comfortable you’ll have front-row seats to witness the purge of your people and end the Mandalorians once and for all.” He says and your empty heart feels a twinge of worry for your family scattered across this base.

Din’s mind was running wild since the ambush seeing Moff Gideon had escaped the New Republic, seeing Kaz die and you getting taken away. Your screams and cries burned into his mind. You were fallen down a rabbit hole he barely got you out of the first time this worst. The two commandos force him down a hall and he shoves against one of them and then kicks his foot against the wall having them all stumble away from him. Breaking free from one of them flipping the other as he grabs the vibroblade cutting his bonds at his feet and quickly stabs the commando closest to him. Dodging the blaster fire that hits his beskar armor sudden heat against him from the flamethrower as he grabs their wrist slamming it to the ground. Pulling him into a chokehold and snapping his neck as a cable wraps around Din’s neck pulling him back he struggles as he sees the blaster in the commando's hand. It’s suddenly grabbed and destroyed,

“No. No. No. No. No.” Grogu presses the vocal button and Din stabs the commando with the blade the two hitting the ground. Gasping for air as Grogu sprays a bacta spray in his face as he tries waving him off coughing with his tied hands, “I'm okay. I'm okay…help me up,” Grogu pulls Din to his feet before holding his wrist out, “Will you cut me loose?’

Pressing the button gives a ‘yes’ and frees him from his restraints and he rubs his wrist, “Thank you for your help. Grogu, I'm going to need you to be brave for me, okay?” The small child babbles, “We can't keep running. If we don't take out Moff Gideon, this will never end. We have to find your sister as well. You with me?” A yes comes from IG-12 and the two make their way through the base to find and finish off Moff Gideon and save you.

In the cave system escaping from the following commandos, a transmission comes through Bo-Katan’s comms, “Bo-Katan, come in.” “Received. Where are you?” She sighs in relief glad to hear him alright.

“We're safe. I escaped. I've got the kid,” He says and her worry picks up slightly only hearing one kid with him, “And Y/n where is she?”

“I don’t know, I’m looking for her…I'm going after Moff Gideon. Do you have a location?” Din explains and Bo-Katan sighs leading her people through the caves, “No. We are under attack. I have to get the troops to safety.”

“Understood,” Din says moving through the halls followed by Grogu,

“Stay safe.” Bo-Katan responds their contact broken as the Captain calls out to them, “If we escape to the surface, I know where we can hole up.” He explains and they all take off to the surface. Bo-Katan worries for the people around her, her small family in Gideon’s base, and prays Woves gets to the ship before the Imperials do.

You hear the doors open behind you as Gideon stands before a large hologram map, “Sir, the fighters and bombers have launched,” A commando says, “Their capital ship will soon be destroyed.”

Gideon is silent before speaking up, “But the Mandalorian has escaped.” Your heavy head perks up slightly upon hearing the news. Din had escaped. He was moving through this base. The whirring of Gideon’s armor as the Commando looks at him waiting for orders,

“Shall we engage?” The helmet is put on Gideon and you hear his modulated “No, I'll take care of him myself.” A hoarse chuckle comes fills the room and the commando stiffens Gideon is silent as it starts soft until it’s the only thing he can hear seeing your head shake. You look up at him the blood mouth and chin dried the hollow look in your eyes having a spark of malice.

“You’re dead…he’s gonna kill you.” You rasp a huff of laughter in your tone and you hear the whirring of his armor as it curls into a fist, “You won’t even last a minut-” A beskar-infused punch across your face sends you on your side. Stars fill your vision as you try to calm the queasiness that fills you. Glancing back up at him seeing double him. Gideon looks seeing the indifference despite the split brow and the quickly forming bruise on your eye.

“Gar oyay cuyir jaon Gideon..” (Your life is over) You whisper venom in your voice and he uncurls his fist before stepping back, “Prepare her for the Mandalorian’s arrival.” Gideon orders and you see the doors before you slide open and out step three guards dressed in red armor each holding intimidating weapons. Gideon backs away as one of the guards pulls over a  chair. Creating slack in the chain on the ground before shoving you to the seat. You don’t get time to adjust a fist knocking the wind out of you with a punch to the gut. You curl inward but your hair is grabbed pulling you back up as a fist bashes into your face blood spills to the floor.

“You’re….you’re all..going…to die..” You wheeze out your head hanging a river of red coming from your nose and mouth, your body crying out in pain but you weren’t going to let them see. You feel one of the guards behind you seize one of your arms and you feel the strain as it’s forced to bend unnaturally, “No…no…no no!” A snap fills the air producing a scream from you as your elbow snaps and you lean forward heaving in pain. Tears and blood blur your vision, fire runs through your body as the broken limb is let go of. Gideon turns away leaving the room the sounds of your screams and begging as the torture begins rings through his head. You were going to be a great present for your Mandalorian.

Din moves through the halls skillfully followed by IG-12 controlled by Grogu, “R5. Come in, R5,” Din calls through his comms and a beeping response comes through from the surface, “I need you, buddy. You're gonna have to scomp into the base and get me the location of Moff Gideon's command center.” Hesitant beeping makes Din sigh as he peeks around a corner, “I'm sorry, I don't speak Binary. I'm counting on you.” Moving throughout the base avoiding commandos he calls back out to the droid, “R5, how are those schematics coming?” A schematic of the base appears, “Got it. Good job, buddy. That's the command center. The communications log says that's where he operates from. That's where we're goin'.” Din points at the blinking dot representing the command center on the hologram map.

“Ready?” He looks over at Grogu who coos, “Stay close. Let's go.” With only his skills Din moves through the halls before reaching the hall leading to the command center with barrier shields stopping any from entering, “The command center is down there. I don't have any weapons so this might get messy. R5. There are some barrier shields. I'm gonna need you to deactivate them one at a time.” The droid beeps understanding his assignment, “On my command. Got it?”

Din peeks around the corner seeing the multiple rows of guards he would have to take one, “Deactivate the first shield.” The red shield comes and Din rushes forward throwing a swing at the guard closest to him sending him to the ground and kicking his leg out hitting the other one. Grabbing the guard getting up barely dodging a blaster fire that kills the one in front of him. Spinning him to deflect the attack with the dead guard’s shield he pulls the knife from his belt while throwing it. It lodges into the other's neck and Din rushes forward to grab the blaster but the guard falls back into a drop disappearing.

“R5, next shield.” Din calls out as the second barrier opens controlled by the droid his two enemies armed with electro-riot batons and shields. Rushing forward kneeing on in the face sending him crashing into the barrier and quickly deflecting the attack from the guard behind him bringing him to the ground. Grabbing the baton jamming into the space between armor from the guard in front of him then spin kicks the other off the ledge. Picking up the shield now with a weapon and defense steps forward to the two awaiting guards behind the shield.

“R5, next shield.”

Slamming the shield against one guard against their blaster fire, jamming the electric baton into the knee of one guard brings him down shielding himself. Attacking his chest as the guard grunts hitting the ground and Din stabs the baton in his helmet electrocuting the guard to death. Grabbing the blaster firing at the guard and getting to his feet, the two fire and shield against one another, “R5, next shield,” Din calls out firing but no response comes through, “R5, next shield! R5!” Din yells into his comm blocking another blow as the smoke from the blasters fills the area.

“R5, next shield.” The last barrier opens and slides through the smoke tripping one of the guards grabbing the blaster. Spinning around to stand firing at the guard that fires but it hits Din’s beskar armor. Killing the guard before moving towards the unarmed one trying to rise up but he quickly pulls the trigger. The air is fresh with gun residue the adrenaline in the bounty hunter’s blood fading with the trail of bodies. Grogu peeks around the corner seeing the aftermath and Din motions him to come over. “R5, good job, buddy.” Din compliments the droid as he hears beeps coming from the droid.

Opening the door reveals a long hallway covered in tanks that line the walls. Din and Grogu slowly creep through the halls before Din holds his hand out stopping the child, “Wait here.” He moves to a control table trying to figure out the information. He hears a whimper from the child as he looks frightened by the clones, “That's not Gideon. Those are his clones.” The small child looks at the tank holding a sleeping clone of his former captor. Its eyes snap open producing a cry as Grogu stumbles back while handling the droid. Din presses certain buttons tampering with the controls as the console begins beeping and powering down,

“Let's go.” The two rush escaping the room as an alarm goes off the tanks exploding water spilling out as the doors close behind them. Din turns away from the doors and Grogu and the air leaves Din’s body as his legs become stone. The room lay bare no Gideon in sight but a chair and a familiar figure hunched over blood surrounding the person. His body rushes forward whipping around the chair and his heart drops but also rage fills his body as he stares at the young girl. You were covered in blood, your injuries he couldn’t tell where they started or where they ended. One of your arms hung limply at your side still restrained but he saw the odd angle and cringed. His hands shake slightly as he cups your face and you seem to react to the touch as you murmur your eyes blinking up trying to see, one of your eyes was quickly turning black and blue.

“Kaz…” Your voice is hoarse and weak and his chest burns at the thought in your state of pain and exhaustion you thought he was someone who was long gone.

“Kid…it’s me,” He tries to keep his voice calm pushing back the blood-soaked hair away from you, “I’m gonna get you out of here.” A sudden blaster fire barely misses you both and Din is forced to pull away both him and Grogu hide behind some walls. The mechanical footsteps clank against the ground as Din holds the blaster between his hands.

“My clones were finally going to be perfect,” Gideon’s rage-filled voice surrounds the room, “The best parts of me but improved by adding the one thing I never had. The Force. I was isolating the potential to wield the Force, and incorporating it into an unstoppable army. And you smothered them before they could draw their first breath” He hisses and Din could feel the fury coming from him. A hitch of breath as a mechanical whirring fills the air and a choked gasp fills the air.

“So I’ll take the breath from who you care for,” Gideon growls tightening his strong grip around your throat. Din whips around firing at Gideon but the blaster bolts bounce off his beskar armor does make Gideon release you your head dropping as Gideon fires a missile at Din. Dodging the attack he charges at him with his jetpack the two being pushed into the hangar entering combat. Gideon hurls Din aside as he collides with a large crate quickly receiving beskar-fueled punches in the gut and the face rattling the bounty hunter. Grabbing the Mandalorian by the chestplate hurling off to the floor before launching another attack on him. Din rolls out of the way right as Gideon slams a fist into the ground denting the metal floors.

The sounds of battle from the hangar rage on and in the air as Mandalorians fight against the imperials for their homeworld. Everything was painful just breathing hurt, you wanted it to all fade away praying it would all just stop. A metal hand gently pulls up your face and you felt a cooling sensation across your face as you slowly force your eyes to open seeing the arm of a droid and the small green child. Grogu coos as the healing medicine sprays across your face and he pulls away and you wince feeling something jab into your leg a small burning sensation.

“Grogu…” You whisper and you hear the ‘yes’ come from the child as it moves away from you and you hear the whirring sound and sparks coming off you. Whatever healing spray had made your face grow numb but whatever was put into your leg, you felt your heart rate beating faster and the surge of energy in your limbs. You hear a crack of metal and something falling off as you slump forward falling off the chair unable to hold or catch yourself. You hit the ground with a groan and you hear the loud cry from Din as you see through blurry vision him on the ground the same red armorer guards around him. You hear footsteps pass by you as your heartbeat becomes the only thing you can hear as you force yourself onto your back.

Din groans in pain as the blade is brought deeper into his armor when a voice comes through, “No, no, no.” Din sees Grogu’s angry expression as he slams his fist on the voice button. The three Praetorian Guards pull away now a new target as they force the child back into the command center.

“No!” Din cries out the fear of seeing another one of his children hurt as he scrambles to his feet. A missile hits him directly at his back sending him to the ground but he back on his feet with the urgency to save them when a fibercord whip wraps around his neck dragging him right back to Gideon as the doors close putting the Imperial Guards with both his defenseless children.

You hear the fighting that had entered the room and the cries coming from Grogu as you see flashes of fighting but too weak to stand up. Get up. They are going to kill him if you don’t fight. He’s going to die because of you. You roll over to your side a loud groan coming from you drawing the attention of one of the guards as they come over to you. Your limbs shake with pain as you push yourself with one arm up to be on your hands and knees. A sharp kick to your ribs knocks you back down with a cry as you gasp for air. Don’t stop…stand up. Pushing yourself a strained grunt comes as you return to your knees another kick knocks you back down landing on your back as you try to get air. You can’t do it…you’re too weak.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper tears falling into your hair as the guard stands above you the spear in his grasp.

“Get up…” A voice calls out a whisper the feeling of home flooding your veins, “Come on mesh’la you have to fight.” His voice is like a medicine that heals all wounds. You feel the gentle touch on your skin a caress down your face as he leans down a kiss placed on your forehead. You see the guard raise up his spear to deliver the killing blow it all happening in slow motion.

“Get up.”

The weapon swings down stopping just before your chest a mere hair away when a force stops him. The guard tries pushing down more but is unable to move his body frozen in place. A choking fills the air as he grabs his neck releasing the staff before a large crack fills the air. Din enters the command center having left Bo-Katan to fight against Gideon to see one of the guards collapse to the ground and you laying on the ground beside the body. The others are about to attack Grogu with Din fires his blaster at one of them. The two quickly dispose of the guards together with Din’s combat and Grogu’s force abilities. Din checks over the child when he hears a groan coming from the other side of the room. His head snaps over seeing you on your feet though shakily and Din rushes over his arm wrapping around your waist and holding you up.

“Kid! I’m sorry…maker this is all my fault..” He whispers as you barely register his words looking towards the hangar and seeing Bo-Katan and Gideon fighting. “You stay here. I’ll be back.” You groan in protest before he forces you back to the ground against a wall to sit.

“Gideon…he has to-” “I know…I know you can’t be moving alright.” He says before your left in that room once again but the second he’s gone your hand is clawing at the wall to bring yourself to your feet. This was your fight just as much as theirs and you were going to make sure Gideon was dead.

Bo-Katan spins the Darksaber disarming the electrostaff from Gideon’s grasp but he sends a mighty punch sending her sliding across the ground. Bo-Katan pushes herself to her feet as Gideon pulls off a weapon from his belt and a howl fills the air as a brilliant orange glow reflects on the black beskar. “Hand over the Darksaber and I will give you a warrior's death.” The warlord demands. Rushing towards him with a yell sabers crash against one another as Bo-Katan launches a renewed attack striking him in spots but it has no effect on the beskar armor. However, Gideon is an indomitable force grabbing Bo-Katan’s hand midswing the two holding the Darksaber. With a crush from his gauntlet, he destroys the ancient weapon bringing the female to her knees. The broken hilt lies on the ground as he rips her helmet off kicking Bo-Katan to the ground as she slides toward the edge.

“The Darksaber is gone. You've lost everything,” Stalking towards her taunting the failed Mandalorian, “Mandalorians are weak once they lose their trinkets.”

Bo-Katan rises to her knees a smirk on her face, “Mandalorians are stronger together.” A sudden blaster bolt strikes Gideon from behind and he quickly turns seeing the Mandalorian firing at him. Exchanging fire as Gideon is drawn towards the edge blocking the attacks with the saber. Firing from his wrist Gideon strikes down Din multiple times though shielded by the beskar still stuns him. Bo-Katan slides protecting him using her shield. The hangar shakes sparks flying in the air as the hurtling imperial cruiser descends on the base. Bo-Katan rushes forward with a warrior cry as Gideon raises the saber when he’s thrown back and smacks into the ground. The deactivated saber is released from his hand and Gideon tries to grab it when it’s pulled past him into a person’s grasp. Gideon looks towards where the weapon went the true fear that runs through him. Blood soaks her dirty clothes the broken arm limp at her side, how she was standing after the beating she received he wouldn’t know, in her working hand, the deadly weapon ignites producing a brilliant orange glow.

Gideon raises his blaster firing it at you but with quick reflexes, they deflect hitting him back as he stumbles back towards the edge. You keep trudging forward blocking his attacks as he grows closer and closer to the ledge. He rushes forward to attack you when a blade goes straight through the gap in his chest plate and stomach. A hitch in his breath as the blade digs deep staring into your gaze the haunting look in your eyes.

“This is the non-diplomatic option.” You grunt ripping the saber out as debris rains down the ship crashing into the hangar. Arms wrap around you pulling you to the ground as you are shielded from the inferno hearing Gideon’s screams. You expected the heat from the flames to incinerate you opening your eyes and seeing the barrier all around you the flames and destruction not touching you. Din and Bo-Katan lower their arms from shielding themselves as the three of you look at the small child before you protecting you all. Lowering the Force bubble the flames go from around you as Grogu plops down exhausted from the use as the three of you stand up viewing the destruction. The base is in shambles the flames and smoke from the attack, your gaze moves to where Gideon stands nothing there burnt to ashes. It was a lightweight feeling knowing he was truly dead the battle finally over. With so many lost and many that never saw the end of the journey there were necessary but heartbreaking so you could win.

A cave once left abandoned the light from natural fluorescents the torches empty now lit. The banging of drums fills the tunnels only growing louder reaching the mouth of the cave. Banners of clan signets as clan heads line the path a pathway of torches leading to the steps of water. “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..” The Armorer speaks to the small boy a shallow bowl in her grasp, “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors..”

“That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor…” "That I shall walk the Way of the Mand'alor…”

“And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart.” The crowd watches as the boy recites the creed. It had been months since his first try at joining the Creed and now he stands in the water speaking those words heavy in his heart with the loss of his father, “And the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart.”

The Armorer kneels down scooping up some of the living waters pouring on the beskar helmet as he rises to stand, “This is the Way.”

Ragnar nods repeating the words, “This is the Way.” The crowd of Mandalorians from the Children of the Watch repeat the words. Ragnar steps away rejoining his clan as a Mandalorian in silver beskar armor holding a small infant reaches the steps. Placing the child on the step before the water and the man entering the water slightly.

“Grogu is my apprentice.” The once-bounty hunter gestures to the small child, “He is no longer a foundling. Add him to the Song.”

“He is too young to speak so he is too young to take the Creed.” The Armorer shakes her head as the child babbles proving her point, “He must remain a foundling.”

Din is silent looking at the child that looks sad at the news, “If his parent gave permission, couldn't he then become a Mandalorian apprentice?” The Armorer is silent before nodding, “Yes, but his parents are far from here…if they are even alive.” Her words hinted at some underlying solution. The man looks at the child before speaking,

“Then I will adopt him as my own.” The small child looks up in surprise at the news and the Armorer accepts this decision, “This is the Way.” She says and the man repeats the words.

The female Mandalorian turns to face the crowd of Mandalorians, “Let it be written in Song that Din Djarin is accepting this foundling as his son,” She turns looking at the child now adopted by the man, “You are now Din Grogu, Mandalorian apprentice.”

“This is the Way.” The Mandalorians chant and she holds her hand up silencing them, “You must leave Mandalore and take your apprentice on his journeys, just as your teacher did for you.” The Armorer explains and Din nods, “This is the Way.”

The child now legally under the watch of Din babbles cheerfully and in the depths of the waters before them, a creature stirs almost sensing the change. Din grabs Grogu bidding farewell to the Armorer and other members of the tribe. From the corner of his eye, Din sees the flutter of a cloak as they disappear from the living waters. A lone girl viewing the spectacle many troubling thoughts running through her.

Hidden in the shadows watching as the Armorer and Bo-Katan stand before the Great Forge with the Mandalorians from both fractions watching their leader. The Armorer produces a torch passing it to the woman who moves holding it over the forge. The flame ignites the gas the Forge of their people relit after years of remaining dormant. The clanking of the vambraces creates a synchronized rhythm as Woves starts a chant, “For Mandalore!” “For Mandalore!” “For Mandalore!” The fractions brought together their planet back with the rightful owners as they chanted for their victory but also for those they had lost and their sacrifice would not be in vain. Bo-Katan looks over the crowd a wide smile on her face seeing her people together once again but she catches the gaze of a lone figure not in Mandalorian armor. The cloak and mask hid the still healing injuries but she could see the tired eyes that watch the excitement of the people around her but she lacks any. Bo-Katan could see the defeat in them none of this was a victory in their eyes too much loss and the pain was too great to think of the positive. Their eyes meet and she could tell the look in their eyes and what it meant. No words needed to be spoken as the figure disappears in the crowd that she couldn’t keep up. Bo-Katan tries to keep a smile for her people but it cracks just slightly with the information she knew.

Returned to Nevarro where this whole journey began Greef claps his hand on Din's shoulder, “The people of Nevarro appreciate all you've done, Mando.” Pulling a small chip and holding it out for him, “I want to give you this deed to a cabin just outside of town where you can lay low with your new family if you choose so. Between adventures.”

Din accepts this gracious gift nodding in thanks, “Thank you.” Greef chuckles kneeling down to the small child on the steps, “And that goes for you too, Din Grogu.” Greef stands up noticing the third person apart of their group missing, “And where is the other one? I was certain she would stay with you all unless she’s with that Mandalorian of hers. I certainly like him as a partner.”

Din sighs shaking his head, “She’s here just…going through a lot. I’m giving her some space.” Din looks around the city. This was their new home to reside in while Din works as a personal contractor for the New Republic. “The boy…Kaz, he didn’t make it.”

Greef’s expression drops, “My condolences…well be sure to send her my apologizes for her loss.” The air was tense and it seemed to remain that when they had left Mandalore, even going to the Adelphi base, to even here. He was giving you the time you needed, you were still healing from your injuries refusing any medicine that would require you to be unconscious. With no choice but to respect your decision giving you the best he could get but just time would heal all wounds. While the physical wounds may leave scars that would soon fade the ones on your mind and heart would never.

“And I have a gift for you as well.” Din breaks the tension and appears from the crowd the newly reconstructed IG-11, “Greetings, citizens. I am IG-11, your new Marshal. Your new Marshal of Nevarro.” The crowd cheers as their new Marshal greets them all.

“I am here to serve and protect the citizenry. I am at your disposal and serve at your pleasure.” Greef laughs seeing the familiar droid, “There we go.”

Days on Nevarro settled into your new home a place for Din to relax for now before the New Republic called for him. During these times spent making the cabin home, Grogu enters school and gets to grow up. It all seemed well in this home the other missing piece was yourself. Din felt like you were a ghost, your injuries had healed up but you were hesitant with this place he had reassured multiple times was yours. A room that was strictly yours, getting you new clothing, having home-cooked meals, and even trying to get you to go out into the city and have fun and be young again. It was the opposite though he felt like he was pulling teeth and you would only do these to soothe his worries but he still saw the hollowness in your expression, the mask you put up, and weak smiles. He saw your body thin from the lack of food, rushing into your room hearing your screams at night from the memories that plagued you, the dark circles under your eyes from forcing yourself to stay awake to avoid being trapped inside your mind. Give her time he kept telling himself but time wasn’t helping and it all seemed to build up until the thinning string finally snapped.

The sun was beginning to set and Grogu was playing with the small ball of his in the living room as Din finished up dinner placing it off to the side to cool off. “Come on kid,” Coming over scooping his son up, “Let’s get your sister.” Grogu babbles still playing with the ball as they move to the front of the house where a small pond lies. Din had set up a small chair beside the door that he normally kicks back and watches Grogu play. By the pond resting against a tree right by the water there you sit knees tucked under your chin, your focus on the rippling water as frogs and small fishes swim around.

“Kid!” He calls out and you slowly look away meeting his gaze as he stands by the threshold of the house, “Dinner come.” He says and he sees the hesitation on your face as you turn looking back at the water. Din sighs coming towards the tree to get you to come his pace slows to a stop when he notices a bag beside you that looks fully packed.

“Kid…” He calls out hesitant about where this conversation could possibly be going. You were dressed in the clothes that you hadn’t worn since the battle on Mandalore, the cloak wraps around you as you continue staring at the waters. Din waits for the words he fears seeing the expression on your face the pieces coming together.

“I can’t stay here.”

And the air goes thin as his fear becomes a reality. His grip tightens on Grogu slightly as he looks down on you as you start up again, “I can’t just live here happy while he is seen as nothing but a sacrifice for that planet.” Din knew who you were talking about as your voice tighten up and you look up blinking away those tears.

“I know you’re hurting you just need time…I know it hurts now-” Din tries reassuring you but when you looked at him he felt his chest twist as he stops speaking. You had already made your decision and it was just more painful than you saying the words.

“I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I’m…I’m not like you or the kid…I don’t know what to do anymore…I tried and I tried so damn hard. But I can’t close my eyes without seeing him…” You hold back a cry as you swipe at your sniffling nose, “I’m not telling you to give up this place you deserve a home to settle and be happy but I…I have lost everything all my life…everyone I have loved has either died or left me. Everyone except for you…” You say looking at Din and you feel the anguish coming from him and the glassy look in Gorgu’s eyes.

“I’m so scared of being alone and I don’t want to lose you but sitting here I’m reminded about how I’ve failed all of them.” You say with a shaky breath before looking away from him whispering your fear. “How I might fail you.” It’s a painful silence that is filled with distress and sorrow as Din is told the troubles you’ve been dealing with all this time, even before Mandalore, since your childhood.

“Please don’t try to stop me.” You beg him and it’s so quiet you thought he left but when you look up at him he’s still there. This would have to be the hardest thing to go through and experience. You were so used to people leaving you or the small chance at happiness…love being ripped away from you. It was worst being the one to leave when you knew how much they cared for you…loved you.

“Can…” His voice cracks slightly, “Can you at least stay for dinner?” He speaks in a mere whisper and you hear the sadness in his voice. If he wasn’t wearing that helmet you would see the tears streaming down his face. The tears you tried keeping in start sliding down your face as you hold a fist to your mouth holding back choked sobs. Taking a shaky inhale as your throat is thick with tears,

“If I stay I’ll never leave…” This breaks both of you as you swipe at your tears standing up, “i’m sorry..” Grabbing the pack and slinging it over your shoulder not before grabbing an item from it and holding it out to him in his freehand that isn’t holding Grogu grabs the small object seeing the cloaked binary beacon.

“If you ever need me…no matter where in the galaxy,” You clear your throat pulling up your sleeve and showing the matching one of your wrist, “I’ll find you.” It’s a promise that while you may be lightyears and planets apart you would always find your way home. Back to him… Din curls his hand around the object as he looks at you...his daughter. It’s silent as you step forward rubbing your fingers between Grogu’s ear as he gives a coo and you lean forward pressing a kiss on his forehead. Looking up at the beskar helmet that does nothing to hide his emotion and he raises a hand swiping away the stray tears before pulling you into his chest. You feel the shake of his chest as he cries and you bit your lip to stop yourself from breaking. Held in his arms until you had no choice but to pull away for your sake if not you would never leave.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…ad” (I love you…daughter)

He memorizes everything about you, from your hair to your nose, your mouth, the crease between your eyebrows, the weariness in your tear-filled eyes, every detail. For a moment he was back on Arvala-7 looking down at the bright-eyed girl as she held his knife demanding answers. How times had changed? You weren’t a quarry or some cargo, you were his daughter from the beginning even if he didn’t realize it. Though blood is not shared you were his daughter and he was your father and nothing would change it.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…buir” (I love you…dad)

The words repeated back before you turn away and walk towards the ship. Tears flow like rivers down your face as you grow further and further from Din and Grogu. You hear the small cry from Grogu that makes you bite your lip to hold back your sobs as you reach your X-Wing. You throw the bag into the cargo compartment as R4 beeps sadly from his droid port. Pulling yourself onto the wing entering the cockpit as the canopy closes and you start up the ship. Your eyes betray you glancing at Din who still stands by the pond holding his son as he watches you. Your gaze holds for a second before you are the one that breaks contact as the ship powers up and dust kicks up as the ship begins to take off. 

Din stands there watching the ship depart staring until you are a dot in the sky and even after you’re long gone probably in hyperspace he stands there. It wasn’t until Grogu made a noise of sadness but also needed to be fed that he looks away. His limbs are shaky but filled with carbonite as he forces himself to enter the home not before looking at the beacon in his hand that beeps showing the connection between the two were still active. Din turns back looking up at the sky and the large galaxy that lies before himself. He wasn’t sure how long it would be until he sees you again but you three would be reunited again.

As a Clan of Three.

A/N: It's over. OH MY GOD! I started writing this series in January of 2021 and it is now August of 2023. I'm extremely grateful to everyone who has read this series and enjoyed it. I'm so proud of all the time and work put into it and the plenty of tears shed writing this. Literally, this series wouldn't exist without the support of you guys and the amazing story that is The Mandalorian. You all are incredible and thank you so much for reading and sticking for the ride.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia (Din Djarin)

ori'skraan

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia

dark/haunted!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: The Mand'alor needs to feed to regain his strength, so you are called upon to fulfill the most sacred of your duties.

a haunted!Mand'alor!Din Djarin is granted strength beyond human limits by the Darksaber but at the cost of becoming a creature terrifying to behold who must feed like an incubus. Also, he has shadow tentacles. tbh; this is an elaborate setup for eldrich horror smut.

Warnings: dark, dub-con, tentacles, tentacle sex, rough sex, bondage, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), monsterfucking, author makes up stuff about Mandalorian culture in the name of monsterfucking, horror vibes, Mandalorian reader, Mando'a, satine kryze slander, Mand'alor Din Djarin, this may or may not become a series bcus I have a problem

Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

In the days of the songs of old, before the civil war, before the pacifist uprising, and the slaughter of your people, being the Mand’alor meant something. It wasn’t symbolic; they weren’t a tool through which politicians passed their agendas; they were gods.

And when they died, their manda would join the others and become something stronger yet in the new Mand’alor. It was all ghost stories when you grew up. Something your brother would taunt you with, and when your buir found out, he was scolded, but the information was not denied.

An all-powerful ruler, granted extraordinary abilities by their dead predecessors. Terrifying, world-destroying power. And a beskar sword that could wield pure Force power.

They talked about the Mand’alor like a creature, this benevolent but merciless being who stalked in the shadows and called their mando’ade to arms only in times of true need. Who every Mandalorian worth their beskar would follow into death, whether by devotion or respect.

The real Mand’alor in your youth was much less impressive. Actually, she was fairly disappointing. She barely wore any beskar’gam, and you knew you could not serve her. Would not answer her call, for she was no real Mandalorian.

Never mind that you were ten.

After the Clone Wars, after the empire, after the purge, after… everything, you never thought you’d see Manda’yaim again.

But news travels fast through the galaxy, and when whispers began to turn to headlines, when every pub in town was brimming with the same news, when Mandalore was back in the hands of her people—

You waited. A twice-bitten striil burying her head in the sand. But you did reach out, and sent a ping through your connections until something echoed back.

It was true. And the call had been rung—return, it beckoned, for there is a Mand’alor on the throne at Keldabe.

So you went home.

Running Mandalore and protecting her from danger was a truly staggering feat. One supported by hundreds of other Mando’ade. Your brother pledged to serve on the royal guard, and you—well, before the Duchess, there was only one role you wanted.

You had been in training to be an attendant to the Mand’alor for years. Your time away from home had taught you that such a position was looked down upon by aruetti, the minding of a household diminished. But how could it be so when your services were dedicated to the Ka'ra? To protect and aid their vessel? To share the burden of living so that the Mand'alor can fulfill their oath to the people?

The Duchess had refused attendants, of course. And as she did not wield the saber, did not appreciate the grace of the Ka'ra, and so your job was over before it had begun. Though, as much as you disapproved of Kryze, you would have rather died to protect her than let that darjetii sit upon the throne.

The Darksaber granted him no power, and none after him. But when you arrive in the remains of Keldabe, where little stands now but stacks of cleared glass and hope, there are whispers of a man who had entered the Living Waters seeking redemption and returned as a monster to the surface with the blessing of the Stars themselves.

His advisors have explained as much as they know over and over again. It’s not much. Your regular duties are simple, something you had long mastered. Your other duties are less clear.

And so, you attend to him at all times. He fights you on it at first, gruff and stubborn. He doesn’t want you to draw his bath; he doesn’t want you to deliver his meals to his desk. But you do, and as the days tick by, he stops protesting you.

He even starts to anticipate your presence, greeting you with a soft kindness and accepting your service with quiet respect.

But the day was to come eventually. When he comes calling, you’re putting away Grogu’s clothes in the nursery.

There’s a knock at the door, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Fair, you suppose, since this is his son’s room.

“Mand’alor,” you say, inclining your head. You move to stand, and he sighs.

“Please, let’s not stand on decorum in these chambers.”

“It’s my job to, ah, 'stand on decorum,'” you say, smiling. But you resume folding the linens and small tunics.

“I wanted to let you know myself that you will be needed for your other duties tomorrow.”

Oh. The only indication of your reaction is a twitch of your fingers where they lay on the sleeve of a robe. “Yes, Mand’alor.”

“They explained to you what may happen?”

“Yes, Mand’alor, I understand.”

He comes and sits on the floor in front of you. Your helmet conceals your surprise, steady hands still working through the small pile of laundry.

“I’m sure they told you I did not want an attendant.”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Did they tell you why I changed my mind? Did they tell you what happened last month?”

You shudder a little involuntarily but hold firm enough to look at him and nod. “They also told me she’s okay.”

“Regardless,” he says, self-disgust oozing through the modulator. “I don’t wish for that to happen to you.”

“It may or may not,” you say. “We won’t know until then.”

“But you were trained for this. Do you know a way to ease it?”

“I did not complete my training, and I was too young to know the details. But…” you aren’t sure if you want to bring up your idea. It is, after all, without evidence.

“But what?”

“It’s nothing, Mand’alor. A theory and nothing more, but it isn’t worth the price.”

“What theory?”

“Just mine. Not even a fully formed hypothesis. Just a passing thought.”

“Tell me anyway.” His voice is soft. Nothing like you expect to face tomorrow.

“I just wondered if you were more familiar with me, if it might help.” You know he follows the Resol'nare in the way of the old songs. You have adapted to honor his Creed, as is The Way, and so he has never seen your face.

He's silent and you hope you haven't offended him. But he seems to genuinely considers your words.

And then he reaches up and removes his helmet.

“Kriff, warn me first,” you snap, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your visor with one hand.

“Your theory is sound. And we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Yes, but in the Chamber, we aren’t meant to outside it. And I only meant that perhaps I should—”

“What does it matter?”

You almost scoff before you remember your place. “I suppose it does not.” These were his rules, after all. He has a greater understanding of his own Creed than you ever will.

“I accepted an attendant because they assured me it would help you survive. That I would understand your purpose, in the moment. If this has even a chance of ensuring your safety, then it must be done.”

You reach up, but he stops you before your fingers brush the bottom of your helmet.

“May I?”

You still haven’t opened your eyes, but the rough sound of his unmodulated voice asking to remove your helmet sounds downright salacious.

“Of course, ner Mand’alor,” you murmur and tilt your head back.

You startle when he touches you, not because you're surprised but because he's removed his gloves. His thumbs skim against your neck to break the seal, and his smooth fingers burn. He lifts it off as if the beskar were as fragile as an egg and sets it beside his own.

You finally open your eyes and gasp. He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it, or if there are, they are lost to you. His stare is intense and enthralling, his eyes the shade and softness of damp earth.

Then you remember your station and quickly avert your eyes to the ground.

“If it’s any comfort,” he says, “I’ll look much different tomorrow.”

“I’m sure your other form is just as beautiful.”

“Thank you, but you don’t need to flatter me.”

The silence that follows isn’t quite awkward. It’s not the pause of uncertain hands and mouths, of stilted negotiations, but the way the air hangs thick before dropping into battle. It’s the feeling of sitting side by side with your vod, knowing you are safe but still may not make it home.

He sits for a moment longer before taking his leave. “You should rest,” he says before he leaves the room.

You assure him you will. But you won’t. If you’re going to be off duty for two days, all the more reason to finish your tasks, you reason. The crawling pressure against your breastbone calls you a liar.

You know, have known, that to fulfill your duty means walking into a trap unarmed and unprepared. Whatever you find in there, you will have to face with no weapon, no beskar, no allies.

It doesn’t stop you from shaking a little as you remove your beskar’gam in the antechamber. You’re alone. No assistants, no handmaidens, no witnesses.

You take a deep breath that carries you across the threshold. The antechamber locks behind you. There will be no leaving until he is satisfied.

You expected the ritual halls of your ancestors. This is a bedroom.

Yes, it’s a bedroom in a hall carved of beskar-veined stone, but it’s soft. There are pale, thick rugs on the floor and tufted seats in shades of gray. The enormous round bed is indulgent, covered in silks and soft furs. You sit, bare, afraid to hide yourself lest it angers him when he enters.

Will he be the man or the beast when he enters? You’re not sure which you’d prefer. To watch him transform or to be forced to accept his second form upon his entrance.

You’re saved from dwelling on it when the door slides open. You breathe only enough to feel it slip away.

The Mand'alor's shadow cuts the light from the entry. Silhouetted in the frame, he towers higher, wider than he had in the baby’s room. The edges of his form are hard to look at. ike your eyes can’t focus, can’t accept what they see. When he moves and the door locks, you realize it wasn’t his shadow. He is the shadow. It ripples from him, spreading across his torso and arms.

He reaches you in far too few steps. His broad hand cups your chin, and the shadows that blur the edge between his skin and the air cup you also, spilling from his fingers up your cheeks like a wisp of fog.

The Mand’alor does not speak. But when he looks at you, more eyes peel open. Four extra on each side of his forehead, black and slit like a serpent's, though his two original eyes are still brown.

He leans down, the tendrils that swallow him threatening to swallow you, too. When his lips meet yours, your mouth opens to draw a sharp breath. It does not receive it, as he licks into your mouth. It feels like you’re choking, the darkness sliding down your throat.

His hands find your arms, and the shadows crawl down them, never breaking contact with him but stretching, growing. They curl around you, lingering just on the precipice of incorporeal.

You break the kiss to gasp for air, and a wide smirk spreads across his face. “Such a pretty girl,” he purrs. You wish it was hyperbole, but the words come in a rumble from deep within his chest.

And you flush, heat bursting across your skin and pooling in your cunt. He takes a deep breath and his eyes, all ten, dart down to your thighs.

“Offering to feed me already, alor’ika?”

You shudder, but your legs part for him. You hardly notice, enraptured as you are by the way blinks ripple across his hungry eyes.

“That’s it, what a good little pet,” he purrs.

A shudder slips through, your nipples pebbling. He takes one in his mouth immediately. His tongue is rough, but his teeth are surprisingly flat. Human.

Though, you suppose, he’s not a carnivore. Doesn’t need the sharp fangs of nightmares to rend your flesh. Especially not when your flesh seems particularly eager to give him whatever he needs.

He licks the valley between your breasts and sets his teeth against the tendon of your neck. You tip your head to the side, and he rewards you with a famished growl and the sharp pinch of his bite.

You can’t quite breathe right, still. Your skin prickles and burns where his mouth travels down an extensive trail, tasting and biting and marking you. The restraint snaps when he reaches the crest between your thighs, the hunger overtaking him.

He’ll have plenty of time to savor you, anyway.

But for now, he dives straight in. You cry out and jerk your hips at the sudden sensation. Licking deep within you—unnaturally so, you suspect—the shadowy edges of him unfurl, more corporeal than before. Just the small taste has strengthened him so much already.

It splits into thick tendrils, blurry with no discernable edges, just a place where they meet your skin and where they pulse from his body.

They encircle your wrists and hold them just above your head, another pair wrenching your legs apart and opening you for him. He snarls, gripping your thighs in his hands and flicking the sandpaper of his tongue against your clit. You cry out, and a tendril slides into your mouth.

It’s nearly real, now, smooth and dense. Your eyes roll back into your head as it makes itself at home in your throat, fucking in and out.

He looks up at you and laughs into your pussy, the hot breath of air over your clit making you twitch.

There’s nothing to tether you, the slick silk slipping when you squirm, the tendrils connecting you to him, only him, and not the world around you. They lift up your hips, letting him drink from your well with fervor, and you jerk helplessly in their grasp as one slides up and caresses your ass, slithering over the hole and wriggling in.

There isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t feel raw. His shadowy limbs creep over your breasts, roll your nipples, smooth over your stomach, brush against your cheek.

When you cum, he snarls again, slipping two fingers into your cunt and curving them against you, pressing and rubbing, and it brings you over the edge again. He doesn’t let up, not until he builds you up and breaks you on his tongue and hand. Like cracking open a fruit and letting the juices pour over your hand.

He savors every drop.

The danger sneaks in unnoticed. You’re dazed, limp, and chest heaving, coated in sweat and his saliva. But his strength is growing, the tendrils no longer shadow but rendered into flesh, and his grip on you is bruising.

Neither of you notice. You’re exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness, and he’s ravenous.

“More, alor’ika,” he hisses. He forces himself to pull away, to crawl atop you and take.

When you had seen his cock, a brief glance when he entered, it was large but humanly so. It is certainly not, now.

He pushes in slowly, but for all the pleasure he wrung from you, it’s not enough. Could never be enough. You scream, but no sound comes out, thoroughly stoppered as you are by the shadow-limb.

You look up at him, pupils blown not from lust but from pain. Tears leak, and he leans down and licks them from you.

“So pretty when you cry,” he croons, extracting the tendril from your mouth so he can press his tongue inside.

“Mand’alor, please,” you beg through sobs.

The bones in your wrist grind as the tentacles pulsate around them. As he nears his peak, the force of his hips is cruel. You think of the girl from last month. The girl whose shattered pelvis will probably never heal right, even with the bacta bath.

“Ner Mand’alor,” you try again. “It’s too much. If you break me, you can’t have me again.”

He sinks his teeth into your neck. “I can have whatever I need from you.”

“Yes,” you say, trying to nudge his head away with your own. You bump his forehead in a weak attempt at a mirshmure’cya, jostling his damp curls and drawing his real eyes to yours. “Vor entye.”

He draws back a little, regarding you with ten unblinking eyes.

“I will hold you to that, ner ori'skraan,” he says and gives you his own Keldabe kiss. He fucks into you still, rough but not ravaging. The fevered kissing resumes as a tendril creeps down to rub your clit.

When he has drained every ounce of pleasure he can wring from you; he fills your raw, split cunt. It’s so much. It floods, and leaks from you, and all you can do is whimper until he begins to soften.

He reaches down between your legs and brings some of his cum to your lips. You accept the offering, the strange sweetness lingering in your mouth until your lips tingle. The feeling is slow to stretch through you, and by the time the analgesic takes effect, you’re already asleep.

[kanansdume]

"They just need room to grow"

FUCK YOU, I don't even LIKE Satine much but I swear to God I keep getting put into positions where I have to defend her because what the FUCK.

Satine Kryze literally has Mandalore seemingly peaceful for TWENTY YEARS, most of the citizens appear to live primarily under the domes, and that stupid shithole planet was still a total dustball, but somehow a measly 5-7 years after it got GLASSED, it's suddenly capable of sending out new indigenous plant growth enough for people to farm it and create these totally lush underground cave farms/gardens???

As if Satine isn't the kind of person who would've JUMPED at the chance to do exactly that, to try to preserve indigenous Mandalorian plant life, create jobs so that people who had given up a more warrior life-style had alternate career paths to help rebuild Mandalore, as if she wouldn't have had entire projects dedicated to these gardens/farms and trying to regrow entire ecosystems on the surface of the planet to try to make them livable again.

The concept that glassing the planet created plant life because people just up and left it makes zero sense on its own but it also radically retcons what we know of how the planet fared under Satine. I don't buy for a SECOND that the plants would've reacted better to being glassed even if it meant they were left totally alone for 5-7 years, than they would have to 20 years of peace and no wars with very minimal amounts of space being taken up by the inhabitants. There was SO MUCH ROOM TO GROW with everyone confined to domes so fucking explain that to me in a way that doesn't just pretend Satine didn't exist.

[nikki-is-a-nerd]

In Another Life

Synopsis:

When Ezra left and sacrificed himself, He didn't just leave behind his family and friends but the person who he promised to love. When Sabine finds him, he learned not to ask certain things

Genre: Angst.

Note: This is from Ezra's point of view. And AFAB reader and yes Katy Perry reference because ugh it hurts so bad.

_________________________________

How long has it been? How long has he been stuck here, wherever here really was. How long has it been since he lost it all for the sake of saving his home planet? He really didn't know, perhaps he also doesn't want to know. Sure he knows that somewhere deep inside that his friends-no his family is looking for him. Sabine would use that stubborn head if hers just to find him, he bets that Hera and Zeb would do the same although a bit subtle, and you, his lovely girl, he just knows that you're out there somewhere using all your connections. He smiles at that.

He closes his eyes remembering the night before his sacrifice. The sky was beautiful in Lothal, the Loth cats surround you both in the field he found. The sky was beautiful but they couldn't compare to you.

"Ezra, do you think when the Empire is destroyed, we can grow up like normal teenagers and adults?" You asked him so meekly.

He had to take a breath before he answered since he remembered the little message he recorded for you and Sabine.

"I sure hope so. I would like to not always be in a life and death situation and it would ease my mind to know that you aren't in one as well." Ezra said as he looked at you.

"Maybe we can live in your tower, have a pet Loth cat and maybe we can visit Sabine in Mandalore too." You said hopeful.

Ezra feels guilty for what he knows he's going to do and honestly he doesn't know what to say or how to tell you that with what he's planning to do, he might not even get that future with you. So he lies with a smile instead, adding onto your fantasy, one that he's had in a while as well.

"How many Loth cats do you want? We can have as much as you want. I can even move some of my prized helmets to make more space for us." Ezra said as he closed his eyes.

"The helmets, we should put them in a nice glass case so we can admire all the helmets you've collected. And we can put your lightsaber on display." You said happily.

That was the last happy memory he had with you. The day he chose to exile himself, you were knocked unconscious during a fight, this didn't get to hear Ezra's farewell. He asked Sabine to watch over you and tell you that he loves you and that he was sorry.

After that all he's known were these creatures native to this planet. He was in exile but Thrawn found this time to rebuild and make connections with the dark mothers and the other scavengers on this planet. While he lived on the run, once again protecting these creatures that he slowly began to care for.

When Sabine arrived on the planet that she told him was called Peridea, she mentioned how he's been gone for a decade. The resistance won, the empire, the emperor and Darth Vader were all gone. Luke Skywalker brought back the Jedi Order, Leia Organa is now a senator, Hera is now a general and a mother, Kallus and Zeb are married and that she was living in his tower. It was night time already and the rest of the alien friends that Ezra had made were fast asleep. Happy as he might be hearing those life stories he asked Sabine the most important one to him.

"Where's (Y/N) now? What's she up to nowadays? Is she with someone? I mean I wouldn't mind if she was, I mean I've been gone for a decade she can do that. I mean I also just left without a goodbye an-" Sabine cut off Ezra's ramblings.

Sabine looked sullen and wracked with guilt as she looked at Ezra. He knew, he had a feeling that whatever he would hear, this wasn't going to be any good.

"Ezra, after you left, (Y/N) decided that she was going to try and find you. She searched everywhere, until Cassian Andor and her met. He recruited her into a mission to steal the blueprints of the death star." Sabine said solemnly.

"And? You said we won. I guess they succeeded then." Ezra said.

"They did. They succeeded which in turn allowed us to win, but at the cost of everyone part of that mission's lives." Sabine concluded.

Ezra felt his heart shatter. You were dead? The one who kept him sane on this planet, one of his reasons to return. You were well and truly gone? He never got to apologize to you for abandoning you. He hasn't told you how being apart from you was like losing half of himself in the process, how the sun doesn't shine as brightly. How he loves you and longs for you. Now all these words will be left unsaid.

"I'm sorry Ezra. I failed to protect her and I couldn't keep my promise." Sabine apologized, teary eyed.

And Ezra snapped out of his downward spiral. He may have lost the love of his life but for Sabine, she lost her sister, she lost the person who she considered her best friend and he hugged her.

"I'm sorry I made you relive all that." Ezra apologized.

"Don't apologize Ezra. I knew you'd ask about her. When (Y/N) died, I felt it in the force, Ahsoka did too. We felt frozen when that happened. I felt so useless. I talked to her before they executed the mission. I told her that I thought I had a lead on you and I got mad when she said that it didn't matter if I told her or not." Sabine said softly.

She wiped her tears as she looked up at the sky.

"I guess she just didn't want to tell me that it was a suicide mission. That no matter what happens, she would end up. Dead. She didn't leave a message like you did. But apparently she left letters. So once you get back, ask chopper about it." Sabine said a sad smile on her face.

"You know, it's funny how life works. I sacrificed myself so that she can find a way to live peacefully and she does the same thing. Funny how I'm still alive and she isn't." Ezra said looking up at the night sky.

Sabine let Ezra rest his head on her shoulder as he let out a deep exhale. He was saddened by the news, that wasn't really surprising. Sabine used to tell you that you and Ezra were made to be together. It's why she was so utterly devastated by your loss. She knew that if she ever found Ezra telling him about your untimely death and sacrifice would break his heart.

"You know we both moved into your tower. She arranged your helmet collection when she got enough credit to buy a nice case. She said it was her way of fulfilling both of your dreams." Sabine said trying to lighten up the mood.

"She did? I thought she'd be mad at me and throw them out or sell them." Ezra said.

"Nah, (Y/N) cared for those helmets and told me that if anyone tried to take those away from her to put on display since they made a mural of us in Lothal, she said she would steal them." Sabine said chuckling to herself.

"Oh knowing (Y/N) she would even care if people saw her stealing it. She'd say something along the lines of 'its private property and you took it' or 'is it really theft if I own it?'. She's too snarky to get caught." Ezra said with a smile.

"Word of advice, when you return to your tower in Lothal, there's a box labelled with her name on it. Inside is this really thick journal she has. It's addressed to you." Sabine said as she moved to her designated resting spot, beside her howler.

"I thought you lived in the tower?" Ezra asked.

"I did but it was more like ensuring that you'd have a familiar place to return too. Plus there's a loth cat there, use your weird animal speech thing." Sabine joked.

"Thanks Sabine." Ezra said.

When the time came for their escape from Peridea, sure he was alone in Thrawn's ship once more, as Sabine decided to stay behind with Ahsoka. A decision he accepted as he watched as his friend and someone he sees as a sister fight side by side just to get him home.

Once back to the galaxy he once left behind, he had a feeling of both excitement and happiness but also longing. He was excited to see his family. He hasn't seen Hera, Zeb, Kallus and chopper in so long and now he has a new face to see, the last link he has of his late master, Jacen. Yet he can never fully feel at home, not when a piece of him was lost forever once he learned of your demise from Sabine.

When he arrived at the resistance base, it was bittersweet. Hugging Hera felt like he was grounded back in reality. He was home, but not really. Home would've been in your arms, in his tower in Lothal, living out your days in domestic bliss. So once he's caught up with everyone, he asks Hera if he can go back to Lothal, to his tower. Hera didn't object, just led him to the ghost with Jacen chattering away. He felt happy seeing Jacen, so young and full of life. He would make for a great Jedi one day.

"We're here Ezra." Hera spoke as she opened the ship's door and lowered its ramp on Ezra's tower.

"We'll visit you often uncle Ezra!" Jacen said happily.

"If you need anything, just message us on our commlink." Hera added.

"Yeah, thanks again Hera. Take care of yourself now, okay Jacen? Don't be reckless." Ezra said trying faux seriousness.

"Of course!" Jacen said happily.

As soon as the ghost was out of sight, he entered the doors, the lock was still the same. Once inside he noticed the subtle changes. Bunk beds, a chest under the lower bunk with Sabine's things, a small bed for a loth cat, and in the far corner, next to a glass case filled with his collection of helmets was a chest with your name on it. He immediately walks towards it, opening it delicately. There he sees four journals, all labelled, for Ezra.

He opens the very first one and a soft smile graces his lips.

Sabine and I moved into your tower. We wanted to stay close to Lothal, keep it safe and also to form some roots. We have been very busy though.

Dear Ezra,

We moved into your tower, we wanted to stay close to Lothal. Watch over your home planet as much as we can. Although we have been quite busy. Since we are now formally part of the resistance, we have been taking a lot of missions. Sometime together, sometimes apart. I miss you. I wish I wasn't knocked unconscious when you left. I would have loved to hear your voice one last time. I'm not giving up though. In between missions I ask around if people have any known locations of a star whale's path. I may come up empty handed but it won't stop me from trying. I know you're out there. We'll find you. I promise.

Yours always, (Y/N).

But Ezra wanted to look for one specific letter, the one Sabine said was written before your mission with Cassian Andor. Once he picked up the last journal, he realized it only had one entry in it.

Dear Ezra,

I'm so sorry my search has been quite fruitless. Sabine and I never gave up though. I write this last entry now a few days away from our intended mission. We still need to find a certain person but by then we'll be too busy fixing our plan and I won't be able to write anymore. Something about this mission tells me that it might be our last. The blueprints of the death star are highly guarded and the planet is crawling with empire scum. Cassian told me that, he believes we can all go home. I don't really believe that. I hope you won't be too mad or upset with me. I am doing this so that we can no longer live in fear for the next day. For what the empire might do to us. I know that wherever you may be, I know that my love will reach you. I hope Sabine can continue what we started and find a way to get you back. Perhaps in another life, we could have the life that we talked about in that field. Maybe more. I would have loved to see what our future would have been like. To grow old with you, build a life together and a home. In another life, I know we would have had a happy life but I would never ask you to change. My Starboy. My Ezra. My love. My heart is yours forever and always. May the force be with you.

Forever yours, (Y/N).

Ezra clutched that journal to his chest, letting his tears fall freely down his face. He has time to read the other journals next time but for now he wishes to close his eyes and dream of a life where he never left and you lived past twenty. But he knows that you'll always be with him. In the force and in his heart. In your words, He's forever yours.

[fruitflowermyself]

Prove to me that Din Djarin leaving Mandalore to help the New Republic hunt down Imperials wasn’t Bo-Katan’s plan. Imperials glassed her planet and set up shop there like it was their Force given right to do so, you better believe all Mandalorians are going to be out there doing what they can to keep that from happening again. Not one of those masked disaster children are going to let Mandalore slip through their fingers again, and Bo-Katan has a throne to pass down to a child that’s going to live hundreds of years to make sure Mandalorians STAY united. They’ve got a lot of cleanup to do.

We didn’t need a goodbye because there wasn’t a goodbye to be said. And this is a slowburn I haven’t experienced in years.

[absurdthirst]

The Covert Cantina {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Rough sex, stranger sex, protected sex, mentions of religion/creed, duplicity (?)

Comments: Keeping tabs on Mando turns to a surprise encounter behind the cantina as Mando needs to blow off some steam.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

You look around the dark, dusty cantina with an air of disdain as you nurse your spotchka. It looked like every other shithole cantina in some remote world in this parsec. Uncomfortable in clothing that differs from your normal ware, you twist your head around again. Keeping him in sight. A Mandalorian. Shiny, his bare beskar stands out like a beacon and it’s easy to see that there are also a dozen other eyes on him as he sits at a table. No drink in front of him, his helmet is firmly on his head, but you know that he’s watching. Maybe waiting for someone, and you wonder who it is. 

Din glances around the cantina, waiting and watching for the informant who was going to tell him about where Bo-Katan is. He needs to find her and discover the way to Mandalore. When you approach, he’s immediately on edge. The glass of spotchka in your hand has him eying you and he immediately thinks that you’re beautiful. “Can I help you?” He asks, head tilted as he waits for your answer.

Smirking, you take a seat and lean back, appraising him. “You looked lonely.” You joke, knowing that there is nothing but intimidation in the blank gaze of a Mandalorian’s helmet. It’s why it was so useful. “Maybe a little lost. And I can help with that.” You offer, taking a sip of your spotchka as you trail your eyes up and down his body as much as you can, eyeing his weaponry.

Din frowns, wondering why you are eying him like that. Do you want him? He’s confused. “You can?” He asks, a little dubious as he doubts you’ll be able to help him like he needs. He’s tight, wound up from his travels, and while Grogu naps, he’s needing a release. Something he doubts you can help with.

The way his body stiffens makes you pause, wondering if he’s pent up. Slipping your lip between your teeth as you read the air for a moment. Realizing what he thinks you are talking about. It hadn’t been, but you aren’t opposed. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, you’ve heard the stories. “I bet you’re looking for others like you.” You guess, leaning in and gazing into the t visor of his helmet. “And maybe blow off a little stream. Am I right?” You smirk. “What’s your poison? Fucking or fighting? Or a little of both?”

Din leans in, “both.” His modulated voice is rougher than normal as he appraises you. “Are you offering?” He isn’t one to beat around the bush. He knows what he wants and if you’re offering to let him fuck your brains out, he’s fully on board. It’s been too long and you are beautiful. Mesh’la. He can’t say that, not wanting to give himself away.

Your eyes flash in victory and you take your time tilting back your drink, finishing the spotchka with a small moan you know the Mando will enjoy. Setting it down on the table, you stand and toss a couple of credits on the table. “Meet me out back in a minute.” You tell him, “we can fight and fuck in the alley, or I can show you my ship. Unless you want to go to yours.”

Din shakes his head, “alley.” It’s not romantic or glamorous but it’s what he’s used to. He’s never ‘made love’. All he’s known is rough hard sex and his cock is already half hard thinking about it. He watches you exit the cantina and he waits a few moments before he follows, flexing his fingers.

It’s telling that he doesn’t want any kind of softness, making you anticipate how he will go about this. You hadn’t expected to fuck him, but the thought of this Mandalorian being between your thighs makes you drip. Deciding that you will make it a bit harder for him since he said he likes to fuck and fight.

Din strides into the alley, confused when he doesn’t see you. He glances around until he feels something straddle his back and he moves fast, grabbing your arms to fling you over his head. “Dank ferik.” He growls, tossing you aside.

Instead of getting angry, you laugh, springing to your feet and launching yourself at the mandalorian again. You aren’t trying to actually beat him, you know that’s impossible with his armor and weaponry, but it’s the bloodlust. The thrill of the fight that makes this fun.

Din hears you laugh and huffs, knowing you’re messing with him. He spins, moving fast to grab your wrists to push you against the wall. “I wouldn’t test me, cyar’ika.” He warns, pressing his armored torso against yours to keep you pinned.

“Thought you liked to fight and fuck, Mando?” You taunt, smirking up at his helmet. It’s strange to see your reflection in it. “Thought I would give you a bit of both, you angle your hips out to press against him. “Hmmm no codpiece, interesting.”

Din grunts, “it’s too confining for me.” He brags a little and he groans when you reach down to squeeze him, sliding your hand down between you. “Fuck.” You moan at how thick he is and he grunts, “you wanna fight or do you wanna fuck, little one?” He asks, squeezing your wrist.

You moan finding it rare to have a man call you ‘little’ and you know what your answer will be. “Fuck.” You pant breathlessly, squeezing him roughly. You think he likes it from the way his breath catches, his cock pulsing against your palm. “How are you gonna fuck me, Mando?”

“Hands on the wall. Do not move them.” He commands, spinning you around and he pushes you back against the wall so your stomach is pushing against it. “Do not move.” He wants, keeping your hands on the wall while he works on unbuttoning your pants, pushing them down to your ankles and he kicks your ankle to spread your legs. His cock is hard and aching in anticipation of being inside of you and he pulls himself out. His gloves slide between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

“Fuck.” Your head rolls back at the press of his leather clad fingers. You had expected him to want to fuck you first before rubbing your clit but you aren’t complaining. “I’m wet, but-“ you pant out, “but let me spit in your palm.” You beg, wanting to coat the cock you haven’t seen in your saliva.

He huffs and brings his hand to your mouth, letting you spit into his gloved palm and he brings it down to grip his cock, coating himself in your saliva. With a grunt, he lines himself up and pushes inside of you with one thrust.

You don’t cry out, how can you when his cock is splitting you in two and forcing the air from your lungs? All you can do is wheeze, slapping your hand against the adobe clay of the cantina’s exterior walls and take it. Take how he is still pushing into you, filling you up beyond what you ever imagined possible. The black spots behind your eyes blur together and your pathetic whine begs for more.

He groans, pushing deep inside of you, his helmet pressing against the top of your head as he hunches over you. His gloved hands come up to cover yours on the wall, keeping them pressed against the clay. “Fuck. You’re so tight.” He hisses and starts a rough pace. Uncaring of your pleasure as he uses your body.

You open your mouth, wanting to pop back with a sharp comment but all you can do is moan when he pulls his hips back and slams back into you. Loving the rough pace of the man hammering into you, every thrust has you rolling up into the balls of your feet, just trying to take him a little easier. “Sh-shit!” You cry out, dragging your hands down the rough exterior of the wall.

He grunts, not wanting to be too vocal in case he gives himself away. His eyes roll back into his head as he rocks into you, beskar pressed against your back. You’re perfection and just what he needed after so much stress. His hands grip yours, bringing them together behind your back so it arches.

Your breasts scrap over the building and you moan softly, tilting your head back. “Oh fuck, fuck.” You gasp, loving how each thrust pierces deep and his cock punches deep and strikes something magical inside you, “more.” You beg, needing him to wreck you.

He hisses, pushing deep inside of you with each thrust. He can’t help it. You’re so wet and he hears it with every thrust. “Fuck. Fuck mesh’la.” He grunts and grabs your hips, using your body to ground him so he can jack hammer inside of you.

Biting down on your lip, your moans are muted, not wanting anyone to come down the narrow little alley and interrupt the best fucking you’ve had in forever. You had known he would be pent up, but this is beyond your expectations. Pinning you in place so all you can do is take him, it makes your cunt flutter around him wildly, already so close to cumming that your body trembles with need.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Din hisses, sensing how close you are and he desperately wants you to cum around him. His hand slides along your pelvis to press two fingers to your clit, the leather is smooth as he runs it frantically, trying to push you over the edge.

Mando manages to perfectly synchronize his fingers with the beautifully pushing pace of his hips. Making you cry out when he punches deep, cunt starting to spasm as your clit being rubbed was just what you needed in order to fall apart. Sagging against the wall, it and Mando pinning you in from behind are the only things keeping you from collapsing to the ground while your entire body lights up in the breathtaking orgasm he’s forced on you.

“Fuck.” Din breathes out when you clamp down on his cock, punching him in the gut with how tight and wet you get. “Shit, mesh’la. I’m going to -” He grits his teeth, pushing deep inside of you as he tries to hold off on his orgasm but it’s been too long since he was inside of a woman. He pants, his helmet resting on your head as he withdraws his hand to grip your hips, keeping you still as he pounds into you. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep before he can’t hold off anymore, spilling inside of you and painting your walls.

Gasping for air, your eyes close while you rest your cheek against the building. Feeling the heat of his release fill you and making you thank the Maker for your implant. Limbs pleasantly heavy and you can hear his own panted breathes behind you while he grinds deep and pulses, riding out his high for a few precious more seconds before he has to pull away. “Fuck, Mando.” You hum. “I needed that. Fuck, I love that ache.”

He grunts, pulling out of you, and he bites his lip as he leans back to watch his cum drip out of you. It’s obscene but the thought of his hot seed coating your cunt has his spent cock twitching. “Me too.” He confesses, knowing he’s been too pent up with trying to redeem himself on Mandalore, and Grogu, and the saber. It’s been a lot to deal with.

You groan, pulling up your pants and by the time that you turn around, Mando has tucked his cock away and looks like nothing had ever happened if you didn’t see the way that his shoulders are rolled back. More relaxed than he had been when you had first seen him. “Now, what else can I help with, Mando? Wanna fight now?” You chuckle quietly and wonder if he will give you any information that you can use.

“No. I- I need to find someone. I’m not sure if you know where I can find her. I’m looking for Bo-Katan. She’s like me.” He gestures to his beskar, hoping you could help him or direct him to someone who can help. He’s all business now that the pleasure has been taken care of.

It’s surprising that he would be unaware of where Bo-Katan is. You thought all Mandalorians knew where she would be. “Kalevala, I would imagine.” You offer breezily. “That is now the seat of House Kryze, what is left of it.”

Din nods, glad that you know. Even if he’s a little suspicious that you immediately know the answer. He reaches out to cup your cheek, “thank you, mesh’la.” He murmurs and spins on his heel to walk away, eager to get Grogu and get back to his ship. 

****

Upon landing on Kalevala, Din is immediately on edge but he needs to speak to Bo Katan about Mandalore. Striding through the ruins of the once great hall, he finds her lounging on her throne, a pout on her lips as she stares at Din.

Moving silently, you emerge from the halls behind the pillars. Having heard that Din Djarin had landed, you wonder what had taken him so long to come. Expecting him weeks ago but he hadn't shown up until now. You wonder where he had been, now with a small baby that hadn’t been with him in the cantina. Bo doesn’t turn to look at you as she stares out the window. “Bo-Katan.” Din announces as he walks towards the dias. “It is Din Djarin. I have come to join you.” This makes you lift a brow, intrigued by what he has to say. 

“There is nothing to join.” She tells him morosely.

Din sighs softly, knowing this woman is sulking and he needs to be sure Bo-Katan tells him the way to Mandalore, towards his redemption. He’s wary of the Mandalorian standing behind her, staring at him. “I- I need to find the living waters of Mandalore…for redemption.”

You know that he is one of the Mandalorians who believe that removing their helmets makes them an apostate. Bo had told you that he had removed his helmet to save the small child that is in the pram beside him. “The planet is a wasteland.” You tell him. “There is nothing left of Mandalore.”

He recognizes your voice but can’t tell from where. You have your helmet on and he tilts his with curiosity. “That’s not true. The planet is not cursed. It’s simply ruined.” Bo Katan argues, shaking her head.

“You plan to go alone?” You ask, curious as to why Din Djarin would risk such danger with a child in his care. “I will go to Mandalore to restore my creed.” He tells you, making you tilt your head in contemplation. “It is not enough that the once ruler of Mandalore says that Mandalorians may live in peace and their creed intact even if they remove their helmets? We are apostates?”

Din is shocked by your attitude, making him place his hands on his hips. “I am a true believer of the creed. We do not show our face once we take the oath. I have broken that oath and I must restore my dignity. Would you remove your helmet so willingly? You are still wearing it despite Bo Katan going without.”

You smirk under your helmet, imaging the shock that will ride across his face in just a moment. “I have been a Mandalorian since birth Din Djarin, my family has generations that lived and died on Mandalore. Some with their helmets on, most without.” You reach up and slowly remove your helmet. “Do that make me less worthy of the creed?”

Din can’t answer that without offending you. “We do not remove our helmets. That is The Way.” He says pointedly, growing tired of the arguments regarding the intricacies of Mandalorian lore. He says this just as you remove your helmet and his eyes widen, shocked by your face. You’re the woman he fucked in the alleyway of the cantina.

“That is what you sect believes, true.” You tell him softly, noticing how his entire body tenses. “However, we believe that we are bound by more than the creed.” You look towards Bo. “A divided Mandalore is a weak people.” Nodding towards him. “You hold the saber, yet you do not try to lead our people. Your quest is purely self serving to please a clan who turns they back if you need aid.”

Din stares at you, your words hitting him hard but he won’t react, instead he doesn’t say a word. Pausing for a few moments while he thinks about what you said. “And if I do not bring the Mandalorians into the light as one clan? I will have failed as Mandalor. What would I do to connect our masses, to be their leader? If I am an apostate? None of the sect you vilify would follow me.”

You have to concede that point, even if Bo Katan could not. “Then safe travels, Din Djarin.” You offer, nodding your head at him respectfully as Bo continues to sulk on her throne.

Din looks at you, “I am leaving but I will be back.” He promises and steps closer towards the throne platform. “We need to speak about the cantina.” Din tells you, seeing the shock on Bo Katan’s face. She turns to look at you and Din is grateful he’s still wearing his helmet as you fluster and move down to step closer to him. “We do need to speak about what happened, Din Djarin.” You say and he nods, “we shall speak upon my return.”

You watch as Din Djarin turns around and starts to stride out of the hall, his confident, long legged gait eating up the distance between the throne and the door. “Goodbye Din Djarin.” Bo Katan scoffs softly, turning towards you after he leaves. “What about the cantina?” She demands, making you smirk as you watch the door. “I confirmed Din can wave his saber about with absolutely skill and confidence.” You joke, looking forward to his return.

[mythosaursarecool]

Well I reached my 50 followers milestone so time to deliver on some lore drop stuff for my Mythosaur

So let’s get this ball rolling!

The plan here is three additional posts (maybe more we’ll see) going into more detail on the species this is going to more of an overview. This for now is just some random facts and lore I’ve put together.

Additional Content coming soon:

[Anatomy] [Force Use] [Battle Bonds]

-Written by a lover of world building and theoretical biology

My design came into play because boy oh boy do hate the canon mythosaur design. Like come oooon look at this guy! That’s not the stuff of legend that a weirdo that can stay down at the bottom of his living waters pond

So with the power invested in me by myself and no one else I said "I can do better" and spent the next year and a half designing , scrapping that, Pinterest boarding, then designing again another two times before before I settled on what has become my Mythosaur

Now some lore and random facts~ enjoy my word vomit! More to come with the other posts!

The story of Mandalorian riding mythosaurs as big as cities comes from the fact their bones fossilize into bescar and the great mines span for miles, but there’s not been any confirmation of living mythosaurs that big in any recoded history.

Mythosaurs are highly intelligent beasts, they form what is called a Battle Bond with the Mandalorian they carry into battle. Wile all mythosaurs can form these bonds the ones that do tend to be far and few between as there is a criteria that must be met for this, but more on that in the Battle Bonds post.

It should be noted that wile highly intelligent mythosaurs are also considered highly aggressive too. One can neither run nor hide from them once a Mythos has decided your life is forfeit. They do not take slights easily to themselves or their Mandalorians.

A mythosaurs name has power to it. To know their name does not give you power over them but it does give one the ability to truly know them. They do not give out their names to just anyone.

Mythosaurs are gifted in a few verities of force sensitivities. They can’t interact and move things around like a Jetti can but they can access the Livning and Physical force with practice. Most are skilled in the mind arts to some degree.

There were no known Mythosaur and Mandalorian Battle Bonded pares when the Empire glassed Mandalor. In fact there hadn’t been any known paring since before the Mandalorian civil war

Mythosaurs can resinate with bescar, it’s commonly called making bescar "sing"

Bescar has some interesting amplifying properties for Mythosaurs in the force. They can tether their force signature to teal they are familiar with and track it over large distances wile also being able to sense what’s around the anchor point to some degree.

I have like waaaaayyyy more I can go into here but I want to break things up and go more in-depth on things in separate topic designated posts so enjoy these tidbits! I do this for fun and entirely self indulgent so cheers y’all!

[high-fantasy-sw]

Mandalorians!

Their culture is an integral part to the clones, especially the older generation clones like Cody and Rex, I'd like to know more about how they fit into this universe and how they contribute to it.

Everything from their songs (which they ahve a lot of) to their weapons (again, they have quite a bit of this). How does beskar fit into all this? What of the Kryze sisters and Korkie? And Death Watch? Jango and Boba Fett? The Cuy'val Dar and how they trained the troopers?

Oh! And what about our beloved Kamas?

Just...splurge about the Mandos to me

:DDDDDD YESSS SO MANY QUESTIONS LET ME ANSWER THEM ALL

Okay! So. Part one. Mandos. Let's go. I'm gonna zero in on a few specific things about Mandalorian culture here, because across the AU I tend not to change a lot of established, canon lore in terms of detraction. I (usually) operate on a policy of "keep everything that's canon, adapt certain things to fit a fantasy aesthetic rather than a science fiction one, and add whatever I think is cool". For an example of what I mean by this, I'd advise you to go check out my post about Togrutas in the AU.

With this being said, that means that the established Mandalorian culture is pretty much the same as in canon. Therefore, I am choosing to highlight the additions I have made and several adaptations to existing cultural items and practices.

One more thing to keep in mind: as made abundantly clear by this point, in HFSW the Mandalorians are based upon Ancient Rome. I cannot promise complete historical accuracy, in fact I will go so far as to not promise any historical accuracy, but as a Latin student, history buff, and the co-consul of my school's Latin Club, it was too perfect an opportunity for me to resist.

Art Forms: Other than their beskar, the Mandalorians are famed for one other art form: their gorgeous stained glass. (This was actually one of the very first things I knew I wanted to add to the AU.) Ever since the island was cursed so many years ago in the Jedi-Mandalorian Crusades and turned mostly to a barren wasteland of sand, the people of Mandalore and its surrounding island territories put their hallmark resilience to the front again: they melted it down and made something of it. Combine that with traditional Mandalorian Color Symbolism, and the glass became almost as important as the beskar'gam itself. By the time of the Clone Wars, it can be found in use for practical purposes (glassware such as cups and vases, as well as the domes of Mandalore Proper's famed domed cities), art (windows and even blown-glass sculptures), and jewelry (some of the more crafty have even found ways to work it into their armor), to name a few examples. In addition, and especially under Satine's rule, other forms of the arts flourish on Mandalore Proper and its island territories, such as frescoes, mosaics, architecture, and theatre.

Gear and Weaponry, specifically Jet Packs: The beskar'gam is still the most important aspect of Mandalorian culture, although- unfortunately- I haven't actually had the time to design what it would look like for the AU yet. (I'm working on it.) It's still made of beskar, beskar is still only found on Mandalorian islands, armorers are still the ones in charge of its creation and maintenance, et cetera. Mandalorians fight with almost all weaponry found under the sun, although the vast majority of them favor spears and javelins, or knives (mostly daggers, although throwing knives are not unheard of). The Darksaber has a serrated blade, and due to its being forged of beskar, when ignited by a force-sensitive it crackles with lightning rather than fire. Jet packs (haven't thought of an appropriately fantasy name for them yet) are a creation of the Mandalorians, and are- essentially- fully-jointed, mechanical wings mounted on a harness. It's very cool. I shall have art of it for you soon, when I actually get around to designing beskar'gam. (As for your question about kamas: I'm gonna answer that when I get around to the more Clone-centric asks. I didn't forget, I'm just saving it for later)

Songs: Mandalorian songs are of wide and varied style and genre, from ballads to elegies to rousing tavern-songs, and every kind in-between. They are written in Basic, Mando'a, or Old Mando'a (though these are usually more traditional, ancient songs; with very few exceptions, more modern songs are not composed in Old Mando'a). I will talk more about songs, though, when I get to your more Clone-centric questions, because song is a hugely important part of Clone Culture in this AU and I want to do most of the heavy lifting there.

AAASDFGHJKL YOUR QUESTIONS ARE SO GOOD AND I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO ANSWERING ALL OF THEM!!! Also I got the message in your last ask; PLEASE don't be afraid to shoot me as many as you want, I will answer literally any question you throw at me because I am so starved for people to talk to me about this AU. AUGH MAY YOU'RE THE BEST :D

This concludes part one!! (it's almost 1 AM in my time zone right now so i'm gonna clock out and get some sleep BUT I WILL BE ANSWERING THE REST OF YOUR QUESTIONS TOMORROW)