#have some mando!!!! bc i love helmet dudes

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

So I may have just realized your requests are open (my grandfather says I would be a terrible witness to a murder bc I am unobservant we love adhd lol) so here I am to beg!

I never see a ton (any?) fics exploring Din and Boba’s friendship and only that. Like, my blog IS the horny corner. Friendship fluff ain’t my usual reblogs but fuck it’s also like amazing??? Idk I just think Din and Boba and Cobb deserve to have time to be just guys being dudes and bonding. (I do love me some DinCobb tho don’t get me wrong) anyway, nothing specific other than learning more about how you see their friendship? They obvs respect each other and trust each other. I bet they have a lot of weird inside jokes.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME

Beskar Buddies [Mando and Boba Fett]

Warnings and Information: Not a relationship fic. This is just a silly, not-taking-itself-too-seriously friendship fic for Boba and Din Djarin. References to canon-typical violence, drugs (spice), alcohol, and some events from both The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett. Minor Star Wars and real-world swearing. We're gonna make fun of Shiny Dad who doesn't know he's in Star Wars just a little bit. Din's helmet stays on. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. Minor proofreading and editing.

Word-count: 3,880

He's supposed to be here on Tatooine for a simple bounty - it's really nothing more than a glorified errand run for some spoiled little princeling who insists on only the finest Sansanna spice from the Outer Rim. But the princeling doesn't need to know that; he'll be allowed to believe that it was necessary to spend as much time as was desired for Din Djarin to acquire enough Sansanna for this young man's birthday celebration hosted on one of the Core Worlds,  if it means Din can cleverly lighten those pockets by a few more credits in order to provide for himself and the little one a little more comfortably, even if just for a while. 

Din only meant to spend an extra day here at most before collecting the requested goods and taking them back to his client. But when word made its way to the new Daimyo, and he knew that it would, that another who clads himself in the armor typical to Mandalorians is sniffing around Mos Espa, how could he refuse the request from the Master Assassin and second-in-command to pay a visit. 

"Shand." he greets her once he's calmed the slight tremor of his heart after being taken by surprise in an alleyway in the Worker's District of Espa, and reholsters the IB-94. "I didn't expect to run into you here. Conducting business on behalf of the Daimyo?" 

"Greet every woman that way?" Fennec Shand teases him with an indicative toss of her head to the holster. "Or am I just special?" 

"You surprised me." Din admits, repeating himself that he didn't expect to run into her by this point. He knows Boba is a busy man with a syndicate to operate, and what he cannot oversee himself, he often delegates the task to the bounty hunter standing in front of Din now. 

"Good. Means I'm not losing my edge." Fennec answers, a playful purr of pride in her voice. "Serves the Daimyo well if I can maintain the element of surprise when I am tasked to carry out his bidding on a busy man's behalf. To extend an invitation of sorts: Lord Fett would like an audience with you." 

"Very well." Din agrees, playing into the façade of formality - all part of the performance of power and command that is carried out in the halls of the Palace on the fringes of the Northern Dune Sea. He relays a short message to Peli Motto over in Mos Eisley that his return for Grogu may be a little delayed, first, for peace of mind, before Din will follow Shand back to the Palace. "Lead the way." 

Boba Fett dismisses the people within the throne room of the Palace - likely members who serve as part of the gotra or those who had come to pay tributes or give offerings of sorts to one of Espa's influential figureheads - as Fennec returns with Din as she had been asked. 

He wears his armor and (most of) his notable weaponry while seated on the throne, save for the cool, dark green helmet which sits neatly on the armrest. Displayed, rather than worn, now. "I hoped she would find you. I asked if she could extend my invitation once I heard there was someone who did not tell me he would be paying the fair city of Mos Espa a visit." Fett is teasing him, he knows, but Din cannot help feeling the need to apologize regardless of that. There are only chuckles in return as Boba climbs from the lordly seating and moves to greet Din like an old friend. 

Warm and calloused hands find their way around the other's wrist as Din and Boba first behave as if it is a simple handshake, but remain linked for some time. Old and ancient ways of checking strangers for weapons have turned to displays of trust. The longer the link, the stronger a bond, some would say. 

There both is warmth and a mischievous glint to his eyes as Boba visually takes him in, almost inspecting the gleaming beskar for imperfection or pitting that would speak to a scuffle of sorts that might make for a good story, "Your armor gleams in the light of the twin suns, Djarin, of course someone will notice you trying to skulk about my territory. Are you looking for work?" Boba had offered him payment for a place at his side once. He believed the Mandalorian to be a respectable and trustworthy fellow; Boba would gladly extend the invitation for a stable occupation once more. 

Din shakes his head, slowly, calmly, in the dim light of the throne room. He's not looking for work, he explains, he is working. "Product for a client. Princeling who wants a small crate of Sansanna spice for a party before next Taungsday. Specified that he wanted it from Tatooine of all places." 

That explains what brought him here to the planet, at least. 

"And why come to Espa to look?" Boba asks politely, keeping the conversation flowing as he pours himself and his friend something from a carafe he's kept on hand. One that Fennec is partial to, so he is sure to offer some to her as well as a silent expression of gratitude. Asking the Mandalorian to come to the palace and entertain a silly notion was a long shot when he has a foundling in his care, so Boba had cautioned Fennec that in the event he did not agree to come, it would be of no consequence. (He would prefer what's in the decanter, but he has yet to procure more, so it is untouched as it would not be enough to split among three.) "There is not much to find of the Sansanna that once belonged to the Pyke's before it was… misplaced." Boba suggests with a mirthful smile. 

"I wouldn't have come asking the mighty Daimyo first," Din retorts after a polite sip from his glass of the contents of the carafe, replacing his helmet that had been inched just high enough on his head to drink and resetting the seal, "that wouldn't have been good business, for you, or me." 

"No indeed." Boba agrees, appreciative of Din's caution given his reason for being here. Din knew to act in just the right way; ways that would not tarnish a carefully crafted image Boba had made for himself since putting an end to Bib Fortuna and laying claim to all that was once Jabba's. "Did you tell your client how long it would take?" 

Din's helmet bobs. "I did." 

"And did you tell this princeling how long it would actually take?" 

The helmet remains still, but the mouth within it must have found an upward curve as the bounty hunter implies that he was not quite so honest with his client. "It might have slipped my mind." 

Boba chuckles, almost proudly. An old trick of the trade: mislead the right clients on the right details, and you can earn yourself a few more credits. Live a little more comfortably for a time if you wanted. 

While Din could be a uniquely honest and humble bounty hunter at times, he was still a bounty hunter. Clever, resourceful, and cunning. Just the sort of thing he was looking for. "Well, I'm certain a crate or two will turn up to take back to this princeling in the morning, and he'll pay you handsomely for the spice brought in from rugged lands to boast at his party, my friend." he suggests promisingly to Din, patting the shoulder-bell that bares the profile of the Mudhorn as he leads him from the throne room, and into other areas of the palace before he lays out why he invited the Mandalorian to come. "In the meantime, I'd like you to come with me. Out beyond Espa." 

The low hum in his throat before he speaks suggests Din feels hesitant or uncertain about this idea. "Where? And why?" 

"Call it something of an impulse; I have my business to attend to here in Mos Espa as the Daimyo of course, but recently I dreamed of camping under the stars, out in the desert - " Boba answers, bringing Din to an inner chamber that is guarded at all times, where once they have passed the guards, he shows to Din two crates of spice that are contained within a vault, " - and I have not been able to shake myself of the notion since. Could I convince you to join me, my friend?" 

Din understands that the spice is being used to sweeten him to the idea of sleeping out in the sand-sprawling seas of this arid planet, where temperatures can drop dramatically within a few hours of the suns' setting, here. Even if he declined, Din Djarin doesn't believe the spice would be withheld now when it was already offered to him. 

"Why not take Shand?" he asks curiously. "Or will she be staying here at the Palace to keep an eye on things in your absence?"

"I did ask Fennec, as a matter of fact," Boba replies with a bemused expression, carefully denoting the crates with one of the guards for a moment, "and she wasn't too keen to the idea the same way I am. And, yes, she has said that if I do this she would remain with the Palace to oversee matters, should anything happen tonight." 

So it appears that Boba wants to entertain this fantasy tonight. Not just "some time in the future", but now. That in and of itself isn't surprising, but Din hesitates for one reason. 

One curiosity has been sated. Another remains. "And if I don't know how I feel about the idea? I have a friend watching Grogu for me in Mos Eisley, and I didn't make any mention that I would be leaving him with them past nightfall at the latest." 

Boba seems to give something a little thought before he asks "And who is this friend?" 

"Peli Motto." Fennec replies from the threshold, watching the two men with a cool gaze that many would perhaps find intimidating if not for a simple smile. "I did a little digging while you boys were having your fun in the vault. She's a simple mechanic." 

"A good mechanic." Din finds himself insisting. He's not at all surprised that the second-in-command to the Daimyo had recalled the frequency to and found some way to find information on Peli, but calling her a simple mechanic felt like an insult to her character and he would not let it slide so easily. 

"And are you paying this good mechanic to watch the little one for you?" Boba wonders. "If you are worried about giving her adequate payment for minding your foundling, don't. I would gladly help you settle it with Ms. Motto." 

It takes a moment to explain that Peli will need to mind Grogu for him overnight, but Din promises to explain why in the morning. "I need you to watch Grogu for me until the morning. Something came up." 

Peli sounds worried. "Trouble?"

"Only if we make it…" Boba chuckles to himself in the background, and Fennec warns him to behave in a way that suggests this is not the first, nor the last time, she's heard him make self-entertaining remarks like this. 

"What was that? You say something, Mando?" 

Din dodges the question with some redirection. "No trouble; I just need to spend a little extra time in Mos Espa. I can explain when I come for Grogu." He hears the way the little one perks up at the sound of his name, a bright, cooing sort of noise. Peli must have pulled him closer to the receiver, because the next time he coos and babbles inquisitively, the sound is sharper, louder, but no less sweet. 

"Ha-bah?" 

"Grogu, can you behave for Peli for me tonight? I'll be back early in the morning, I promise." 

Boba makes no further jokes or commentary in the background while allowing Din to speak to Grogu until he is satisfied that the little one understands Din will not be back tonight, but he will be back soon. Phrasing and re-phrasing his brief explanation until with a little help from Peli, the diminutive, green lifeform seemingly makes sounds of understanding.

He can imagine the way Jango would similarly caution him and repeat himself in preparation for his absences when he was perhaps too young to accompany his father on a bounty. These are memories from so long ago, now, to Boba. At least, they feel that way. He's only entering his forties, he reminds himself. Slightly older than Din, to his belief. 

But roughly similar enough in age that neither of them feels any need to take separate materials for temporary shelters. Old enough and mature enough to tolerate the shared arrangement for a single night under a canopy of stars on a bed of sand where they would lay their sleeping sacks. Din has offered to start a modest fire since Fett insists he can pitch the tent on his own. He certainly sees the influence of the Tuskens that Boba spent time with after surviving a sarlacc pit in the shelter's construction once it is firmly staked in place. 

"Sturdy." 

Boba nods acceptively of the compliment, settling himself beside the fire across from Din. "I learned much in my time with the tribe of Tuskens that cared for me like one of their own before I became the Daimyo. They didn't teach me everything, but you can still learn by watching and observing." 

There's a knowing chuckle before the dark t-visor turns and looks off into a rather deliberate direction for just a moment. Freetown. They're not too far from Vanth's community, as it turns out. "Wondering how the sheriff's doing; will we need to pay a visit in the morning?" he offers half-questioningly to Din, trying to gauge and guess what is on the mind of the man clad in beskar before him. 

"Tempting. But perhaps another time." Din replies, beginning to remove a select few parts of his armor to make himself more comfortable. He did not opt to leave it behind in favor of more appropriate desert-wear, even when offered. Fett reasoned that much like his own armor, once belonging to his father in his case, the armor made of beskar carried its own significance to Din beyond a protective shell. 

"Feeling guilty for leaving the little one, again?" 

His companion shakes his head in answer as he carefully sets aside what he's removed. "Not quite. Just eager to complete this bounty and lay low for a time." 

"Smart. Have somewhere in mind?" 

"Yes." is all Din will answer. And wisely so. Telling Fett where he plans on going would defeat the entire purpose, no matter how much they each trust and respect each other. Because they do, a simple word is all the Mandalorian glowing in the light of the fire will find necessary to say. 

"Good. I wish you uneventful times when you make it there, my friend." 

They listen to the stillness of the desert together following Fett's sincere wish for Din and Grogu's safety; the crackle and muted roar of the fire, distant and slow gusts of wind, and once off in the greater distance, bantha. The deep bellows of the omnivorous quadrupeds were a strange comfort as the two men listened. 

"Have you ever ridden a bantha?" Din asks, noting the nostalgic smile evident on the other's face. The smile broadens as Boba answers. "I have. There was a bantha I once had for a mount, I think of them from time to time." 

The helmet tilts to the right with mild concern or surprise. "What happened to it?" 

"Oh, nothing bad," Boba assures his friend, giving a singular chuckle as he stokes the flame a little higher, "I simply set them free before I reclaimed my ship. Hopefully they are out there now, meeting other banthas and making baby banthas." 

"Heh. I see. Is that the strangest thing you've ever ridden that isn't a speederbike?" Din asks with a laugh, once more turning his head out to look beyond the light of the fire into the desert. Perhaps with his sensors, he could find these distant herds of wild or domesticated bantha

"That would be a rancor." 

"You're joking." 

"I'm not." Boba laughs with some insistence. "And what about you, my friend? Find a mythosaur to ride, yet?" 

"Funny… " Din replies somewhat slowly, "...there was an Ugnaught named Kuiil who claimed it should have been easy for me to learn to ride Blurrg because of my 'ancestors' who rode mythosaurs when he was trying to teach me." He grows quiet, and his body language becomes a lot less casual, less open and fluid. "I haven't thought about his remark in a while." Din admits somberly. His companion, the man who invited him for a night in the desert, under the stars, doesn't press him for anything more to say for a moment, letting the silence grow. 

"You've been busy." Boba reasons with him only when he is certain Din doesn't have anything to add. "Traveling the galaxy, collecting bounties… All while you care for the little one." The words don't seem to bring him any comfort. If anything, Boba suspects he's said the wrong thing. "Was he a friend?"

"Yes. Killed by Imperial scout troopers." 

"I am sorry, Djarin," he sympathizes, for a moment thinking to lay his hand on the other's shoulder in a gesture of comfort were Boba sitting beside him rather than across the fire. "To lose those we care for is no easy thing." 

The Mandalorian scoffs and, jokingly, asks Boba if he's certain he's as old as he claims. "You sound and look older." 

"Well, the profession ages you. And I imagine there are still a scattered few, somewhere out there, that would look just like me. Maybe even older." This is the second time Din does not seem to understand what he means judging by his silence. "Surely you've seen them. Heard about them at least, the clones?" Boba inquires, growing increasingly more confused by the lack of apparent understanding as the t-visor slowly wags in the firelight. 

"Djarin." 

The fire is smothered out with sand following the conclusion of something of a pseudo history lesson once Boba feels he's adequately explained to Din what exactly Clone troopers are. Were. (Maybe still are? Truly, he's not certain how many men who look just like him and sound just like him remain in the galaxy.) The sand is stamped down for good measure before both men enter the tent for the first time since it had been put up and prepare to sleep. The night grows stiller and serene in a way that is entirely unique to Tatooine. 

The desert planet is not for the weak-willed and those who will not be prepared to adapt. If you traversed the Dune Seas, you had different tribes of nomadic Tuskens to contend with (and hope they would let you pass through their lands in peace for small tributes), or the wild animals that were not as docile as the bantha that called this planet home. It took grit and gumption, or no small amount of necessary self preservation skills, to live in places such as Mos Espa and Eisley where you would expect to find yourself brushing shoulders with bounty hunters and crime families. Things could get messy. 

Boba Fett and Din Djarin are no strangers to the grime and filthier aspects of what the galaxy has to offer them. Bloodshed and banthashit that would make weaker men stumble and turn away from such a profession far sooner. Sacrifices and difficult choices have been made in each of their lives. 

Tonight didn't have to be one of them. A night of simple company and some time to catch up with a friend was a welcome change for both. Boots are carefully removed before each slip into their sleeping sacks after simple ration packs are eaten in silence - backs turned to one another even in the dark - and wrappers have been taken care of. 

"We'll start our return to the palace before first light," Boba explains, "that way you can return to Mos Eisley for Grogu before Ms. Motto would begin her workday after you've secured the spice for the princeling." 

There is a soft laugh under the modulator to his left, where he can make out the general form of his friend's body beside him and sees he's already laying down. "Thank you. Hopefully he will have slept well when I retrieve him." 

He certainly hopes the little one will too, for Din's sake, with a laugh. "I have not forgotten my offer to pay Ms. Motto either. And thank you, my friend, for entertaining this idea with me." 

"Anything for the mighty Daimyo of Mos Espa." he says in all seriousness he can muster for the moment. He can't maintain the composure for long, and thankfully it's Fett who laughs first, the two of them free to laugh as loud as they would like when it's just the two of them out here for miles as far as anyone would be concerned. 

Free to spend as much time as they would like "winding down" and talking in low, golden tones until they come to realize it is coming up on first light, and they have spent the whole night in conversation without meaning to. 

At least it may not be just Grogu who has not gotten any sleep tonight, they joke together as they come up on the palace, and Boba gives Din what he was promised. Two crates of Sansanna spice to carve a deeper hole in the pockets of his client, and many words of thanks from Boba follow after Din as he secures some transport to Mos Eisley. "Safe travels, my friend. Remember-" 

"Oh I will." Din replies with a mischievous inflection, giving Fennec Shand reason to pause and consider what unfinished communication is unfolding before her as both men, Fett once more clad in his own armor in order to properly send the Mandalorian off before assuming his seat at the throne for the day. "I take it you now have… inside jokes." she grins. 

"Maybe." each reply in tandem. 

Boba smiles, nodding to Din. "Or-" 

"-Reminding me to get a little more sleep once I'm in a hyperspace lane." Din concludes, bidding them farewell once again. He was eager to return to Grogu, and Din could only hope the little one had gotten some sleep. But if he hadn't, then perhaps they would be napping together as they navigated hyperspace. It would certainly not be the first time Din would potentially need to doze off when he could when traveling with a child, or at least daydream while looking at the view from the cockpit of his ship. 

Nor will it be the last. Hopefully the same could be said for another opportunity to present itself for nights like last where Boba Fett and Din Djarin could simply spend time with a trusted friend.

Note from Frost: The title was a placeholder name, but then it grew on me; I'm callin' them the Beskar Buddies from now on. Ideas also changed direction on me in the course of writing, so apologies for the lack of Cobb in the end. :( I have not written anything for one of my first major Star Wars crushes in a long, long time. Probably since I was 16? Poor Boba. So this was a delight, and I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you for making the request!

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

[owithurts]

have some star war!!

[crispyjenkins]

I’m resending it now! ok so what if for some reason Obi’s lightsaber either gets destroyed or the crystal stops resonating with him & He’s with Jango who goes with him to wherever the force guides him to find his new crystal at & like Obi goes through some wack vision/trial from the force and when he gets through it his new crystal reveals itself and it’s the same type of crystal like in the dark saber? And Jango is just losing it when he sees it bc he thinks “HOW?! but also, That’s HOT” hehe

(my DUDE i’m so flippin glad you re-sent this, i’ve had to force myself not to write this one so i could get other people’s prompts out, and i was at first unsure of how to spin this, but holy FECK is it all i can think about now. i just. i just want to write so much of this obi. i’m sorry i didn’t get to jango much, but you bet your butters he and obi are connected every which way in this, in ways beyond force bonds because i’m a dramatic bitch.

i hope y’all enjoy this one as much as i did!!)

edit 6/26/20: this is now part of a full fix-it! you can read it as it updates here on my Ao3! updates on fridays.

  Illum is colder than he remembered, though the last time Obi-Wan had been here, he had not feared wrapping himself up in the Force. It’s been... Force, he hasn’t been back since after Melida/Daan, and something in him breaks again at the thought that he’d lost the ‘saber that had been with him for more than a decade. But, no, a lightsaber is a small price to pay to have saved his master.

  His former master. He isn't Qui-Gon’s apprentice anymore, Anakin had made sure of that.  

  Obi-Wan had been sent to Illum alone, no younglings in need of making their first ‘saber, and no one else needing to replace theirs; Anakin has a few more months in the crèche before he can build his, and Obi-Wan can’t thank the council enough that he doesn’t have to walk the caves knowing his replacement is somewhere doing the same. With Qui-Gon still in the Halls, Master Plo had stepped forward in offer to knight him, and had almost had to fight Master Depa for the honor, which was... strange. He’s used to quite the opposite of masters fighting over him, but an amused Yoda had almost used his lineage status to refuse them both for himself instead, until Mace, as Master of the Order, had given the right to Plo Koon. And Jedi do not gloat, but the Kel Dor had certainly been smiling behind his mask.

  The doors to the caves open easily despite the ice, so maybe his great-grandmaster had been right about Obi-Wan rebuilding his lightsaber before his knighting ceremony. This thought doesn’t settle the feeling of intruding when he steps over the threshold, the marrow-deep feeling of being an imposter in one of the most holy places in the galaxy. 

  The kyber hums around him, as if he wasn’t at this exact moment considering walking away from the Order.

  He’s hardly a proper Jedi, is he? Killing a Sith with a sai tok, falling in love with Satine, holding a grudge against a nine year-old freed slave for taking his master away from him. Hadn’t he drawn on the dark side to defeat the Zabrak? Killed him not out of duty to his vow but in revenge for the fallen Qui-Gon? His lightsaber might have cauterised the wounds, but he has blood on his hands all the same.

  So he keeps walking, refusing to touch a single crystal he passes. The Force tugs him deeper into the caves anyways, and he has half a thought to ignoring it (does he even deserve to listen to it anymore?) but for all his tumultuous thoughts, Obi-Wan is beholden to the Force, beholden to the grip it has in his viscera. 

  He follows it as his breath forms clouds before his lips, frost on his skin that he cannot even feel. Where would he go, if he left? Stewjon is insular, they would not want him back, but he cannot stay at the Temple. Naboo, perhaps? Padmé would surely welcome him, but could he really settle down on such a peaceful planet after spending over half his life running around the stars with his master?

  Closing his eyes at the memory of Satine, he allows himself to... consider it. Would she still want him? They haven’t spoken since, but sometimes he can feel her in his mind still, a little warm bud that could bloom, if he let it. And even if she threw him out, Mandalore isn’t a bad place to restart.

  “Could I really?” he muses out loud, stepping over a great crack in the stone floor and setting his feet to follow a barely-there path towards the lake, only for the Force to have him veer away from it. Could he really give up being a Jedi? After every trial the Force had put him through to even become an apprentice? Oh, but he had tried so. kriffing. hard. to get this far, could he really do anything else?

  He swallows thickly and almost desperately pulls the Force back around himself, as if in apology, as if in repentance, as if anguish—

  Peace, it whispers, brushing over his mind even as it sinks claws into his ribs and pulls him up short.

  Obi-Wan is twelve again, wind whipping around him as the Jedi transport takes off from Bandomeer, Qui-Gon Jinn staring down at him. Force, but he hasn’t ever felt worse than when he feels their raw bond stretching with distance, yanking deep in him until he’s breathless, doesn’t Master Jinn feel it—?

  And Obi-Wan is sitting in the living room of their Temple apartment, kneeling on his cloth meditation mat across from Qui-Gon’s bamboo one. His master’s warmth surrounds him in a glittering cloud of comfort and ease, and they’ve been at this for five years now, and still Obi-Wan holds this as his most treasured memory, something to cling to when things seem desolate or he’s been arguing with Qui-Gon, or—

  He’s in the glass city of Sundari, brushing a hand over Satine’s cheek as she laughs, and Force, she’s even more beautiful than he remembers— She’s dying in his arms, bruises violent red around her throat, a sizzling ‘saber wound through her middle, and she’s beautiful even now, oh Force not like this—

  Obi-Wan is older, his joints a little creakier, his hair grey at the temples, and he has a beskad sticking out of his chest. Above him is a boy that looks suspiciously like him, red hair and green eyes but with Satine’s lips and eyebrows. Korkie, the Force tells him, as the boy leans over Obi-Wan and why is he angry? Ah, so this blade had not been meant for him—

  Anakin, little Anakin with a padawan braid beams up at him in a training salle with a practice saber in his fists. Obi-Wan moves to correct his kata, and though he’s... sure he had never learned this from Qui-Gon, he knows it’s Form III, he knows it’s Soresu like he knows his own name, like he knows the padawan bond in his mind and the warm nova glow of Anakin attached to his core—

  Obi-Wan is an old man, seated on a perfectly smooth grey stone above a green, green cliff battered by ocean waves and briny air. He meditates with the knowledge he had come from here, the Force here as close to home as he could ever hope to achieve. He had not searched for the family that left him on the Temple steps, and that’s just fine by him, he could not have asked for a better place to begin his seclusion studies than Stewjon—

  Obi-Wan is an old man, seated on a perfectly smooth red stone, the desert cliffs around him worn smooth from the sand that batters around him, ripping through his robes but never touching his skin. The Force is feral here, claws and bone and teeth teeth teeth, but somewhere out in the dunes, there shines Luke, pearlescent and good and proof that Obi-Wan has not failed just yet. 

  Satine is screaming at him as she shoves Korkie behind her back and raises a beskad that seems wrong, wrong in her hands, but he doesn’t have time to think about his heart wielding a blade, when he’s wielding the darksaber, whistling as it cuts through the air against Tor Vizsla, why had they trusted him, he knew he could not be trusted, and now his family is going to pay the price— His ‘saber, black as space, connects with Vizsla's, black as night, and Obi-Wan is not wielding the darksaber, but something else entirely, with a beskad’s edge, with a hum that’s almost a scream, that moves towards the darksaber with the intent to shatter—

  A Mando in blue and silver beskar’gam hands him a hilt, hammered durasteel wrapped in black leather, so unlike any Jedi ‘saber hilt he’s ever seen, but Obi-Wan knows it’s his from the way it sings, the way the Force insists it’s his his his—

  The blue and silver Mando with his helmet off, a man so unspeakably gorgeous that Obi-Wan wonders how he even copes— The Mando’s gloved hand grips Obi-Wan’s wrist, the face he knows so well twisted into dread and anger. Don’t go, they beg, but Obi-Wan must, he cannot abandon Mandalore, he cannot—, Don’t you realize that Zabrak’s fucking crazy? Obi-Wan, he’s going to kill you—

  Obi-Wan is older, but not much, pinned underneath blue and silver armour as Sundari glass and blasterfire rains around them—

  Obi-Wan watches the Beautiful Mando sleeping with his head pillowed on Obi-Wan’s arm, a new scar curling through his eyebrow that he hasn’t asked about yet—

  A mini Beautiful Mando eyes him suspiciously, hands on his hips while his buir stands behind him and tries not to laugh—

  Obi-Wan is on Illum, but he is not, he weaves his way through dusty streets he has never seen before and yet knows the way by heart, following that heart towards the hangar where his aliit waits. He has beads braided messily in his hair, twisted by pudgy fingers insisting Obi-Wan deserves to look just as pretty as his buir; that durasteel and leather hilt bounces against his hip, and he has a single blue and silver gauntlet on his right arm. He is a Jedi, the Force assures him, in the way light bends through him, but he is also Mando’ad, he knows that without needing to ask. He belongs to a planet and to a people that he did not start with, in a strange Force-willed way that he can’t explain, and he’s a Jedi, but he knows he has a family waiting for him in an old police craft. A black-bladed ‘saber hums at his side.

  Obi-Wan opens his eyes in front of a rock wall, glittering kyber in every colour rising up the sheer face until their little lights disappear into the darkness far above him. Just above eye-level, there is a small crater in the wall, as if the rest of the kyber cannot grow around the single crystal at the crater’s center. 

  It is opalescent and space-black, and looks as if it had been cut for a piece of opulent jewellery. The Force whispers heart heart heart, and he supposes it does look the size and shape of a beskar’ta, and isn’t that fitting?

  When he reaches out to take it, the white glow at its edges seems to suck in the light from around it, and it sings higher than any crystal he’s ever touched, whistling trials and heartbreak and pain and blood, but also love and laughter and family, if he lets it form the notes just right. It sings in Mando’a, in war gods and clans and beskar, and it sings for Obi-Wan alone.

-   Across the galaxy, Jango wakes on Jaster’s Legacy in a cold sweat.

Translations/Other: sai tok — the ‘saber move of cutting an opponent in half, frowned upon by the Jedi for its roots in the dark side. beskad — traditional Mandalorian curved saber made of beskar. allit — Mando’a for “clan” or “family”. buir — Mando’a for “parent”, gender neutral. beskar’ta — Mando’a for “iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called ka’rta beskar or “heart of the iron”. Jaster’s Legacy — Jaster’s old ship that Jango found and used post Galidraan, and pre Slave I.