#Story time with Grogu

[burnwater13]

Grogu standing on a seat on the bridge of Moff Gideon's Ship. The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 8, The Rescue

Din Djarin wondered what was going through Grogu’s mind as his foundling stood on the command console seat on the bridge of Moff Gideon’s ship. Really, the New Republic’s ship now. 

The Jedi had arrived and was willing to train Grogu in the ways of the Force. But Grogu wasn’t budging from that seat. He was just giving the Mandalorian a look and cooing at him. Grogu didn’t want to go, but why? This young man was his kind. One of his people. Why wouldn’t he want to be with his people?

But that just reminded Din Djarin of himself as a youngling, struggling to fit in with the people who saved him and then claimed him. He hadn’t been born on Mandalore like Bo-Katan. He hadn’t even learned any of his Mandalorian Creed there. He’d had to learn all of that on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon. 

Thinking back on his life on Aq Vetina, Din Djarin had been a bit of a mischief maker. He’d like tricking his mom and dad and ran around with the kids who lived near by whenever his chores and homework were done. He hadn’t been a serious student then. But you could dare him to do almost anything and Din would take that dare and turn it upside down. 

That was not how things were done on Concordia. He found out that people there treated life very seriously because it could end so abruptly. He knew how abruptly life could end. He missed his parents and his friends and his carefree silliness more than he would have ever admitted when he and those friends had been dashing around and getting yelled at by the stall owners of the market. 

He became a serious student, desperately trying to mimic and then actually be like his instructors, mentors, and leaders. The other foundlings found him insufferable at times. He got pushed around and was often singled out by the bullies and bigger kids trying to prove that they were as Mandalorian as he was. Din Djarin didn’t let it get under his skin. He just learned from it. 

Several of his instructors encouraged him to fight the bullies and put an end to the nonsense. But he didn’t follow their advice. At least not then. Instead he would dare the bullies to do things that no one thought could be done. Enter the forbidden mineshaft and cross over the underground gorge using the hanging pieces of the old rail system and bring back a chunk of beskar ore. Steal enough food from the dinning hall kitchens to feed the gundark that old Mace Vizlsa had won on a bet and then kept in a makeshift pen, outside of the enclave’s main facilities. Or, sneak into Pre-Vizsla’s offices and come back with his mythosaur charm. 

No one believed he’d done any of those things until he showed them his trophies. Then they had stopped bullying the skinny boy who seemed like such a prig. He had layers. Layers that they didn’t have but really wanted. It had been too easy to just push or hit him. He hadn’t cared because he knew things that could have ended them and he hadn’t bothered to do it. That had been power and control those kids could understand and respect. He was no longer their target but their teacher. 

And wasn’t that what Grogu needed right now? A teacher? Someone who could help him tap into the power that others called the Force and learn to control and manipulate it? Except, Grogu already knew how to do that. Picking up the mudhorn hadn’t been a mistake. That had been a deliberate action. Healing him and Greef Karga. Stopping Cara when they were arm wrestling… Uff. That was the problem. Grogu had access to a lot of power, but he didn’t have access to equal amount of judgment to guide his use of it. Could this young Jedi teach Grogu that? Din Djarin had his doubts.

He remembered a trip his squad of friends had made on Concordia. They were supposed to go to the outskirts of Oriya and practice their skills at reconnaissance.  Din Djarin had completed the task several times without his squad and now he’d been directed to lead them on the mission. He was maybe twelve years old. 

But unlike every other time that he’d run down the forest paths, avoid the old, hidden and decaying mine shafts and caves that provided cover for the first part of the mission, this time he’d become distracted. It was like a voice was calling to him. He knew that couldn’t be true. Nothing had called to him any of the prior times and he reasoned that he was feeling more stressed because this time he was in charge of a group of his friends. 

But the farther along the path he went the louder the voice became. He couldn’t ignore it, but he also couldn’t fail his mission. He made a quick decision. He stopped and got his squad in a huddle. He delegated authority to his least favorite but most skilled squad mate. He explained quickly how he had gotten in and found observation posts and gave them a time and location to regroup and he’d check in with them then. 

They did as they were told and no one questioned him. It was a mark of how they viewed him as a leader. 

They moved forward and he ran toward where he’d heard the voice calling to him. He moved through the trees and brush and found himself at the mouth of sandy bottomed cave. It was strange. Like it had been made somewhere else and plopped there just for him to find it. 

He entered the cave without a second thought. The voice’s strength and words hadn’t changed. But that was a problem. They weren’t getting stronger or softer or closer. They weren’t changing. How could that be true? He stopped. He turned around and began to walk slowly back the way he had come. He wanted to see if his action caused any change. At first, nothing happened. The voice didn’t change at all. 

Then, just as he saw the light of the woodland path shine through, he felt, rather than saw, the walls of the cave move in, trying to trap him in it. Dank Farrik! He’d fallen for some wretched leftover of the wars Mandalorians had fought against the Jedi and the Sith! 

He ran as fast as he could and managed to get out of the cave with just a couple of bruises and long gash down his leg. He would tell his squad mates, when he met up with them again, that he’d fallen and just cut himself on a rock. They believed it because he was reached them at the appointed place and at the appointed time and they had no reason to believe that he had gone on an adventure without them. 

He thought about the lesson that he learned that day and hoped that wasn’t the same lesson that Grogu was struggling with right then. When do you listen to yourself and when do you trust the people you care about? His leader had told him to remember his responsibilities and the Mandalorian hadn’t. Nothing bad had happened to his squad mates, but it could have gone horribly wrong. He’d just been lucky. He hoped, with all his heart, that the choice Grogu made was the best one for him. They had both been lucky but now they needed to listen to the people they trusted. This was the way…

@mduluozz Here's the story you helped inspire. Again, thank you for sharing you art. If you want to repost this with your drawing, please feel free.

[beskarfrog]

i didn't expect it to be someone like you, i didn't expect you to be like me

[shirozora-draws]

I needed an excuse to get myself back on track for all things The Stars and what better way to do it than to answer this art prompt from a comment on the 3rd chapter? The man needs more color in his wardrobe, so let's do that.

Color scheme is heavily inspired by Andor's Mon Mothma & family. My reasoning is that I see their clothes to be a blend of Coruscant and Chandrila, and since Leia and the NR government are both located in Chandrila post-OT I imagine that some of Luke's clothes also come from Chandrila. The man can't wear all-black all the time post-OT, I'm just saying.

That little bit of gray/silver under the collar is the silver chain the mythosaur pendant is hanging from. And as an Asian person I will exploit Star Wars' obsession with E. Asian clothing as much as I want.

[annakinn]

Mando learns a secret about our Sith.

[itsjuststardust]

Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 6: The Hallucination

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Alaina wakes up in an unfamiliar place. Alone. Anything to not feel alone anymore.

Word Count: 12,041

Author Notes/Chapter Warnings: Chapter warnings for this chapter include mental/physical abuse/torture, and Alaina may lose her marbles a little bit. Enjoy 🩶 MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 6: The Hallucination

Alone.

She was always alone, even when she was with Pershing or any of the other Imperial lackeys. She wasn’t a person to them. She wasn’t Alaina, an accomplished dancer who loved to cook, surround herself with friends, and watch storms roll through from her bedroom window. She was just a thing they experimented on.

No one looked at her. No one spoke to her. She was treated as if she were invisible.

So, she’d learn to tolerate being alone over the last couple of years.

She preferred it when they were at the smaller compound in Nevarro City. The smaller space forced closer quarters, and there was not much room to spread out. There was always noise; whether it be the background noise of the city, the low hum of Pershing’s lab equipment, or the idle chit-chat of the troopers patrolling, there was always something going on.  The larger main lab out in the lava flats had more room to spread out, but even there, she was with other people or at least in the proximity of other people.

Whereas now… Now, locked in a dark cell, she was alone.

They called it solitary confinement—a form of punishment for not producing the results they were looking for.

They had moved out to the larger main lab in the lava flats for better equipment for the next set of trials Pershing had planned for her. This time, they had been working with her to try to get her to predict the future. The time before had been trying to get her to read someone’s mind. Unsurprisingly, she had failed again. Just like she failed the time before and would undoubtedly fail the next time. No matter how often she tried to remind Pershing that she was only able to move things, he still kept tinkering with her mind. 

After a full day of trials and testing that produced no response, Alaina prepared herself for the repercussions.

Previously, when she had not performed well, they resorted to forms of physical punishment, as if beating her, shocking her, or drowning her would somehow make her produce whatever result they were looking for. So, when she was escorted to a cell, she thought she had won a vacation when no fists, batons, or tubs of water were brought in when she failed. Alaina didn’t know what she had done to win herself the reprieve from violence—maybe Pershing finally realized it wasn’t going to do anything—maybe they didn’t have enough help to monitor her. Either way, she was thankful for the change.

In her tiny, dark cell, time was difficult to tell. Based on the intervals they brought a single tray with a ration pack and a canteen of water, she figured out that they were only bringing her meals once a day. Usually, they made sure that she was given a minimum of two meager meals a day, so she suspected they were changing their tactics of brutality, switching gears completely to starving her. It wasn���t until the third day that she realized they weren’t trying to break her by starving her. After the third tray was pushed under a small opening on the floor and scooted in, she realized Pershing was intentionally isolating her. 

Three days was all it took for Alaina to break down in tears. No light, no sounds, just one meal a day and a bucket in the corner were enough to start to drive her mad. She realized that this new punishment was a special kind of hell for her, and Penn Pershing fucking knew it. 

Pershing had loathed the fact that Alaina was a social butterfly when they were friends. He despised the dinner parties with her friends she forced him to attend. He always sat in the back of the auditorium, away from others, when he came to her dance recitals. The fact that she went out dancing with friends after her performances was a complete mystery to him, and that was a line he never crossed. 

After her mother died, he’d instinctively known she couldn’t be alone and lived with her for the better part of a week. After her mother’s funeral, she couldn’t bear to live in the home she had grown up in, surrounded by the ghosts of happy memories—he brought her to live with him until she got her feet under her. They had lived together for a few months before Alaina finally started feeling more like herself and had even begun dancing with a new company. Pershing had wanted her to sell her childhood home and stay with him permanently, but she eventually ended up moving back in, unable to completely let go just yet. 

He knew she always surrounded herself with others, and now he’d taken that away from her. If Alaina had any lingering doubts that there was still a shred of decency left in her former best friend, they were completely banished after being locked away for the last three days.

So, it took Alaina three days to break down, five to start hearing things, and six or seven to accept that she was having full-on hallucinations.

It started with whispers in the darkened corners of her cell. At first, she was nervous when she heard the voices. She was convinced she was hearing others talk outside of her cell door, but then the whispers turned into her mother's voice, and Alaina didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. 

She tried to imagine her mother sitting with her, giving her words of strength, and wrapping her up into a warm, tight embrace… but her imagination wasn’t that good. Alaina tried hugging herself and telling herself it was her mother, but she apparently hadn’t gone that insane yet because she couldn’t quite trick herself into believing that.

Sitting on the cold floor with her head resting back against the wall, Alaina tried even to remember what it was like to be held by someone. She’d been in the Empire’s custody for almost two years now, and Pershing was smart enough to know he had destroyed any chance of Alaina accepting any form of comfort from him.

Her eyelids fluttered closed when she realized who the last person to comfort her was.

The Mandalorian.

He had held her after her embarrassing attempt to seduce him before trying to throw herself in the carbonite chamber. She could vividly recall sitting on the cold floor of the hold of his ship, with nothing but his cloak wrapped around her, while she cried huge, fat tears when she realized that her bounty hunter was going to follow through on his job and turn her into Penn Pershing.

New, fresh tears started forming in her eyes. Even two years later, she could still feel his bare hands on her skin and the way his armor was firm and supportive as he held her in the hold of his ship… That was the last time anyone had hugged her.

She hated that he was the last person to comfort her and the last person to likely ever comfort her.

And then, as if the Mandalorian had heard her thinking about him, he was suddenly there in the room, sitting next to her.

She could clearly see him as if moonlight were shining in from some window that she knew wasn’t there. The soft, imaginary light shone off the Mandalorian’s silver helmet and highlighted the scuffs and scratches on the rest of his brown armor.

Now, Alaina knew she was really going insane if she could actually see the Mandalorian in the room with her. Why couldn’t it be her mom? She would even take one of her dance friends, or some random person she’d only met once, or quite literally anyone else in the galaxy who wasn’t the man responsible for her current situation.

Naturally, the bounty hunter remained quiet as he sat next to her. Alaina wanted to ignore him. Alaina tried to pretend he wasn’t there, but he never left her side—not when she growled at him or screamed at him to leave her alone… The Mandalorian just stayed there next to her, holding his hand out for her to take. 

It wasn’t until day nine that she could actually feel him. 

Her shoulder brushed against his pauldron, and she realized that she could actually feel her hallucination sitting next to her.

He never spoke. He never moved. He just sat there, holding his hand out for her to take.

On the tenth day, she looked at him and said, “I still hate you, you know?”

The Mandalorian just tilted his helmet curiously at her and inched his hand closer for her to take. She grabbed his hand and refused to let him go.

It was just her and her hallucination against the world—against the world or whatever was left of her mind, because she could feel whatever was left starting to slip away. As if sensing her downward-spiraling thoughts, the man sitting next to her in her cell squeezed her hand tightly in his glove. 

He was an anchor for her distraught mind, something to tether her sanity so she wouldn’t drift away. He was a life preserver thrown to sea to keep her from drowning in her thoughts and pain. 

A chuckle escaped Alaina at the concept that her mind had chosen him. Out of all the people who genuinely cared for her over the course of her life, her mind picked the Mandalorian. The chuckle continued to roll out of her mouth, slowly building steam until she was cackling maniacally, like a true woman who had lost her mind.

She may have lost her mind, but at least she wasn’t alone anymore.

Anything to not feel alone anymore.

Alaina’s eyes shot wide as the feeling of the Mandalorian’s rough, leather gloves gripped her hand back, pulling her back to reality.

Her chest heaved, and she began to frantically look around her, terrified that the last few days were all some kind of dream and she had never left that cell on Nevarro.

Her panic only intensified when nothing around her was familiar. From her position lying on her back, confusion and fear gripped her while she tried to process her surroundings.

This wasn’t a lab, Nevarro, or the Mandalorian’s ship. She was in a completely unrecognizable location. It was primitive looking, nothing like what the Empire preferred, which was a small relief but not big enough to quell her fear completely. 

Other than the obvious mystery location, the next thing she noticed was what she was wearing. She was no longer wearing the new clothes that the Mandalorian had bought for her and had been changed into an overly large long-sleeved shirt or gown of some kind. From what she could tell, it was thin and worn from use and had a distinctive, familiar smell she couldn’t quite place.

Alaina tried to calm her racing heart as she started to look around to figure out where she was. Despite the bright light from the moon and stars shining through the slats in the planks of wood that made the walls, it was difficult to see much in her surroundings, but this couldn’t be more than a small shack made of sticks.

She was lying in a bed, and she could see the shadow outlines of the walls, some furniture, and the door on the wall opposite her.

The most obvious glaring fact was that, once again, she was alone.

She quietly sat up to try to figure out where she was in the dark and quiet room at night. Alaina tried not to cry and the unfamiliar, unknown, new circumstances she’d found herself in. Was she a prisoner? Was she a patient? Or was this some kind of holding room? A place to keep her until she could be turned back over to the Empire?

She took a deep breath through her nose to try and keep it together. Dwelling on all of the terrifying options wouldn’t do her any good. She needed to calm down and focus to at least figure out where she was and what had happened to her. If she could remember what happened, then she could figure out where she was and come up with a plan to escape. 

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Her head hurt and throbbed in a pain that radiated down her spine. She tried to push through the pain, but her mind was a thick fog that made it difficult to remember the events that led to her waking up in a shack by herself.

She had been with Mando and Grogu. They had landed somewhere… Sorgan, she remembered, trying to spy through the cracks of wood at the land around the hut for more answers. She’d been with Mando and Grogu at a cantina. She’d had something to drink… and the rest… the rest was buried in a haze of pain.

Alaina used her hands to feel around the bed and the wall closest to her in her search for clues. She frowned when she realized her right arm was no longer bound in a sling. She poked at her shoulder and found it didn’t hurt to touch or move around. In fact, it felt completely normal. How much time had passed since she was at the settlement with Mando? Where was she now, and what had happened to her? 

How long had she been alone?

How long had it taken the Mandalorian to decide she was no longer worth the effort? How long had it taken him to leave her with the first settlement they’d come across and abandon her here?

Even in her darkest hours at the hands of the Empire, her mind would always conjure him when she needed someone. Her mind always gave her the Mandalorian when she needed someone. He always appeared when she couldn’t stand being alone. He was always there when she needed someone to hold her hand.

Not that she would ever tell him that.

Still, the fact that the real Mandalorian was not as strong as the hallucination that had haunted her for so long was an unexpected punch to her gut that made tears spill down her cheeks.

Alaina twisted her body to bring her feet over the edge of the bed and plant them on the cool, metal floor—

Alaina’s eyebrows furrowed. What kind of primitive wooden shack had a metal floor?

The ‘floor’ moved under her feet and the familiar feel of a leather glove wrapped around her calf. She froze at the relaxed hand gripping her calf. 

“Alaina?” came Mando’s voice, a little disoriented and slow as if he’d been asleep.

Alaina’s hands came up to cover her face when it crumpled at the sound of his voice. Her hallucination never spoke… Was it really the Mandalorian? Or was it her hallucination coming to keep her distraught mind company?

Alaina lowered her hands from her face and slowly leaned over the bed to confirm that he was actually here and that he wasn’t her hallucination from times past. She had to blink to make sure that she was really seeing him, but sure enough, a full chest of silver armor covered him instead of the dulled, rusted armor of her imaginary Mandalorian.

Her heart clenched again, but this time, it clenched in joy at the fact that she hadn’t been left behind. She wasn’t alone. He hadn’t left her. Instead, he had slept on the floor at her bedside while she’d slept.

Alaina collapsed to the floor in relief. She landed directly on Mando’s chest, clearly startling the man, judging by the whoosh of air leaving his chest when she landed on top of him. Alaina didn’t care; she just wrapped her arms around his neck and her smaller body sprawled over his, like a scared child waking up from a bad nightmare. Any dream that involved being alone in that cell was a nightmare; she’d just never had anyone to seek out after one before. Of course, the Mandalorian was quite possibly the last person she ever imagined receiving comfort from… well, again. Here she was, though, crying into the man’s chest again.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered under her, bringing a tentative hand up to rub her upper arms.

All Alaina could do was nod into his chest, not quite trusting herself to speak yet. Mando seemed to understand, and he let her sprawl on top of him while his gloved hands continued to soothingly rub her arms.

“You’re okay,” he whispered again in the dark room. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Alaina just nodded. It was rare not to have a nightmare when she finally let herself sleep. Also, she wasn’t sure how to explain to the Mandalorian that she used to have visions of him whenever she was thrown into solitary confinement. 

When Alaina remained silent, Mando continued speaking in hushed words. “How do you feel?” he asked. His hands stopped their soothing up and down motions but rested on her biceps.

“My shoulder is better,” she murmured.

“Good,” he nodded, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “The healers have been putting a salve on it to help with the inflammation, which helped the swelling reduce over the last three days—”

Her head shot up to look at his helmet at his words. “Three days?” Alaina questioned, surprised that she had been out of it for so long.

Mando nodded again.

Three days?

A soft snore from her right caught her attention, and Alaina could just make out a crib off to the side, where she could barely make out the shadow of Grogu’s ear in the dark. 

Three days, and they hadn’t left her side.

“Wait,” Alaina started, frowning as she turned to look back at Mando’s helmet, “have you been sleeping on the floor for three days?”

Mando shrugged, “I wanted to be nearby in case something happened.” Alaina smiled at his words of kindness. “I knew you would probably be scared when you woke up, and I didn’t want you to wake up and think we left you alone—oof,” Mando rushed out as Alaina all but collapsed back on top of him again.

Alaina continued to smile into his neck for another moment before she recognized the familiar smell of the clothes she had been changed into.

It was the smell of Mando. It was the smell of gunmetal and leather, the tangy scent of something she suspected was used to polish his armor and the deep, woodsy musk of the man lying under her. The man who she was hugging. The man who must be uncomfortable after sleeping on the floor for the last three days because of her. It was the smell of the man who had turned her over to Pershing and the Empire.

She squeezed her eyes closed at that last thought. The man’s confusing contradictions in actions were a mystery to her, and the more she attempted to decipher Mando’s actions, the more her already painful head throbbed.

What had changed in the Mandalorian? Why now? Why come back for her and Grogu?

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and pressed her face into the rough fabric of the cowl covering Mando’s neck. “I know that what I’m about to say is conflicting with my actions at this very moment, but just so we’re clear, I still haven’t forgiven you,” she mumbled into his neck and smiled when she thought she felt his chest rumble with the smallest chuckle under his armor.

“Noted,” came the whispered response. His voice was light when he spoke, maybe even slightly teasing, making Alaina smile into his cowl.

She quickly disentangled her limbs from the Mandalorian with mumbled words of apology and moved to stand up. Mando rose with her, and Alaina could hear the groan and cracks of his joints as he stood up.

“Sleeping on the floor,” she chided, shaking her head.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he countered, making her roll her eyes. “What do you remember?” Mando asked her while he tried to discretely stretch out his sore limbs.

Alaina frowned, looking at the armored man, and had no doubt that with a bounty hunter’s lifestyle, he was telling the truth. She looked guilty back at the bed she had slept in the last three days while Mando had slept on the floor during her recovery from… whatever happened to her. “Take the bed,” Alaina sighed, pointing at the bed next to them. 

Mando shook his head, “It’s fine, really—”

“Mando, you’ve been sleeping on the floor for three days for me. You came back and saved me from the Empire when you didn’t have to. You stayed behind here for me when you could have just left me behind. Not to mention, I just heard at least half of your bones creak. Can you just take the bed?” 

Mando stayed frozen where he stood, and Alaina sighed again at the man’s stubbornness. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” she asked him with a small smile on her face, but the man only shrugged back at her. “Okay, come on,” Alaina encouraged him, moving to get on the bed herself. The bed was no more than a cot, clearly only made for one person. She sat on the end where her head had been. She leaned her back into the wall and stretched her legs out over the side, but only her feet managed to make it over the edge. “Come on,” she encouraged the Mandalorian, patting the spot next to her on the bed.

Mando shifted nervously in front of her, but Alaina just gave him a look. “You act like you’ve never shared a bed with a woman before,” she teased, trying to give him a knowing smirk.

Surprisingly, the man before her only shifted more nervously.

Oh.

Oh.

Well, not like she had much room to talk on that front, but she had just assumed that someone like Mando would be very experienced. Especially after how he handled her all those years ago… well, that was neither here nor there.

“Mando,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m kidding. Now, come on. We’re just sitting next to each other in bed,” she smiled warmly, patting the space next to her again. “Besides, if you go back to sleeping on the floor, then I’m going to sleep on the floor, and then we’ll both be uncomfortable.”

With a sigh, Mando shifted around and eventually moved to sit beside her on the bed. His larger frame took up most of the other end of the small bed, mimicking her position; only his legs could easily dangle over the edge of the bed.

The two sat in awkward silence on the bed, and Alaina toyed with the hem of the sleeves of the old shirt she figured out was Mando’s in an attempt not to say anything to make the situation any more awkward than it needed to be. Hopefully, Mando would drift off, and she could slip out of the bed once he was asleep so he could have the whole thing to himself.

“What do you remember?” Mando asked again, his quiet words catching her off guard.

“I—I’m not sure. I remember landing here. I remember hiking through the woods. I remember making it to the settlement and drinking spotchka… After that, things get a little hazy,” she finished, staring at him curiously. “My head hurts like the worst hangover in the world. Is spotchka that strong?”

“No,” came the simple monotone answer. The deep sound of his baritone voice sent a shiver up her spine.

“What happened?” Alaina asked him to fill in the blanks in her memory.

Mando sighed. “I don’t know what to call it,” he answered, sounding defeated. “You were drunk, but you—you had a fit of some kind.”

Alaina’s eyes went wide at his description. “A fit?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know what else to call it. One moment, you were walking with us. The next, you ran off, clutching your head in pain. When I made it over to you, you were in some kind of… thrall. It’s like you were there, but you weren’t. And you said something—”

“What did I say?” Alaina interrupted, her heart rate spiking at Mando’s descriptions.

He tilted his helmet curiously at her, “Have you done something like that before?”

“Mando, what did I say?” she pressed him, keeping her tone firm without trying to panic.

“You said someone was coming. You said, "he’s coming to take the sunlight away and rip it apart limb by limb."”

Alaina frowned and wracked her brain but couldn’t recall any of that. Unfortunately, that was not entirely an uncommon side effect after having her visions. She had her first one after her first very first vision of the Mandalorian in that cell. She wouldn’t have even believed Pershing had he not been secretly filming her during her time in solitary confinement. She had watched herself on the tiny monitor that replayed her last few minutes locked away in that cell the first time.

The night vision cameras had caught everything leading up to the vision: her sitting and holding hands with nothing, her telling that same nothing, “I still hate you, you know.” After that, she had the unfortunate pleasure of watching herself cackle hysterically… and then she went disturbingly silent, and something happened that Alaina didn’t remember. She watched, confused, as she screamed and gripped her head in agony, and her body rocked back and forth. That was the moment the lights flicked on, and Pershing came running into her cell. After Pershing fell to his knees in front of her, another man wearing black boots and pants could be seen entering her cell. Alaina’s upper body shot up and went rigid as she stared at the two men in front of her.

She would always remember the haunting way her own voice sounded to her own ears as she listened to the incoherent words leave her mouth.

She looked directly at Pershing and said, “The sun and the moon are in orbit.” Pershing’s eyes looked terrified as he looked at her and then back at his boss, who was grinning down at her with a dark smile. “The sun will bury you in shadows,” she had said to Pershing, and then her head turned slowly to turn her vacant look on the Moff towering over their kneeling forms. “You can’t use the moon to harness the sun,” she told the Moff, whose smile faltered slightly at her words. “You will try, but the moon will burn you alive.”

“You’ve done something like that before, haven’t you?” Mando whispered, and all Alaina could do was nod. “Back at their compound, you did something similar my first time there,” he continued quietly. “You told me I was "drowning in seas of green."” Mando paused, and Alaina had to look away from his scrutinizing gaze.

“What did they do to you, Alaina?”

The truth was, Alaina wasn’t sure. Pershing had been convinced she was having premonitions of some kind. Alaina could rarely remember them. Sometimes, they were coherent and short, so those were usually the ones she remembered at least decent chunks of.

Apparently, Mando picked up on her confusion and started describing her other symptoms, likely thinking that would help her. “Your nose was bleeding, and you were running a fever,” Mando started to explain what must have happened after her ‘fit.’ “You didn’t do that on Nevarro,” he pointed out. “What was the difference?”

Alaina shrugged, “I don’t know. When they forced me to look into someone, the fits, as you called them, were smaller, like back at the compound. Usually, mild symptoms like a little disorientation. It’s when they come to me without trying that I have worse symptoms. They could range from nose bleeds and fevers like you mentioned to seizures and anything in between,” she replied. “I would only lose consciousness after the ones that come to me without trying, but I’ve never been out of it for three days before. You mentioned healers… How did we get… wherever we are?” she asked, finally turning her head back to look at him again.

“I ran back to the Crest and was going to go find someone who could help, but some villagers approached the ship. They had asked for help. At first, I told them to get lost. One of them saw you unconscious and bleeding on the floor and offered their village’s healers and a place to stay in exchange for my help. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went with them. The healers went to work on you immediately. Their work was… primitive, but it was doing the job. Your nose stopped bleeding by the time we made it to the village, and they got your fever to break after a day. After it seemed that the worst had passed, they worked on your shoulder. They kept your shoulder covered in some kind of salve and said you just needed rest.”

Alaina’s frown deepened. She couldn’t ever recall being out of it for three days before after a vision or fit or whatever you called them.

“Alaina—”

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” Alaina whispered, pulling her legs up until her knees came up to rest under her chin. “I just need to think.”

Mando stared at her for a beat but eventually nodded his head. She could feel him shift around on the bed, making himself comfortable by resting his back against the wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What did you have to help the villagers with in exchange for their healers’ help?”

Mando tilted his helmet back to rest on the wall, “Can we talk about it in the morning?” 

Alaina turned her head so that her cheek rested on her knees so she could look at Mando. She would have given him a harder time, but he genuinely sounded exhausted. The man had been sleeping on the floor for the last three days; the least she could do was let him rest.

He looked so uncomfortable dressed in head-to-toe armor. To think that he’d been sleeping on the floor for three days while completely dressed for battle… It made Alaina uncomfortable just looking at him. “You could make yourself a little more comfortable,” Alaina suggested quietly. 

“I’m fine,” came his gruff reply.

“At least take your helmet off.”

“I can’t.”

Alaina frowned, not expecting that answer, “Can’t?”

There was a pause before the helmet in question turned to look at her. “I’m Mandalorian,” he said as if that alone answered her questions, but Alaina just blinked owlishly at him to explain it to her.

“I’m Mandalorian,” he began again. “I swore the creed. I am unable to remove it in front of another living person,” came his surprising revelation.

Things suddenly make so much sense.

It answered why she never saw his face, even before—why she never saw him eat or drink, even with her and the kid—why she never saw him casually walking around in his own ship without his armor on.

“Like, ever?” Alaina asked curiously.

Mando shook his head, “This is the way.”

“Doesn’t that get annoying?”

Mando shrugged, “I took the creed when I was a child. It’s been that way ever since. My armor is a part of me.”

Alaina mulled that over while her eyes flicked over the armored man next to her. She couldn’t imagine wearing all armor all the time, being weighed down all the time, not being able to touch someone skin to skin, not having that kind of connection with someone…

It was the complete opposite of how she was raised. And as a dancer, being able to touch, feel, and express emotions… well, that was literally her job.

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it was comfortable silence—not one filled with fear or anger, just the comfortable quiet of, dare she think it, friends. 

Alaina smirked. “I guess that does make it difficult to share a bed with a woman—or a man,” she added quickly. “No judgment.”

A small snort escaped from under the man’s helmet, and he situated himself one last time against the wall. ���Go to sleep, Alaina.” His words were tired, but she could hear the undercurrent of amusement in them.

Alaina's smirk turned into a full grin. “I was asleep for three days,” she argued, but the yawn that snuck up on her gave away her exhaustion. Mando’s helmet turned to give her a pointed look at her yawn, and she just shrugged. “Mando?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you for not leaving me alone,” she whispered sleepily.

The world returned to her slowly the next time she woke.

It was a pleasant blur of muted colors from the morning sun and the sounds of birds chirping outside the wooden walls. Alaina honestly couldn’t recall the last time she’d woken up so peacefully. A yawn escaped Alaina as she tried to stretch out of the ball she had curled herself into, but her feet were stopped from extending by something. That something grunted next to her, and her head turned quickly at the unfamiliar sound.

Alaina relaxed at the site of the Mandalorian, who was sleeping next to her. He was still seated upright, but his head had drooped forward, and his arms had fallen to his sides at some point during the night. She just knew he was going to wake up stiff if he’d been in that position for any considerable period of time. Alaina continued to study the Mandalorian, watching the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and just how relaxed he looked when he was sleeping (even if the position itself appeared uncomfortable). Part of her was tempted to wake him to relieve him from that position, but then she remembered how he told her that he’d been sleeping on the floor for three days and how exhausted he sounded last night and decided that it was better to leave the sleeping beast be.

A quiet coo drew her attention away from the Mandalorian, and Alaina smiled when she saw Grogu standing in the crib he had slept in, his eyes and ears just peaking over the edge of the wood-weaved crib.

Slowly, so as not to wake Mando, Alaina eased herself out of bed.

“Hey there, little one,” she whispered as she made her way to the child. Grogu motioned to be picked up, and she obliged him, pulling him tightly to her chest. “And just what have you gotten yourself into the last three days?”

His little three-fingered clawed hand reached for her head, and Alaina bent her neck so that her forehead could brush his like they had done back on Mando’s ship. Like the time before, she was greeted with a series of images.

It started with the cart ride they took from Mando’s ship to the village. From the kid’s point of view, he must have been seated on Mando’s outstretched legs, looking back at his savior. Mando had Alaina in his lap, cradling her unconscious body to his chest. Alaina could see blood from her nose streaked and smeared across her cheek and shirt. The next image was Grogu playing with other children; a girl with tanned skin and dark hair made frequent appearances. An image of him catching and eating a frog. Lastly, there was an image of Grogu sitting next to her still unconscious form. His small hand kept patting Alaina’s arm and looking at Mando; confusion was etched across Grogu’s face when Alaina wouldn’t wake up. This time, Alaina appeared to have been changed out of her original clothes and into Mando’s tunic, and her face had been cleaned, so you couldn't tell she had been bleeding from her nose. The kid studied the armored man while Mando dabbed at her forehead with a wet rag before grabbing the kid and settling down on the floor in his lap while he sat next to her bed.

Alaina blinked and was back in the unfamiliar wooden shack with Grogu.

She looked back at the Mandalorian, who still appeared to be asleep, slouched over on the bed where she had left him. 

With a sigh, she turned to look back at Grogu and gave him a pointed look, “Why do I get the feeling you’re intentionally showing me Mando’s softer side?” Grogu just continued to smile at her. “You know, you and I are the ones with the powers. You’re supposed to be on my side.” That suggestion earned her a spitting noise from the green child in her lap. “Fine, if you’re gonna pick his side, then we’re gonna have to have a little talk about your affinity for eating gross things,” she countered, lifting a challenging eyebrow at the kid.

Grogu gave a sweet giggle that Alaina interpreted as ‘nice try.’

A soft knock at the door pulled her attention away from the kid, and Alaina’s chest constricted in panic. She had no idea where they were or what the people here were like. Not to mention, she was not dressed to meet anyone, wearing Mando’s old long-sleeved tunic and nothing else. At least the shirt completely dwarfed her—its long sleeves would easily go several inches passed her hands if she dropped them, and the bottom hem hit her at mid-thigh. She was nowhere near exposed, but she would much rather greet whatever new front was about to welcome her fully dressed.

Her mouth was open to call for Mando, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

Suddenly, the man was just there, as if he had materialized from thin air, standing protectively in front of her and Grogu with his blaster in his hand.

Maker, the man could be silent when he wanted to be. She remembered the time from five years ago when he had snuck up behind her in the hold of his ship, and she found herself once again thinking that she needed to get the Mandalorian a bell of some kind.

Another knock came, but this time, it was followed by a woman’s voice. “Hello? It’s Omera. It’s getting a little late in the morning, and I just wanted to check on you to make sure everything is okay. I brought breakfast,” the woman’s voice, Omera, said from the outside. She spoke loud enough for them to hear her but still tried to be quiet so as not to disturb them if they were sleeping.

Mando seemed to relax at the sound of her voice and holstered his gun. “It’s okay,” he told her with a nod. “Omera has been helping with the healers and helping take care of the kid while you’ve been out of it,” he explained.

Alaina nodded but couldn’t help worrying her bottom lip. Mando stepped toward the door, and she took another step back with Grogu, just in case.

“Good morning,” the woman greeted.

Alaina studied her as she made her way in. She was beautiful, tall, with long dark hair and lightly tanned skin. Her eyes shone with a kindness that matched her voice. The woman, Omera, entered the small shed with a tray of food and a bright smile for Mando before she turned and saw Alaina standing there with Grogu. The woman’s smile faltered briefly, and she was apparently surprised to see Alaina awake and standing, but she caught herself quickly, and her smile softened.

“Alaina,” she greeted, setting the tray down on the small table in the room. “It is good to see you finally up. My name is Omera.”

“Hi,” Alaina greeted quietly, not making a move to come any closer.

A young girl came running into their shack, and Alaina instantly recognized her from Grogu’s vision. Looking at her now, standing next to Omera, there was no doubt whose daughter she was.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” Omera introduced, confirming Alaina’s hunch.

Alaina smiled at the girl in greeting. Grogu’s ears perked up at Winta, and he squirmed to get out of her arms, babbling with nonsensical noises of excitement as Alaina placed him on the floor.

“Can Grogu come play?” the girl excitedly asked Mando. She looked back to her mother before turning her huge puppy-dog eyes on the Mandalorian towering over her, clearly unconcerned by just how dangerous the bounty hunter standing in the room with them was.

Mando nodded, and the girl and Grogu clapped their hands excitedly. Alaina felt her smile grow, and she lifted an eyebrow at Mando, filing away the fact that the man was a complete pushover when kids were apparently concerned.

“Maybe stop by the hall first for some breakfast,” Omera suggested, but the kids were already on their way out the door.

Omera shook her head but grinned after the children and then turned to look back at her. Alaina shifted, feeling awkward standing in front of this beautiful woman wearing nothing but Mando’s oversized shirt, and now she didn’t even have Grogu to hold.

“Now that you’re up, I thought you would like to go to the bathhouse to get cleaned up. If your shoulder is still hurting, I could help you wash your hair?” the woman offered with a warm smile.

Alaina shifted again, and her eyes slid to look at Mando. He gave her the smallest tilt of his helmet as if he wasn’t sure what her dilemma was. Alaina frowned, and her eyes moved back to the new woman who was patiently waiting for her answer. She didn’t need Mando’s permission… but she had been sleeping for the last three days. She didn’t know this woman… Although… Mando clearly trusted her and the village enough to let Grogu go out unsupervised… “That-that would be nice, thank you,” Alaina finally agreed, giving Omera a tight smile.

Omera nodded, “I’ve cleaned your clothes, so you’ll have something fresh to change into. Several others in the village have donated some old dresses for you if you wish. Everyone is very excited for your Mandalorian to help us. They wanted to do whatever they could to show their appreciation,” she explained, looking back at Mando with a wide smile.

Alaina’s eyes slid to Mando, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. Was her nervousness over their new situation that obvious? “That sounds fine. Thank you, Omera,” she agreed, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.

“I need a little bit to catch Alaina up, and she needs to eat something,” Mando chimed in. “When we’re done, I will walk her to the bathhouse on my way out with Dune to start tracking your problem,” he finished as a passive dismissal for Omera.

Omera smiled and nodded, “I’ll see you soon,” she agreed before exiting.

Once Omera was gone and Alaina was alone with Mando again, she instantly relaxed, earning her a curious head tilt from Mando.

“What? Strangers make me nervous,” she defended. “Usually, when I meet them, they are more interested in what is going on up here,” she paused to tap her temple, “than who I am.”

“But I don’t make you nervous?”

Alaina rolled her eyes but smirked at him. “I said strangers, Mando. We’re not strangers. We’ve known each other for years,” she reminded him, exaggerating the word years out.

Mando shook his head, and Alaina was fairly certain she could hear him roll his eyes at her from under his helmet. He pointed to the table in the middle of the room where Omera had left the tray of food and moved to sit in one of the chairs himself.

“What is going on?” Alaina asked, giving Mando a skeptical look as she took a seat across from him. “What problem did you agree to take care of for the village? And did you say Dune? Like Cara? Is she here, too?” Alaina had more questions for the man, but her eyes landed on the tray of food sitting in the middle of the table, and became distracted by the spread. It was simple. Toasted homemade bread, fruit jam, and a plate of some kind of meat that had her mouth watering from the delicious smell.

“Eat,” Mando encouraged, snapping her attention away from the food. “You're practically drooling.”

Alaina frowned, “But what about you?” She tapped on her head to silently ask about his helmet.

“I can eat later—”

“But—”

“But you haven’t eaten in three days,” he said, interrupting her argument. Alaina’s stomach growled, further proving his point, and Mando tilted his helmet at her.

She snatched a piece of toast from the plate and spread some of the jam onto it before taking her first bite. The first bite was sweet, and she wanted nothing more than to savor it for as long as possible.

However, it was a bit difficult to savor it when Mando was staring her down and tapping an impatient finger on the table. 

“What?” she asked, swallowing down her first bite of food.

He didn’t answer her immediately, likely picking his words carefully.

“We need to talk about what happened,” he eventually responded.

Alaina frowned and took another bite of her toast to avoid answering him immediately. She knew he wanted to discuss her fit, but there wasn’t much to discuss. She saw things sometimes whether she wanted to or not. Most of the time, she didn’t understand the things she saw—

“Alaina,” Mando started again, interrupting her thoughts, “I need to know what I’m dealing with—”

“I'm sorry," Alaina interrupted with a snort. "What you’re dealing with?”

He sighed and splayed his hand on top of the table while he attempted to gather his thoughts again. Alaina was in no rush and took another bite of her toast.

“I know that I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. I—I want to help you,” he started again slowly. “But I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” 

Alaina narrowed her eyes at the man sitting across the table from her, “Why?”

“Why what?”

Alaina rolled her eyes and leaned across the table to stare the silver helmet down. “Why do you want to help me?” she began, but once the question was out, it was like she couple stop, and more and more questions kept tumbling from her mouth. “Why do you want to help me? Why now? Why not five years ago? Why couldn’t you just have listened to me then? What’s changed in the last five years that would make you more inclined to hear me out now when you didn’t then? And tell me, Mandalorian, why should I trust you now?”

Silence stretched between them as they stared at each other. Alaina didn’t move, though. She didn’t flinch when the tense silence between them became bordering awkward.

“You were the bounty,” came his quiet response. Fire boiled in her veins at his words, and she clenched her teeth to keep from lashing out at the man. “I hadn’t had a reason to second-guess a puck before you. I questioned them all after.”

Alaina blinked in surprise at his admission. “Yeah? How many ended up not deserving of their sentence?”

“None,” he replied flatly. “Just you.” Alaina’s shoulders sagged at his answer. “Alaina, I take responsibility for the past. I’m responsible for everything that has happened to you over the last five years. I can’t change the past. I know my word means nothing to you, but I want to help you.”

Alaina closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she leaned back in her chair.

Oh, she was going to regret this, she thought as she slowly released her breath.

It wasn’t his word that was in question. He was, if nothing else, a man of his word. Not easily swayed, not even by twenty-two-year-old ballerinas crying in their arms.

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding to Mando. There was the slightest hitch to Mando’s helmet. It was as if he really was a droid, and he couldn’t understand what she had just said and glitched. “Just one question for now, though. There’s too much to go over in a morning, and we have places to be.”

“Can I ask another one tonight?”

Alaina was already going to offer that, but she took her time mulling over her answer just to make Mando sweat it out. “Okay,” she eventually shrugged, popping her last bite of toast into her mouth and getting up from the table.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m going to go wait outside for you so you can eat.”

“But I didn’t get to ask my question.”

“Yes, you did." Alaina blinked at him, staring at him as if he had gone mad. "You asked if you could ask me another one tonight, and I agreed," she smirked.

“Wait, that wasn’t what my question was going to be!”

Alaina shrugged her shoulders as she grabbed her cloak hanging by the door. “You should have been clearer about the rules of your game then,” she finished, tossing him a wink before she stepped out into the bright morning sunlight, leaving a very confused Mandalorian behind.

Alaina sagged further into the tub until all of her, even her head, was submerged in the warm water, and her hair floated around her.

She’d all but forgotten what a bath was like. It used to be one of her favorite things to do after a rigorous rehearsal or performance. Nothing relaxed her muscles quite like a hot bath. Certainly not the wet washrag she was lucky to get to wipe herself down every few days when she decided the Imps couldn’t stand to smell her anymore. Mando’s shower on his ship had been a welcome improvement from that, but the broken heating coil put a real damper on Alaina being able to actually enjoy it.

After forcing her to eat two pieces of toast and a piece of meat, Mando escorted Alaina to meet Omera at the bathhouse, using her cloak to cover the fact that all Alaina was wearing was her borrowed tunic and her boots. He explained to her during their walk that the village had been attacked by raiders who showed no sign of stopping. The peaceful shrimping village had no way to defend itself. So, in exchange for their help with Alaina, a place to stay low for a while, and a purseful of credits to entice Cara Dune to come join them, they were going to take care of the villagers' problem.

Alaina had no doubt that the Mandalorian and the former Drop Trooper would be able to handle whatever they stumbled across easily. Mando had taken out an entire compound of Storm Troopers just to save her and the kid, and Cara almost beat Mando, so whatever pathetic raiders Mando and Cara came across today didn’t stand a chance against those two.

Maybe she would stay in this bathtub the entire day.

The village had two bathhouses constructed over two natural hot springs on either end of the village, one for women and one for men. There were several walls constructed around the hot spring to provide privacy around the tubs. Warm coals under the tubs helped keep the spring water warm after buckets were used to fill the tubs with the spring water. Each room was lit with a couple of lanterns that reflected soft light over the dark room. Omera had tossed a couple of dried herbs on top of the hot coals that filled the room with a relaxing smell. It was heaven.

Heaven in the form of a hot spring on some kind of backwater skughole named Sorgan. Who would have thought?

Alaina opened her eyes and could see Omera, with her shiny dark hair, smiling down at her body under the water. She breached the water quickly and pulled her knees up to her chest to cover herself.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Omera apologized and held up a bucket filled with water. “I thought you might like some help with your hair.”

“You really don’t have to,” Alaina tried to protest, but the woman shook her head.

“I don’t mind. I’m sure you’re fully capable, but you seem to be enjoying yourself. You have so much of it. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone else do it for you.”

Alaina gave her a tight smile and nodded her head, “Thank you.”

Omera had her scoot as far back as she could and tilted her head back to rest on the lip of the tub before grabbing all of her long, blonde hair and pulling it over the edge of the tub. Alaina sat stiffly in the tub, with her knees drawn up as high as they could and her arms wrapped around her chest, unsure of what to do in this situation. Being around strangers was one thing, but being around strangers while naked and bathing was a whole new level of fear and awkwardness that she had yet to experience.

“My daughter, Winta, has now reached the age where she thinks she should help me wash my hair,” Omera said, breaking the silence that settled around them.

A small smile slipped across Alaina’s face. She remembered a time when she also liked to help her mother with her hair or makeup. It was how she learned to braid hair. “I used to help my mom when I was her age, too. That was around the age she started teaching me to braid and would let me use her to practice on.”

The tanned woman smirked, and Alaina could see a playful glint in her dark eyes as she dipped her hair into the bucket and brought it higher up until all of her hair resided inside. “Braiding is maybe a little too advanced for Winta,” Omera winked. She brought some of the warm water up from the bucket to wet the hair out of reach. “The last time she helped me wash my hair, it was so tangled it took me the rest of the night to undo the damage.”

Alaina relaxed slightly at the easy conversation. “Oh, I remember a time that I accidentally knotted my mom’s hair, and her hair was so curly that it took her days to undo the damage I’d done,” she laughed, and Omera joined her in her laughter.

“I suppose that is how we learn. Although I think I am relieved that Winta has decided that it was too much effort in the end. My hair is relieved as well. Winta even prefers to keep her own hair shorter. It's easier to run through the woods and get dirty. She’s never been particularly interested in taking on the more traditional roles some of the elders expect young women to take. I think she’d prefer to be a hunter. She takes after her father like that.”

“I guess that’s where my similarities end with Winta, then,” Alaina joked.

Omera brought a bar of shampoo up and began rubbing it over Alaina’s crown, using her other hand to massage the soap into her scalp. Alaina’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of the woman shampooing her hair. Omera’s fingers were strong and worked quickly through her hair as she continued to run her fingers through the hair on her scalp, occasionally pulling the shampoo further and further down her locks.

“I was the definition of a girly girl,” Alaina continued, still enjoying the feeling of Omera’s fingers massaging her head. “My mom was beautiful but was clearly unsure what to do when her daughter refused to wear anything but dresses and wanted nothing to do with anything involved with getting her hands dirty. She eventually embraced it, though. She would make us matching dresses,” Alaina remembered fondly.

“You speak of her in the past. Has she died?”

Alaina nodded, “She got sick several years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Omera offered her condolences with a deep nod. “What did your father think of you being a girly girl, as you called it?”

Alaina shrugged, “I never knew him. He died when I was a baby. My mom didn’t talk about him much. I think it was too painful for her. Even the few times I was curious and asked about him, you could just see the love and pain in her eyes.”

“I can understand,” Omera nodded as she began to rinse the shampoo from her hair. “I lost my husband a few years ago. Like you, Winta never knew her father, yet somehow, she has become so much like him.”

“My mom used to say the same about me. Said I had his passion and grace. She used to tell me that a little piece of our parents lived inside our hearts, so even though he wasn’t here with us, a little piece of him lived in me.”

Omera smiled, “I like that thought.”

Alaina’s smile broadened, and she let out a little chuckle. “He was a soldier, and my mom said he used to get me to go to sleep by lecturing me on battle strategies or the history of various weapons. She used to get a kick out of the fact that whatever piece of him lived, lived on inside of a ballerina.”

“Ballerina?” Omera questioned curiously, apparently unfamiliar with the term.

Alaina nodded. “I was a dancer,” she explained. “Professionally. I performed with a group in front of an audience. We wore costumes, tights, dresses, the whole thing.”

“Beautiful, delicate, and a dancer,” Omera smiled, and Alaina cracked her eyes to stare up at the woman, curious by her words. “No wonder your Mandalorian is so enraptured by you.”

Her eyes flew the rest of the way open at the suggestion. “Oh, no,” Alaina shook her head. “He’s not my Mandalorian. It’s not like that,” she said quickly with wide, alarmed eyes.

Omera looked skeptical as she started to work some kind of cream into the ends of her hair. “I’m not so sure he doesn’t feel the same way. He was very concerned about you,” she informed her.

Alaina frowned. “You are most definitely mistaken. He’s just…” Alaina tapered off, trying to scrounge up the right words. The Mandalorian was a number of words: stubborn, confusing, monosyllabic… the list could go on, but nothing seemed to quite describe him. “He’s just Mando,” she settled on. 

Omera still looked unconvinced by Alaina’s half-hearted attempt at an explanation. There was a lot of history between them, and she wasn’t sure what Mando had shared with anyone. Knowing Mando and his penchant for silence and monosyllabic answers, she doubted anyone here knew the truth about their past. Or the strange path of redemption Mando appeared to be following where she was concerned.

Still, there was something about Omera that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The comments about Mando, the warm smile she had earlier this morning that appeared to be just for him… They’d only been here three days, but he’d apparently made quite the impression on the single mother.

“Besides,” Alaina began again, “the person you described… that was a long time ago. I’m not that person anymore,” she finished sadly.

Omera studied her as she rinsed her hair one last time and then worked something that smelled like flowers into the ends of her hair. “How did you come to be with him and Grogu?” she asked, using her fingers to comb through her hair, searching for any missed knots or tangles. Alaina’s frown deepened at the question. “I’m sorry,” Omera apologized, shaking her head. “Your story is your story. We are just thankful for his help. Winta has thoroughly enjoyed playing with Grogu as well.”

Alaina gave her a tight smile, choosing to remain quiet. She wasn’t sure Omera wanted to learn the truth of how they met. The village woman seemed genuinely appreciative of Mando, and she didn’t want to make their remaining time here unpleasant by tarnishing their reputation.

“You hear things, though,” Omera continued, obviously not quite able to drop whatever she was trying to ask her. “About Mandalorians and bounty hunters—”

“Omera,” Alaina interrupted the woman, fixing her with a serious look. “Mando is many things, and our past is… difficult to explain at best, but most of all, he is a man of his word. If he said he would help with your problem, he’ll do it.” Just like he would turn you in if you had a bounty on your head, she thought silently to herself. “That’s just who he is.”

Her words seemed to quell Omera's worries as Alaina watched her relax and gave her a warm smile—one that Alaina couldn’t quite return—but the other woman didn’t seem to notice as she returned to focusing on her hair.

Alaina’s eyes fell forward as she became lost in her own thoughts on the Mandalorian in question.

Maybe the problem wasn’t Mando.

Mando had always known who he was.

Maybe the problem was Alaina no longer knew who she was.

Once Omera finished with her hair, she left a towel, and her cleaned clothes that Mando had gotten for her and told her she would be waiting outside for her when she was done.

Alaina was half tempted to reheat the coals under the tub, add another bucket of warm spring water, and stay in there the rest of the day, but she didn’t want to be rude to Omera, who was waiting for her. She took her time redressing and used the towel to scrunch as much of the water as she could out of her hair before leaving the relaxing little room to join Omera.

Her guide started their tour at the hall for a lunch of venison stew with some of the other villagers there. Unused to being fed such fulfilling, regular meals, Alaina was unable to finish her bowl, but she enjoyed the camaraderie of eating with the others. Even when they all became excited that there was a bonafide Mandalorian here to help them with their raider problem. They tried to get Alaina to tell them some of Mando’s stories or get her to tell them what he was like, but Alaina simply told them that their wild theories about the Mandalorian were much more exciting than the life of a bounty hunter. They had seemed disappointed that Alaina didn’t have any stories to share, but it didn’t stop them from taking turns telling stories that they’d heard regarding Mando and others like him.

After lunch, Omera continued their tour. They made a brief stop at the healers’ hut, but the elders there appeared more interested in meeting the woman who had captivated a Mandalorian than they were actually assessing her. Omera kept a close eye on her and gracefully excused them when she noticed Alaina was becoming uncomfortable with their questions and scrutiny.

She was even more grateful for the woman when she continued their tour without questioning her on her obvious discomfort over Mando’s continued praise.

Without missing a beat, Omera led her to the shrimping pools, explaining in detail how the pools are stocked and maintained. From the shrimp farms, she walked them to the tree line of the forest where Mando and Cara had disappeared to let her know the direction of the nearby creek where they used to clean their clothes and swim during the brutal summer months. When they made their way back to the village, they walked by the school, which was nothing more than a one-room building, hardly larger than the shack that she had woken up in. No children appeared to be inside at the moment, but their laughter and giggles could be heard echoing throughout the village.

The village was nothing like any other place she had ever experienced before. 

Her homeworld was bustling, overcrowded with people, and industrial. All of those people had jobs that didn’t involve farming, so Alaina found the entire thing fascinating.

Omera was in the middle of confirming that they were, in fact, housing them in a shed that they had cleaned out and furnished with the cot, crib, and table when the shrill sound of children squealing caught the women’s attention.

It didn’t take long for them to find the group of children all circled around—

“Grogu!” Alaina called out, snapping her fingers at the mischievous green toddler as she marched toward him.

Grogu turned to look back at her with wide eyes, and the back legs of a frog kicking wildly were hanging from his mouth. The kid quickly swallowed down the frog before Alaina made it over to him, making the children scream again, and a chorus of ‘ewwwww’ mixed with the screams. Grogu, however, was oblivious to the other kids, his sights set on Alaina, and came toddling to her.

“Grogu,” Alaina sighed, bending over to pick up the ornery child, “what am I going to do with you?”

Grogu’s focus had already shifted, and his eyes locked on her hair. 

Alaina hadn’t worn it down in years. With the curly nature of her hair and the lack of care she had been able to give it, it was usually just kept in a braid. However, since it had actually been cleaned and cared for, she decided to let her curls down. The kid reached for the closest honey lock and tugged on the curl. “Hey, gentle,” Alaina winced, giving him a look.

“Momma,” Winta’s voice called as she trotted over to them, “can Grogu have dinner with us tonight?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Omera attempted to intervene.

“But—”

“Winta, this is the first day Alaina has been up since they’ve been here. Perhaps he should spend the evening with his family.”

The little girl looked longingly at her mother, then at Alaina, before ending up on her friend and giving in with a sigh.

Omera shook her head at the dejected girl. “She’s really taken a liking to him, and Grogu seems to be happy here,” the woman commented. “Maybe you all would be.”

Alaina gave Omera a genuine smile. She knew Mando had been planning on staying here for a stretch to lay low until Dune countered with her ultimatum. Maybe she would change their mind about all of them being together here. 

Their village was quaint, and everyone she had met seemed genuinely nice. Alaina had never lived in such a primitive place before, but the idea wasn’t completely off-putting. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss long-term plans for either her or Grogu. Grogu seemed to be really happy here. Maybe village life would be the perfect environment for a kid. For Alaina while the village did seem quite idyllic, Alaina wasn’t sure if it would be a long-term solution for her. Something told her she would eventually come to miss the hustle and bustle of city life.

Alaina shrugged her shoulders. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine Mando settling down here. There weren’t many opportunities for a bounty hunter in a shrimping community.

“If he isn’t your Mandalorian, why would that be a consideration?” Omera questioned.

Alaina didn’t have an answer for that.

Despite her initial wariness of Omera, she had warmed up to the woman over their day together. She was soft and kind yet had a firm backbone that Alaina respected. They spent most of the afternoon walking outside together. Alaina did whatever she could to make sure they stayed outside so she could enjoy the sun and the forest around her, hoping that, eventually, they would wash out the lava fields that haunted her. 

She had been in the middle of imagining the armored Mandalorian fishing in the shrimp ponds but was cut short when something made her pause.

It was as if the first chord struck at the beginning of the concert, and everything came alive in her. Something inside her thrummed, and she took a worried step back.

“Alaina? Is everything okay?” Omera’s concerned voice called after her.

“They’re back!” one of the villagers in the distance called, and Alaina turned to look at the woods just in time to see Mando and Cara walk out of the tree line.

She relaxed, brushing the feeling off. It would appear that her internal Mandalorian alarm system was fully intact. Alaina nodded and gave Omera a reassuring smile.

“Yes, sorry, everything is…” Alaina faded off as she studied Mando as he marched toward the village.

Everything was not fine. Something was wrong with him, or something went wrong during their scouting expedition.

He was too stiff as he walked, and his fists were clenched in tight balls at his side. Cara’s sour look only confirmed her suspicions.

Alaina shared a worried look with Omera before she took off to intercept the Mandalorian.

“Hey, look who’s finally up and around,” Cara greeted, giving her a broad smile as she approached them with Grogu in her arms.

“Hi,” Alaina greeted the Drop Trooper but kept her focus directed at Mando. “What’s wrong?”

Mando continued walking right past Alaina. “We’re leaving,” came the gruff, short answer.

Alaina frowned and looked back at Cara, who just shrugged at her, obviously not disagreeing with his call.

Alaina trotted to catch up with him, but the man refused to stop his quick march through the village. “Hey!” Alaina moved her smaller body in front of Mando’s and raised her voice, forcing him to stop. “We can’t just leave. You promised you’d help these people.”

“If they know what’s good for them, they’ll leave too,” Cara said.

Alaina’s eyes widened at the lackadaisical response. “But—”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he barked, refusing to even look at her.

Omera approached the group and gave Alaina a questioning look. Alaina had spent all day with these people who had taken them in. Surely, whatever Mando found out in the woods couldn’t be that bad.

Alaina looked back at him with a pleading look and tentatively placed her hand in the middle of the armor covering his chest. “Mando, you gave these people your word!”

“There’s an Imperial Walker out there, Alaina!” Mando emphasized, pointing back at the woods he had just exited.

At the declaration, ice ran through her veins, and she subconsciously took a step back, squeezing Grogu tightly to her chest.

“We can’t take that risk,” he continued, now that he saw he had her complete attention and understanding. “If there is a chance that there are Imperial remnants out there…” He didn’t need to finish his thought. Even though Alaina knew he was focused on keeping her and the kid safe, Alaina couldn’t help but think about the villagers here who had asked for his help. If there were Imperial remnants out there with an Imperial Walker, there was no way this poor community would survive.

Especially once they learned that the village was harboring fugitives.

“I think what Mando here is trying to say is he’s not gonna involve you or the kid in that. I’d do the same thing if I had someone as cute and sweet as the two of you on my crew,” Cara translated with a smirk.

“Not helping,” Alaina pointed at her, but the woman just gave her a wink that Alaina ignored before turning back to Mando. “Mando, these people can’t just leave. This is their home.”

“Homes get destroyed. People rebuild.” Short, terse, gruff. He was being a stubborn ass about this. She needed to make them see that they couldn’t just uproot their entire village.

“Mando, that’s not fair for them! What’s to stop them from being hunted again?”

“This isn’t up for debate, Alaina! We’re packing up and leaving. Now.”

“But—”

“I’m not losing you to them, Alaina!” the Mandalorian seethed, grabbing her upper arm that wasn’t holding Grogu. His grip was so tight that it made Alaina cringe in pain. “Either of you.”

Alaina’s mouth was open to argue with him, but the quiet spoken words that came next silenced her.

“Not again.”

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Next chapter in series - Chapter 7: The Choice

[d3sertdream3r]

I loved Ezra so much too!!! I’m worried about his future though, SW has a history of killing off or ruining their best characters 

I feel this with every fiber of my being. Ezra is really special to me, and literally every other character in Star Wars that is special to me is dead! 

I gotta say, I’m not just worried about them killing Ezra though. I’m worried about him being sidelined despite how powerful and competent he was shown to be in Rebels. He had a huge connection to the WBW and the Loth-Wolves, which are both inherently tied to the Mortis gods. I don’t like the idea of him being left out of that storyline going forward. 

It was also strange to me that he didn’t know anything about Thrawn’s base, or what the witches were up to. Ezra is known for sneaking around and ruining people’s evil plans, so it felt weird that he hadn’t interacted with them much or gone back there at all to sabotage them. Speaking of which, I thought it would be really cool for Ezra and Thrawn to begrudgingly team up and work together during their time away from the galaxy like everyone wanted, but oh well. 😒

I’m hoping they parallel Thrawn’s devotion to the Ascendancy with Ezra’s devotion to Lothal at some point; I just think that would be neat to explore. I like when heroes and villains have complicated relationships and connections. Despite Thrawn’s hatred of Ezra, I think he would admire Ezra’s commitment to protecting his people since that’s his own main goal in life. 

There’s also theories about Maul coming back since he has connections to the Mortis Son, and I hope that’s true because Maul and Ezra have one of my favorite dynamics in all of Star Wars. Like I said, I love when heroes and villains have complicated relationships! Plus I want my dream of Maul being redeemed to happen. That poor guy never had a chance at a real life being raised by Darth Sidious, as Obi Wan pointed out in Clone Wars. I think he genuinely cared about Savage and he genuinely cares about Ezra, even if it manifests in a super toxic and disturbing way as a dark sider. I want him to find true peace and become one with the Force on the light side, but I don’t know if I’m lucky enough to get that! 

We’ll see how it all goes, but I am excited to see Ezra meet the other Mandoverse characters (especially Din and Grogu, their interactions will be so interesting to see)! I do wish that he got a purple lightsaber though. I love the emitter as a nod to Kanan, but the standard blue color doesn’t suit the fact that he’s the incarnate of chaos. The blue one he used to have had a fricking gun attached to it for crying out loud! Or it would be hilarious if he just went through all the colors. Every season of every show he’s on his kyber crystal breaks, so every time we see him, he’s got a new color! (I'm only half kidding, that would actually be super funny 🤣 )

I hope we get to see him thrive in his Disney Princess Era™ and tame all the animals going forward! No matter what, Eman is going to kill it. Ezra's by far the best animation to live action character transition we've had!

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

You mentioned before that you didn't like the reactionary character growth for Din between s2 and end of BOBF, can you elaborate more on that? It's ok if you don't want to, I'm just curious.

(Tumblr ate my first attempt, so here's hoping this one gets through)

Bear with me, Anon, because it's a while since I thought seriously about these things. I swear I know what post you're referring to but I can't find the ask or text post, and if it's something I put in the tags then fucking rip to me lol.

I don't know if I was talking about the lack of introspection and/or exploration of Din's relationship to his creed and covert post-Season 2 or if I was just raging about the decision to reunite Din and Grogu in TBOBF and discard any opportunities for transformative character growth. I have to believe I was talking about the latter because it's the one decision that I feel changed the direction of the show for the worse. Jon Favreau, Lucasfilm, and Disney, in some combination or another, decided that the dynamic duo had to reunite immediately because why ruin a good thing and why lose their profits audience?

To me, they're too scared to push the story-telling boundaries and potential, and so they'd rather unspool the previous 2 seasons in order to restore the status quo, to return the story to something safe, staid, and familiar. They don't want Din and Grogu to change in meaningful and/or interesting ways that could impact their personal growth, their relationships with each other and with allies and enemies around them, and with the larger galaxy.

I have to believe that's what I meant by "reactionary character growth". I hope this answers your question. And thanks for stopping by!

[movietimegirl]

Do you guys remember that most of us thought he would kill Din in the final? Memories would be whipped by a mind flayer? His helmet would be forced off? Tortured? Wouldn't get rescued until S4 or Ahsoka?

Those were good times, Am I right? 🙃

[hyrules-warrior]

After every episode I find myself going “It took them over 2 years to come up with this!!??”

[nymph1e]

Wow Luke "my attachments to my friends and family saved the entire fucking galaxy" Skywalker and Ahsoka "I was treated so poorly by the jedi order that I realised it was deeply flawed and could not continue my association with them" Tano really decided to stick with the obviously warped ideology of the past jedi, eh?

And then Luke gave a fucking toddler an "abide by my rules or get out" ultimatum and stuck with it.

What pisses me off is that this is clearly all done to align with the goddamn stupid fucking sequels. I HAD been hoping they'd at least ignore them a little. But no, all the character assassination bullshit has not only followed through, buy caught up to Ahsoka now as well as Luke.

[david-talks-sw]

Debunking more myths in the GFFA: the Jedi and the clones.

I wrote a post debunking the various myths about how "the Jedi condone slavery", a while ago. Something I had omitted (because it's such a big topic) was the following two statements that concern the clone troopers' relations with the Jedi:

"The clones were genetically bred to have accelerated growth, so they're technically child soldiers."

"The clones were slaves of the Jedi."

Both the above statements are inaccurate, let's explore why. 

"The clones were child soldiers"

Let's get the easy one out of the way first, because it's a logic that cuts both ways. If age is our only determination of the maturity of a Star Wars character, then Grogu is not a baby. He is aged 50, and is thus a middle-aged man.

Who cruelly eats the babies of a woman...

... and knowingly tortures animals for his own sadistic pleasure.

Of course, I'm kidding. Grogu's none of the above things.

The narrative frames him as a cute baby who does innocent baby stuff. Him eating the eggs is played off as comedic, as is him lifting with the frog. To this day, some fans still call him "Baby Yoda".

Conversely, despite the clones being 10/14-years-old, their actions, behaviors, way of thinking, sense of humor, morals etc, are all those of an adult.

Like, Ahsoka is technically older than Rex in this scene.

The scene doesn't portray them as peers, though. This isn't written as "a teen and a tween talking". No, Rex looks, acts and behaves like a grown-up and is thus framed as such by the narrative.

You can make the argument "they're child soldiers", but (unless you're doing so in bad faith) you'd also have to argue that "Grogu's an adult".

"The clones were the Jedi's slaves"

Nope. For all intents and purposes, they're in the same boat as the Jedi, who George Lucas stated multiple times had been drafted to fight in the war.

Again: both the Jedi (monk/diplomats untrained for fighting on a battlefield) and clones (literally bred en masse only to fight) are being forced to fight by Palpatine and the Senate.

Though, on paper, the clones were commissioned by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, it was actually done by the Sith (who either manipulated or assassinated Sifo-Dyas then stole his identity, depending on the continuity you choose to adhere to). The rest of the Jedi had no idea these clones were being created.

So while the clones are slaves... they're not owned by the Jedi.

They're the army of the Republic, they belong to the Senate. This isn't exactly a scoop, they refer to the clones as something to purchase...

... and manufacture.

As far as the Senate’s concerned, clones are property, like droids. 

Like there's a whole subplot in The Bad Batch about this very point: after the war, the clones are decommissioned and left out to dry because they literally have no rights, they served their purpose.

The only trooper to ever canonically blame the Jedi for the clones' enslavement is Slick, who the narrative frames as having been bribed and manipulated by Asajj Ventress into betraying his comrades.

Also, the only canonical Jedi shown to ever be mean, dismissive or mistreating the clones in any way, is Pong Krell.

And it's eventually revealed he’s in fact a full-on traitor, hence why the story frames him as an antagonistic dick from the moment he's introduced. He doesn’t represent the Jedi in any way.

We know this because the other Jedi we’ve been shown are always prioritizing their clones’ lives over theirs, if given the chance.

Finally, if we wanna get even more specific... as Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the clones belong to Palpatine. 

Palpatine who is a Sith Lord. 

Palpatine who arranged for the creation of the clones and had them all injected with a chip that would activate upon hearing a code-word...

... and forced them to murder their Jedi without hesitation or remorse.

When you bear all that  ⬆️  in mind and when you read this quote by George Lucas...

"The Jedi won't lead droids. Their whole basis is connecting with the life force. They'd just say, 'That's not the way we operate. We don't function with non-life-forms.” So if there is to be a Republic army, it would have to be an army of humans."    - The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020  

... narratively-speaking, everything falls into place.

Sidious knows that:

If he orchestrates a war designed to thin the Jedi's numbers, corrupt their values and plunge the galaxy into chaos...

If he wants to draft the Jedi - peace-keeping diplomats who’d never willingly join the fray - to fight in his war...

... then the only way they won't resist the draft and abstain from fighting is if they think joining the conflict will save lives.

So he creates a set of cruel, sadistic villains for them to face, opponents who will target innocent civilians at every turn...

... and instead of lifeless droids, he prepares for the Jedi an army of men... living, mortal people who, despite being well-trained, will be completely out of their league when facing the likes of Dooku...

... Ventress...

... Grievous...

... Savage Opress...

... or the defoliator, a tank that annihilates organic matter.

Thus, in order to save as many clone and civilian lives, the Jedi join the fray despite knowing that doing so will corrupt their values. 

And as the war rages on, a bond of respect is formed between the two groups.

Clearly, the Jedi don't like the fact that the Republic is using the clones to fight a war, but for that matter, they don't like being in a war, in fact they advocated against it.

However, it's happening regardless of their issues with the idea or personal philosophies. Said The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy:

"I’d rather not get into the Jedi’s philosophical issues about an army of living beings created to fight, but the Jedi are in a tough spot themselves, being peacekeepers turned warriors trying to save the Republic."

And bear in mind, the Jedi are basically space psychics, the clones are living beings that they can individually feel in the Force... 

... so the Jedi feel every death but need to move on, regardless, only being able to mourn the troopers at the end of every battle.

We see this in the Legends continuity too, by the way.

(that is, when the writers actually try to engage with the narrative)

Also, if you ask the clones, they’re grateful the Jedi have their backs.

When Depa Billaba voices her concerns about how the war is impacting the Jedi's principles, troopers Grey and Styles are quick to make it clear how grateful they all are for the Jedi's involvement:

So the clones aren't the Jedi's slaves. If anything, they're both slaves of the Republic (considering how low the Jedi's status actually is in the hierarchy).

Only I'd argue the clones have it much, much worse. 

The Senate sees the Jedi as "ugh, the holier-than-thou space-monk lapdogs who work for us"... but a Jedi has the option to give up that responsibility. They can leave the Order, no fuss or stigma. 

A clone trooper cannot leave the GAR! If they do, they’re marked for treason and execution. Again, they’re not perceived as “people”.

And it doesn’t help that the Kaminoans, the clones’ very creators, see the troopers as products/units/merchandise. A notion that the Jedi are quick to correct whenever they get the chance.

How The Clone Wars writers describe the clones' relationship with the Jedi.

George Lucas hasn’t spoken much about this subject aside from the quote from further up. But to be fair... the Prequels aren’t about the clones’ dynamic with the Jedi, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t talk on that subject so much.

He did mention that part of The Clone Wars’ perks is that he could:

“Do stories about some of the individual clones and get to know them.”

But that’s as far as it gets. 

So for this part, I'm just gonna let Dave Filoni, showrunner of The Clone Wars and the upcoming series Ahsoka, and TCW writer Henry Gilroy - both of whom worked closely with Lucas - take the wheel. They make themselves pretty clear on how the clone/Jedi dynamic is meant to be viewed. 

Here’s Henry Gilroy:

"In my mind, the Jedi see the clones as individuals, living beings that have the same right to life as any other being, but understand that they have a job to do."

"The clones see the Jedi as their commanding officers on one hand, but also, at least subconsciously, they look to them for clues to social/moral behavior."    

"Some clones may find themselves getting philosophical leadership from the Jedi that helps them answer some of the deeper questions of life."    

"We thought this was a great opportunity to show how the Jedi interact with clones. Specifically, Yoda in a teaching role of the clones, who were socially new, who kind of grew up— who were created to fight, and he really broadened their horizons and helped them realize there was a great big universe out there that was bigger than just fighting and killing."    

And here’s Dave Filoni’s comments:

"I truly believe that the Jedi try to humanize their clones and make them more individual, as Henry says."    

"I think we saw that in Revenge of the Sith, when the Clones were colorful and named under the Jedi Generals, and then in the final shots of the film with Palpatine and Vader near the new Death Star, the ships are grey, the color and life is sucked out. The Stormtroopers are only numbers and identified by black and white armor or uniforms in A New Hope." 

"The soldiers have become disposable to the Emperor."    

"That is something the Jedi would never do."    

"Yoda teaching the clones much like he taught Luke. ‘Cause that was kind of natural for [the Jedi], a natural instinct to take to these clones like they’re students."    

None of the above quotes from two different writers of The Clone Wars, who had many interactions with George Lucas, frame the Jedi and the clones’ relationship in a negative way. 

How much more proof do we need that "the clones were slaves of the Jedi” isn’t the intended narrative?

My point being that while the clones' ordeal is indeed horrible, the Jedi have nothing to do with it. The narrative of The Clone Wars always frames it as the fault of the Sith, the Senate and the Kaminoans.

If you go by the intended narrative, the Jedi were the clones' teachers and brothers-in-arms. The clones and the Jedi were not just comrades.

They were friends.

[shirozora-draws]

It's WHAT day today!? Not me already feeling weird about working on two sketches to post the same weekend as that sketch I posted for the first time in months only to find out that Today is the Two Year Anniversary of The Day Dinluke Took Over My Brain.

(It's not 12AM yet, this still counts as a 12/18 post)

Anyway.

Been dying to do some nice proper "the staircase fic is firmly on my mind" sketches. This version of Luke actually shows up later in the fic and the shape/cut/color of his robes are also influenced by Padme's wardrobe. Din's look has appeared on this blog before and is super duper influenced by what we saw of Aq Vetina's residents in the flashback scenes. The, uh, holocron plays a smaller part than it looks but I bought a holocron at Disneyland and wanted to have fun with my new reference.

Have I posted about the staircase fic on the art blog? It is live and currently posting as Gravity Well on AO3.

[annakinn]

The Mandalorian meets the Sith.

[mduluozz]

The Mandalorian Tarot

Alright! 4 cards done - I’ve already showed you The Fool buuuuut I kinda wanted to put it in here as well. I’m going to include @oonajaeadira’s descriptions from this post here:

0. The Fool:

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

1. The Magician:

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

2. The High Priestess:

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

3. The Empress:

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

[padawansuggest]

Force Ghost Anakin: *sitting with Din and FG Obi-Wan and Grogu in Boba’s palace while they discuss Grogu’s training going forward*

Boba: *comes in, pauses, is completely unsurprised to see any of this, sits next to Din* Hey, Skywalker. I got a really fucked up question.

Force Ghost Obi-Wan: 👁️👄👁️

Force Ghost Anakin: Okay?

Boba: It’s like. Super messed up.

Force Ghost Anakin: I hope you realize I spend about twenty years with Tag and Bink, it’s likely I’ve already heard it.

Boba: Awesome. So, what does lava feel like?

Force Ghost Anakin: :/

Din: ??????

Grogu: 👁️👄👁️

Force Ghost Obi-Wan: 👁️👄👁️

Boba: Cause, see, like, the sarlacc was… let’s say… tingly. Felt like my skin was sparkly. I never wanted to ask when you were Vader, it’s just now that I know how sparkly acid is, I’m wondering if Lava is as soft as it looks.

Force Ghost Anakin: …I was right, Tag and Bink have asked me that before. I threw them out the airlock, idk how they survived that one. Um, I was already on fire /from/ the lava by the time it actually touched me cause it was rising, so I know what fire feels like, but that’s not as impressive. Feels like… like fire…

Boba: Cool. I thought that might be the case. I guess I’ll have to suffer.

Din: …Navarro was a lava type planet…

Everyone: ?????

Din: Yeah. I met a guy who’s touched lava. He said it was like a non-Newtonian fluid. But. He can’t repeat the experiment. So. Um, an unchallenged conclusion?

Boba: …oh my god… this is why we keep you around. You got great stories.

Din: Thanks.

[saradika]

— only if for a night

[series masterlist]

din djarin x f!reader

Rated E - 6.5k

Tags: spoilers for 03.01, neighbor!din, established past encounter, flirting / mutual yearning, hot springs makeout, soft dom!din, outercourse, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, PiV

A/N: based on that little line from s03.01 about the hot springs. Many liberties taken with the creed.

When it appears the droid repair will take longer than expected, Din finds himself taking Karga up on the offer for the parcel of land.

And when you go to give your new neighbor a warm welcome - you never imagine that it would be the very man you haven’t been to stop thinking about.

He’d never been all that great at saying no.

It was easy when he was on the job - dealing with strangers. Questions rarely came when the saw him as just a symbol. Something to be feared.

A Mandalorian.

When it was a friend… well, that was a different story. Somehow, Karga had gotten under his skin. Twisting words around until he found himself agreeing to that parcel of land, out by the flats.

His stay was only temporary. That, he made sure of to mention. More than once, each time more firmly.

“Ah, but you always come back.” Karga had smiled, while they overlooked the city, “I know you have your business to attend to.”

Glancing down at Grogu, still spinning in the chair, “But wouldn’t it be nice to have a home to return to? To know you have a place, here?”

“I’ll think about it.” He had hedged, hands braced on his hips.

Somewhere along their walk later - their path had changed. Through the center of town, past the now deconstructed monument.

Before he knew it, he was in the middle of the tidy hut - Grogu wandering through the back door and into the sizable yard, as he found himself signing the deed.

“We’ll worry about the details later.” Karga had winked - and then he was gone.

Leaving Din alone, in his new space. Half-exasperated as he checks through the rooms.

A living space that flows into a small kitchen. Smoothed stone walls, a hallway that leads to a bathroom, with a full-sized sonic. The sharp right curve as the building continues back - a master bedroom taking up the last third of the L-shaped unit.

It might be nice to have a private place to sleep for a few days, while he waited for IG-11 to be repaired. His legs and back aching from sleeping in the starfighter.

And he’s never loved inns. Never trusted them completely - not even on Nevarro.

A small head peeks around the doorway, as he stands in the middle of the bedroom. The cotton curtains fluttering with the breeze, a view of the hot springs and the thick line of trees visible from the open window.

“What do you think, kid?” He finds himself asking.

Grogu coos happily, and his lips curve underneath his helmet.

“Yeah.” He hums. “I think so, too.”

———

“Finally sold that place, next to yours.”

You frown, glancing up from your datapad. Feet kicked up on the desk in your office, catching up on comms.

The news is unexpected, you hadn’t known anyone was looking at the property. Karga hadn’t pressed for you to put out any advertisements in the past couple weeks. Acted like he’s been saving it - but for what, you didn’t know.

“Would say I’m glad, but I was getting used to the private hot springs access.” You smile, removing your feet, pushing yourself up to greet him, “You need me to get the paperwork together?”

“No need, I handled it.”

That makes your eyebrow raise. Karga had certainly done a lot for Nevarro. The green trees outside - the expansion of the city - was more than enough proof.

But you had never seen him handle any of the minute details. Never had been his style.

No, that was your job.

“I’d like you to stop by though.” He says, fingers stroking the white bristles of his beard, “Make sure he’s doing alright. Explain about the expansions, I didn’t get a chance to cover that part.”

“Sure thing.” You nod, already collecting your things, “You know I would anyways, since he’s my neighbor and all.”

But Karga’s focus on this new buyer nudges at your attention - a beat passing, before you add, “Is it someone high profile? Should I know them?”

His answering look is knowing. And cryptic, as only he can be, “Something like that.”

Leaving your office with an amused smile - and you more curious than ever.

———

Your fist raps twice on the closed blast door. A hand smoothing down the front of your tunic, wrinkled with your brisk walk over from the office. The basket tucked under your arm, filled to the brim with goodies hand-picked from "the stash".

A crate stored in one of Karga's many rooms, filled with gifts from shops in town, potential business partners, visiting travellers.

Anything expensive he accepted for himself - the rest you collect, with the dual purpose of handling it for him, and finding a use for the item.

Creating welcome kits for all those who are new to the city, things to make their houses feel more like homes. Blankets to fend off the evening chill. Vouchers for a warm meal at the local cantina. Dried meats and fruits - trinkets for the children if there are any.

Fingers crossed that your new neighbor is someone nice. Not like that Weequay you had roomed next to when you had lived downtown - keeping you up late with their band practice. Chords loudly strum on their hallisket, somehow always off-key. Overly rude, whenever you had gently tried to bring it up.

Back then, you woke with the dawn, due down at the new school just after daybreak. Rough did not even begin to cover it.

Moving out here, the change in your duties, had been nice. Certainly a walk every morning, but the privacy was well appreciated.

Quiet nights after spending the day keeping up with the whirlwind that was Greef Karga. Soaking away the stress in the small clusters of hot springs that make their way along the flats.

No one answers, so you inch around the side of the building to check the back. One of the many bonuses about being this far out - the large yards and extra space. Past the narrow landing pad - the shining chrome ship that rests on it.

Your nose wrinkles at the sleek lines, the overall ostentation.

Stars, if it's another 'Karga'...

Pushing the thought aside as you call out, ahead, "Hello! Anyone home?"

"Back here." A voice replies, sounding muffled.

You’re rounding the corner of the hut, when you freeze. Only the vice-like grip on the handle keeping the basket from tumbling across the stone patio.

Because you do know him.

Intimately.

Though it’s been a while. Over a year, maybe two?

But there was no mistaking the shine of his silver armor. The little friend that’s still by his side.

“Oh.” You greet him, intelligently.

His helmet turns at your voice, his own form going still for a long moment. The child lets out a coo, his small head turning as he leans over the edge of the water, splashing the surface.

“Hi. Karga sent me over. I mean, I would have come anyways.” You clear your throat as you find your voice - hiking a thumb over your shoulder, “Seeing as we’re neighbors, and all.”

“Neighbors.” He repeats, his voice a low monotone.

It’s so strange to hear it again.

You’d spent ages thinking about it. About that night. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than blowing off steam.

Back then, you had still worked at the school. Filling in as the teaching droid became accustomed to the class - still developing the emotional intelligence part of its AI.

You had been an aide, making sure things ran smoothly. And it had, until those few days that the Child had been in attendance.

It still makes you smile to remember the bits of blue cookie smeared on his face.

That’s when you had met the Mandalorian, picking up his child. And then running into him again, later at the cantina.

Ending up in his ship, even later after that. Staying longer than you meant to, until the indigo sky was streaked with pink and grey.

You still think about the cold bite of his armor against your bare skin. The low rasp of his voice, lips forming around rough words of praise that had burrowed into your brain.

Just one night, but it had stayed in your memory for the hundreds that came after.

“Uh, yes.” You snap back to reality, as you jiggle the basket. Walking over, because it was too late to flee - setting it down on the low stone table.

Your face heats - you're not sure how to word this. Unsure if it was more awkward to get out with it, or pretend like this was the first time you’ve met.

After a moment, you make your decision. Better to just be honest.

Your hand extends, as you give him your name. A small cringe of a smile, as you hedge, "I don't know if you remember-"

His answer cuts you off, as his hand takes yours, "I do."

Oh.

The vocoder makes it impossible to tell the exact tone of his response. If it was a good memory, or if he was disappointed in this strange reunion.

You’re saved from the awkwardness of not knowing, when the child toddles over. A wide grin spreads over your face, plucking a treat out of the basket.

“Just look at you!” Sinking to your knees - you glance up, before handing the piece of candy over, “Is this okay?”

The Mandalorian’s head dips in a nod, a heat in your cheeks as you turn back. Placing it into the little outstretched hands, as you marvel.

“You’ve really grown!”

His ears wiggle, the peek of his teeth as he smiles.

Not bigger, but certainly more confident. A sweetness shining, more certain of the steps he takes. A tightness in your chest, as he shows it to Mando - clutched tight in his fist.

“That’s right.” He replies patiently, “Tell her ‘thank you’, Grogu.”

Grogu makes a sound that could pass as a thanks, making his way to the rock border of the small garden.

Leaving you looking up at the Mandalorian. The angle doing something to you - all that shining armor. You on your knees.

His head, still tilting down. Cocked, your way.

But then, you’re remembering why you’re there. Pushing yourself to your feet, burning with embarrassment.

“Uh, right. The details.” You rush, turning away. Back towards the border of the property, your finger pointing, “The hot springs runs through your back yard and mine. Some huts are lucky enough to have their own.”

A shrug, as you turn back, “But most have to share. It’s great this time of year, it gets chilly at night. He’ll love it.”

Your head tilts towards Grogu, still munching away. Mando nods, slowly walking over to stand beside you, looking out at the natural springs. The thick trees above, making a sort of barrier to the huts behind it.

“Oh, and your house.”

The last detail.

“They’re built so you can add on. It’s a good size for one right now. But if you need more space there’s room on the sides, or add another floor.” You gesture to the spots, so he can picture the expansion.

“Should be pretty easy. You would just tell me or Karga, and there’s a couple droids that have it down to a science.”

His head tilting to look where you point. A beat, before he asks, “Have you added onto yours?”

Your eyes meet his visor, surprised.

Lips pressing together as you think about it, your head shaking. Smiling sheepishly.

“No. Like I said… it’s uh, good for one.”

He hums at that, but doesn’t ask anything else. Nor does he look away, his hands resting on his hips.

A dozen questions on the tip of your tongue. Holding them back because you’re not sure how to ask them. Not wanting the answer to be different from what you’re hoping.

So instead, you just smile.

“The last step is usually a tour, but I’m sure we can skip that part. Wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time.”

There’s a beat, while he seems to think about it. A hesitance, before he nods.

“Right. Thank you, we should be fine.”

Almost a reluctance.

But you’re certain you’re imagining it.

———

It’s lucky that he didn’t take you up on the tour. You barely make the walk back to your house before your comm is beeping - an emergency that has you running back into town.

A no-show from a contractor, for a job that needed to be done today. The afternoon is spent with your sleeves rolled up, helping out yourself, the work bleeding into the evening.

The morning becoming a blur, as you drag yourself home. Just thinking about sinking into the springs for a couple minutes, resting your aching feet.

Grabbing a ration bar as you change into one of your suits, your robe and a towel thrown over your shoulder. Leaving the door open, letting the cool night air into your house as you head towards the back.

Your things dumped on a low wooden bench, as you stretch - arms high above you head. A low, throaty groan as you step into the hot water, finding your favorite nook to rest in.

It’s only then, in the water with the skies above, that you think about the Mandalorian. A thrill at seeing him again, even if it didn’t go anywhere.

With his line of work, you can’t pretend you weren’t worried. Hadn’t been thinking about him, hoping he and his son were alright.

Hoping for other things, as well.

When your eyes finally open - you freeze.

The object of your affections sitting a few yards away from you, supplies spread out on the stone table. In the middle of cleaning a long rifle, a piece of cloth in his hands.

Seemingly frozen as well, his helmet tipped your way. The moment stretching out, until you’re letting out a little “oh”, dipping down into the water.

“Sorry,” You give him a little wave - unsure what else to do, “Didn’t see you out here.”

Moving closer to the edge, your hands bracing on the raised lip, “I can go. Long day, just needed a minute.”

“No.” He shifts then, a gloved hand going flat, “Please, stay.”

You’re pleased. To continue soaking, and to continue taking him in. Your chin resting on the curl of your fingers, watching him work.

It’s quiet - the rustle of the leaves above. A chirp of the crickets, the summer days starting to tip into autumn.

“What happened today?” Mando asks you, your head lifting.

Frowning - the question loaded. Did he mean earlier? Like, when you first rounded the corner into his backyard?

He takes pity on you, “You said today was long.”

“Mmm.” You sigh, now understanding. Biting back a smile, pleased that he’s asking about you, “I guess it wasn’t too bad. Just putting out a few fires for Karga.”

He hums, like he understands your implication.

But then, you’re remembering that he’s friends with him. Your nose crinkles, “Not that I am complaining. He’s done a lot for this city, we’re all grateful.”

“You can be honest with me.” His tone sounds amused, and you relax.

The tools set down, as he moves closer. The slow creak of his armor, the overhead lights glinting as he lower himself to one of the chairs that rest close to the edge.

Close enough that he could step into the water, the steam that rises up in the chilly evening air. His helmet tipping down to where you sit.

Your eyebrow lifts, “You thinking about coming in? I can close my eyes for you.”

Remembering what he said, before. The reason why he stayed wrapped in his armor, his helmet always firmly fixed in place.

His head tilts, considering. A long moment - as you hope - before he answers.

“Not tonight.”

The disappointment pools in your belly - but you move on quickly as he asks, “How long have you been working for him? I didn’t see you at the school.”

He had looked. That moment when he walked through town - later, when they ran into the pirates. A worry, fueling him to act when they had threatened to take that drink in the renovated building, where the old saloon used to dwell.

The disappointment melts into fondness, “A while. Close to a year? It’s fun, he can just be a lot, you know?”

He makes a sound of agreement, knowing full well.

“Very convincing and influential. I find myself doing all kinds of stuff just because he asks,” You laugh, your chin cupped in your hand, “He’s got his eyes on some big prizes. High Magistrate. Mining and trade routes.”

Your gaze drifts, going far away, “It’s great for the city. The expansion, all the money coming in. He loves it. The job, the finery of it all. But, personally… I’m not sure it’s what I want.”

The words trail off, as you get lost.

“What do you want?” His voice brings you back.

You blink, looking up at him, “I just want a place to call my own. Something just for me.”

Head tilting towards you little hut, as you start to feel a little self-conscious, “I’m sure that sounds stupid.”

His helmet stays focused on you, as he answers.

“No. I think I understand.”

———

When it came to this hut, he had floundered. Finding himself agreeing, even though he knew he’d be gone again in days. Now, there’s a question that lingers. Heavy on his mind and heart as the hours bleed into the next.

But this time, he knows what he wants. When the question comes, he’ll have the answer.

The next evening, he’s waiting for you.

Surprising you, seeing him in just the flightsuit, as you exit your hut. Pausing mid-step when you see how he lingers. Self-conscious now, in his own way.

Your question comes, again.

“You coming in?”

This time, he nods. Fingers lingering at the zipper on his chest - the anticipation curling in your stomach as you watch.

His hands going still. Wanting this, but the sting of his betrayal to the creed is still a fresh, aching wound. Letting someone see his face. Even though it was the only way.

You head inclines towards a spot in the back of the springs. Where the trees are thick, blocking out the twinkling stars above.

“I can wait there.” You tell him, “I won’t look.”

It’s the last assurance he needs.

He nods.

Making you way to the back, sinking down into the springs. Nervous and excited and thrilled, as you find the spot - where he joins you soon after.

Helmet still on, you can hear the buzz of his groan as the hot water hits his skin. Easing the aches in his back, from the hours of flying.

It’s a little narrow for two, but you fit together - facing each other, under the trees. Where the night and the shadow of the branches weave together - until you can only see the soft, loose outline of his shape.

You can’t believe he got in. Fingers itching to reach out and touch - but you hold back. Still not knowing how he feels, if he wants the same thing as you.

Instead, you fill the silence with soft questions. About him this time - where he’s been, what’s happened since you last saw him.

Some of the tension easing.

And slowly, he tells you. How they became separated. How he had gotten him back, only for the reunion to be cut short. Never saying how the absence effected him - but after seeing their bond today, you knew it had to be hard.

Finally, about their reunion.

With each story, each confession - you find yourselves moving closer. Inching along the natural stone seating until the feet of space dwindle down to mere inches between you.

You wonder if he can hear your heart. The way it thuds in your chest, as his knee brushes yours.

It’s quiet now, other than the ripple of water as your leg stretches out - foot resting on the outcropping of rock he sits on.

"I'm not staying long. Just a few days." The rasp of his voice breaks the silence. His leg brushes yours again.

A soft warning. Letting you know that this would be like last time.

But it’s not the same. Not really.

Your lips press together - the peek of your tongue as you wet them, "You'll be back. You just bought a house here."

"Yes.” He acknowledges, “But I don't know when-“

“I don’t mind”. Your own confession comes easily, in the dark. Leg shifting until your foot taps against his thigh, against bare skin, "Stop overthinking things. When was the last time you had some fun?"

There’s a low breath at your question, a buzz through his vocoder.

"Not since I last saw you."

You know he doesn't mean yesterday. The tickle in your stomach turns into full-on butterflies as your fingers drift - bridging the small gap between you. Finding his on the stone.

Fingertips dragging across knuckles, the back of his hand. Against smooth, bare skin. Before he moves - his hand curling around your wrist, tugging you forward.

A startled yelp as he hauls you into his lap, your thighs bracketing his - shins pressing into the bench beneath you.

Hands steadying themselves on his broad shoulders. His own slowly sliding over your thighs, up to your hips. Fingers kneading soft flesh as you shift, fitting yourself snug against him.

Feeling him.

The clothed, thick curve that’s pressing against your core. A soft sound in your throat as you rock your hips unconsciously against his cock, finally putting pressure on the spot that has been aching for him.

“Maybe you can remind me how.” He rasps, his own hips tilting up, grinding.

Your laugh is strangled as you meet him. Relief in many more ways than one as you brace your hands on his shoulders. Moving more purposely this time as you roll your hips.

Finding the spot that makes you shudder, nails sinking into his skin. His own hands grasping at you, the sharp hiss of breath through his helmet.

It’s too dark to see more than outlines, but you still find his visor. Trying to imagine where his eyes would be, before yours drop down - admiring the rare glimpse of his neck.

His shoulders, broad and strong. Fingers touching features you can’t make out - the coarse, peppered-grey curls on his chest. Decades of scars, each with a story. His form slightly softened by age, but still moving you effortlessly.

The grip on your hips loosen, a hand drifting up. Leaving droplets of water on your skin as his fingers skim your waist, then higher.

A knuckle brushing your breast, over the top of your suit. Teasing at the edge.

“Gods, yes.” You sigh, leaning back to give him room.

To watch him tug the cloth to the side, then down. Baring a breast, and then the other. Fingers dipping down to the water, dragging a wet thumb over the pebbled peak.

You’re clenching, your pace picking up. Leaning into his touch, grinding your pussy against him.

That low voice of his, encouraging you, “Keep riding me, mesh’la. Fuck, just like that.”

It makes you shudder. Pleasure coils in your head, the build-up making your thoughts hazy. So close to what you need, but not quite enough.

A frustrated whine slides through your teeth, your eyes lifting to his. A hand letting go to dip down, between your thighs - but he catches it with his own.

Bringing it back up to his shoulder, before his dips below the waistband. To where you’re wet, slick with arousal. Whimpering when his fingers circle your clit, making you mindless. Prone to babble, the words hushed in the quiet night.

“Stars, I missed you. Feel just as good as I remember.”

A beat, where his fingers linger. Just for a second, before he’s shifting beneath you - increasing the sweet pressure.

“You thought about this?”

Your eyelids flutter closed, your chest crushed against his. Feeling the slick slide of his fingers, exactly the touch you needed.

“Mhm. All the time.” The confession come easy, drunk as you are on pleasure, “How hard you made me come, how fucking good you are with your fingers.”

The praise sinks into his skin, smoothing over the thin cracks of insecurity. He had thought of you, too. Often.

Fucking his fist to the memory, so like the way your hand worked between your own thighs at night.

Just a night but it had felt like so much more. A connection.

He has you close. It almost feels like time is ticking down, each press of his fingers bringing you towards the end. An arm wraps around you, pinning you against him as you gasp.

More praise falling, just for him.

“Oh, you’re going to make me come. Just like that, please-”

His breath harsh as he concentrates, as your face buried into his neck. Muffling your cry as you’re brought over that edge, going stiff in his arms.

Gasping against his skin, as he coos in your ear. The words muted through the haze, buzzing against your skin. Finding bliss, in this dark corner of the springs.

A long moment of silence, as you find your limbs again.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks, as your cheek presses against his helmet.

Cool against your hot skin, a soft sigh as you relax against him. Embarrassed, now your head is a little more clear, “What, that I fantasized about you?”

Mando makes a sound, a low laugh, “When you said you’d close your eyes. Did you mean that?”

Your head tilts back, so you can see him. Where his face would be, your palms skimming down his arms, “Yeah, I meant that.”

He stands then, taking you with him - your legs still hooked around his waist. Walking you to the side of the springs before your feet touch down, fingers curling around your wrist - tugging them up until your hand covers your eyes.

“Is your house the same as mine?”

Helping you out of the pool as you answer, his hand around your other wrist, “Mirrored.”

Guiding you to the back door, taking a second in the dark to wipe you both down with the towels you left.

Before he’s pulling you deeper, through the kitchen. Back to your bedroom. It’s still dark when your back is pressing against the matress, his hips between your thighs.

The light is low here. A string of ambient bulbs twinkling above your bed, casting the room in a soft glow. He pauses, as you shift below him.

Looking debauched, where you lay against the mattress. Bare legs, you core just covered by the cloth bottoms. The peek of flushed, tight nipples where he has tugged your top aside.

Practically begging for his mouth, the brush of his tongue.

He had been planning to take you in the darkness. Now, he can’t bear the thought of not being able to watch you fall apart with his own eyes.

“Can I blindfold you?” He husks, fingers trailing up your thighs.

You don’t know why he’s asking, but you agree, “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes.” The tips changing course, tracing the cut of your swimsuit, along the inside of your thigh, “Do you have something I could use?”

Already, the lack of sight has you on edge in the best way - your legs inching further apart. The hand not covering your eyes reaching up - searching beneath the nest of pillows.

Fingers catching on the elastic of the sleeping mask, as you tug it down. Another gift that Karga had discarded, one that found its way into your pocket, along with the matching silk robe, the jar of bath oils.

He helps you fit it into place, his thumb smoothing over your cheek - as your sight dissolves into true darkness.

Gasping, as he tugs at the ties of your top - baring you. A pneumatic hiss that you don’t recognize - ears straining as something heavy is set down on the side table.

The wet swipe of a tongue against the curve of your breast, flattening over your nipple. Wrapping around to suck, teeth just barely scraping the sensitive bud.

“Fuck.” You hiss, reaching for him. Grasping strong shoulders that hover over you, as his knuckles trap the other, gently pinching.

His helmet. He took it off, for you.

The weight of his actions crash into you, a tightness in your chest that has you gasping. His groan sounding pretty as presses an open-mouth kiss against your sternum, the sound unfiltered.

Another, as he moves down.

“Wanted to fuck you in the hot springs,” Fingers catch on the waistband of your suit bottoms, your hips lifting as he pulls them down, “Tug these off of you, just like this. Would you have let me?”

You moan, unable to help it - your answer eager, “Yes. Anything you want.”

He hums in approval - broad hands nudging under your thighs, another tug as he pulls you towards the edge of your bed.

Even with the mask your eyes close, a thrill of excitement as you wait for the press of his cock. Aching for him to fill you, your mind taking you back to last time.

How he had sunk into you. The sweet stretch until the cool armor on his thighs pressed against your skin from behind.

“But there’s something else I wanted more.” His voice breaks into your thoughts, bringing you back.

And it’s not his cock that kisses your cunt. It’s his lips, pressed against the slick, swollen flesh. Your hips flex as you whimper, his hand sliding to press against your stomach.

Pinning you down, as he groans against your pussy. Tongue pointing to flick against your clit before he pulls back. The scratch of facial hair against your thigh as he presses a kiss there.

“Thought about you, too. Dreamed about tasting your sweet little cunt. Making you come on my tongue.”

His mouth following his words, warm where the rest against your skin. Taking his time as he spreads you open with his fingers. Tongue tracing from the tight bud of your clit, down.

Pressing the tip into you. Tasting your release, your slick arousal, as you reach for him. Fingers sinking into soft curls - another realization, another small detail about him that you tuck inside your heart.

You tug on them as he sighs against you, fucking you with his tongue. Slipping back up to wrap his lips around your clit and suck, while his fingers nudge at you.

Sinking the tip of one inside, teasing. Knuckles deep in your greedy cunt - first one, and then another. A low hum against your slit as you whine. Fingers crooking against the spongey spot that had you keening last time.

The combination is too much. Senses heightened to an extreme - each messy flick and press of his tongue sending sparks down your spine to collect and pool low in your belly.

Hearing each and every groan he makes, the rough timbre of his voice. Your own moans joining his, twisting around each other like your fingers in his curls.

The words panted out, achingly desperate.

“Oh, fuck-”

“Please, right there-”

Each breath shorter than the last. Your hands scrambling, leaving his locks to grip onto the pillow, as your hips flex against his mouth.

His fingers pounding steadily against a spot that makes you see stars. Chin and lips smeared with your slick as he coaxes you over the edge.

“Osik. I can feel you clenching around my fingers, mesh’la.” He groans, eyes fixed on where you take him, the silky shine of his fingers.

Flicking up to your face - wanting to watch you fall apart for him with his own eyes, “Want you to come for me, want to feel you gush on my fingers.”

And with a gasp, you do.

Your senses fading to a buzzing, white noise as your hips lift off the bed. Coming hard, pulsing around thick fingers as he watches, tilting his head to press his tongue against your clit. Feeling you there, each little thud where he’s pressed flat against you.

Leaving you gasping, loose-limbed. The sound turning warm and happy with the elation that spreads, settling over your limbs.

His hand swipes across his chin, as he pushes himself up. Arms wrapping under your thighs again, scooting you back onto the bed.

Achingly hard as he peels off the bottoms he still wears. Slick-stained fingers wrapping around his cock, the rough groan of relief as he jerks from base to flushed tip.

More than pleased by the way he has you smiling. Contented and floating, just from his fingers - the inexperienced swipe of his tongue.

He’d learn, for you. Let your fingers twist in his hair, tug him to the right spot until it’s all that he knows.

For now, he soaks you in. His knees pressing into the bed, hoisting your thighs over them. Angling his cock down, to tap against your pussy - a string of your slick clinging to the tip.

“Fuck, just look at you.”

Feeling it’s wet heat, the way you’re arching into him already. Eyes greedy as he presses into you, watching the tip sink in.

How the tight grip of your cunt chokes him - inching in further, before he’s retreating. Pulling back, sliding the soaked tip across your folds again.

Your teeth grit, your hands searching for him. Curling around his wrists, as his hands hold your hips in place.

“Mando, please. Don’t tease me.”

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. Tonight, you’re his. Days of uncertainty - wondering if you had thought of him the way he did of you, culminating in this moment of desire that burns through him.

Not wanting to hear the name that follows him like a shadow.

“Din.” He grits out. Something tight in his chest loosening, “My name. It’s Din Djarin.”

Your lips wrap around the gift, making him throb when you parrot it back to him. That need making itself known, as he sinks into you again.

“Want you to stay it when you come.” His hands yank your hips, as his snap forward. Seating himself fully as you moan - as he buries his cock in you.

Din’s voice sounding tight, as he adds, “You got that?”

“Yes, Din.” You sigh dreamily, clenching around him as he moans.

Letting him set a rhythm that starts slow - lets you feel each inch as he drags himself out, before snapping in. Picking up as you cling to him, shifting until your legs are wrapping around his waist.

Hovering over you, tucking you beneath him as his hips snap against yours. Your hands wandering - sliding across his shoulders. Thumbs sweeping over the hollow of his throat, down through the coarse hair across his chest.

So much skin, bared for you to touch. You want to know every inch. Wish you could see - but you’re not that greedy. Happy to take this reunion for every ounce that it was.

But he leans into it. The warmth of your hand, the way your thighs wrap around him. That stiff hold of his shoulder and back loosening, as he lowers himself further.

Unable to resist the urge to see what it’s like. To press his lips against your cheek, feeling the bite of your fingernails when you sigh in surprise.

The whimper as he moves closer to your mouth, until his lips are ghosting over yours. Your head tilting up to chase him in the dark.

His name, once again.

“Din.”

There’s a snarl that rises in this chest. Muffled by the time it reaches to his throat, as his lips finally press against yours.

Starting slow, like the rut of his hips. Just a soft brush, before he draws back for a breath. Coming back for another, as you sigh and arch into him. Lips parting as his tongue brushes the seam, his hand slipping up to cup the back of your head.

He tastes like you. The sweet tang of your pussy on his tongue. Delving into your mouth as he fucks you, as you can do little more than just cling to him.

Soft moans and the needy press of your mouths layering with the wet sound of your joining. The angle stroking his cock against the spot that his fingers found, stealing your thoughts.

Not even realizing it’s your own voice, the panting “please, please-”. Each breath after a soft “oh” that gets sharper, higher, with each gasp.

“Fuck, that’s it.” The voice in your ear sends a thrill down your spine. Joining that familiar fire that pools in your belly, “You’re taking me so well. Are you going to come for me again?”

His lips press against your throat, where your heart flutters. Feeling the bitten-back whine, as your legs clench around him.

Bracing yourself for the pleasure that’s about to tear through you, the spark that starts down low before it races down your limbs.

“Give me one more, cyar’ika.” He rasps, and you can’t help but obey.

That strung-tight string snaps. His name a sob on your lips as the orgasm crashes over you. A pleased hum against your skin as his thrusts snap harder - the rhythm sloppy as you tremble in his embrace.

Din’s breath is hot against your neck, his forehead pressed to your cheek. Feeling the tight clench of your wet cunt around his cock - his fingers biting into your hip as he seeks his own end.

“Where do you want me?” He grits out, “I’m not going to last, feel so good-”

Your legs tighten around his hips, pushing him deeper. Fingers lacing around his neck, the tip of one finding his curls again.

“Come in me.” You beg - hearing his rough groan at your words, “Still have the implant.”

“Fuck.”

He had felt it, last time. You had guided his fingers to the ridge beneath your skin, in that moment where you waited with baited breath for his cock to fill you.

Emptying himself the first time from behind, bent over some crates in the hull. The second, hours later. On your back, like this - but he had been armored then, your bare skin reflecting off the beskar as he stood between your thighs.

But now, your limbs are tangled. The heel of a foot pressed against his ass, his body rolling against yours. The messy press of his mouth against your skin.

A hiss, as he inhales.

Hands gripping onto you, as that breath is released in a rough groan, your own name on his lips. A sharp thrust as he buries himself deep, a shallow rock of his hips with each flex of his cock as he spills into you. The warmth flooding your walls, as he moves until you’ve taken all of him.

Until the aching, burning need is extinguished - as he relaxes like you did. Your nails scratching up his back and into his hair, a rumble of contentment as he shifts onto his side, and then back, pulling you with him.

Reaching down with one hand to pull the plug of the lights from the wall, blanketing the room in darkness. Fingers gentle as he lifts the mask. The brush of his lips against your eyelids.

Your cheek pressing against his chest, as his fingers trace patterns on your skin.

“I’m really happy I got to see you.” You yawn - blissfully limp, as you curl against him, “Even if you have to go.”

Sighing, as you arm drapes across his waist, “I’ll keep an eye on things until you come home.”

Home.

He can't pretend he hasn't already thought about it. What you had told him earlier, about these huts.

How the structures could change, evolve.

Spanning the space between your properties - expanding the walls and connecting hallways until the two houses become one. Truly a haven, a place where he could see himself growing old.

Not now, but... maybe someday.

Once this final quest was completed. Once he was redeemed. A true Mandalorian, once more.

But, that would be some time away. He has no idea what he will find on Mandalore. How long it will take to find Sundari, uncover the mines. It was no use to dwell on that future, when everything was uncertain.

So, instead… he finds himself silently hoping that the Anzellans will take just a little while longer.

Thanks for reading! Would love to know what you think 💖

mesh’la - beautiful / osik - shit / cyar’ika - sweetheart