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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year

Text

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary:

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin.

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains.

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him.

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram.

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes.

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges.

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke.

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh.

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian.

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son.

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur.

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm.

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.”

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks.

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble.

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.”

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.”

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head.

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says.

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet.

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory.

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks.

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart.

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn."

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly.

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks.

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim.

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further.

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern.

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines.

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive.

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you.

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins.

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground.

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours.

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver.

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back.

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand.

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three.

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #no use of y/n

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 3 months

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 13

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Sinker

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

Author's Note: Okay, so I know I said that this chapter was going to be the funeral scene, but it is not. Next chapter, I promise. I tried to fit everything into one chapter, but it got way too long, so I split it. While this chapter does not contain the funeral, it is still very emotional as Wolffe recalls memories of his wife. I don't like to exposition dump, which is why information about her has been sprinkled in, but I felt it was time for readers to get further knowledge about Wolffe's wife before we collectively say goodbye. Side note, is this my first chapter with zero dialogue??? Wild. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

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Wolffe's heart pounded as he led Cara out onto the terrace. She held his hand and walked beside him without argument as Sinker walked ahead of them, hands folded neatly behind his back. He obscured most of her view, but she didn't try to break away from Wolffe's hand to see around him. Instead, as more and more people came into view, Cara shifted to a guarded position and trailed further behind Wolffe. He noticed her hesitation and squeezed her hand to reassure her as they approached the formation that Sinker filed into.

The terrace was full of clones, some in uniform and some in armor, most of whom Wolffe had never seen before, still, there were many that he did know, including the entirety of the 104th Battalion, Commander Fox, and several members of the Coruscant Guard. There were a few Jedi in attendance besides his own, but he ignored them. It didn't matter to him whether the Jedi paid their respects, but he had to admit that if there was one custom he was thankful the Jedi and Mandalorians had in common, it was burning their dead.

Wolffe's wife wasn't Mandalorian, but neither was he, officially. He wasn't trained directly by the Mandalorian bounty hunters, like the Alphas or the Commandos, but he was trained by Alpha-17 who upheld those same traditions and passed them on to the Commanders. Newer clones didn't always understand, and not every commander had the time to instill those traditions into their men. They may be fakes, copies, and imposters, but the culture gave them something to hold onto; something that made them feel like real people.

From what he could see at a distance, the funeral pyre was hauntingly beautiful. The wood was artistically arranged and perfectly level and the wisteria flowers outlining her body added a degree of femininity to the scene that made Wolffe's heart plunge into his stomach with a level of ferocity he wasn't expecting. The authenticity was unrivaled. There was more care and concern put into that one pyre than had ever been afforded to a single clone on the battlefield. He would have to remember to thank Sinker properly for all of his efforts in preparing it.

As they approached the formation of clones in the front, Wolffe sucked in a breath when he saw his in-laws within the gathered crowd. Their audacity to show up to their daughter's funeral after disowning her, cutting her out of their will, and throwing her on the streets, made him sick. When Cara was born, her parents made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with her either; something about the child of nature's greatest abomination being a stain on their superior bloodline. His initial instinct was to throw them out, but he remained calm.

However, his in-law's presence brought memories of their first meeting flooding back. At the very beginning of the War, before 79s was a clone bar, there weren't many places on Coruscant where a clone could get a drink or unwind, but there was one run-down tavern on the lower levels that let anyone in. That was where Wolffe first saw her; messy auburn hair, crystal blue eyes glazed over from being drunk, and skin so pale he thought she would burn under the neon lights. A man at the bar tried to cop a feel but Wolffe decked him without a second thought, and, as a thank you, she threw up on him. It was love at first sight.

After cleaning himself up, Wolffe was able to get a look at her ID and find her address, because there was no way he was going to leave her alone as drunk as she was. It surprised him that someone from the upper levels would hang out in such a dingy bar, but he wasn't one to judge. He hailed a taxi and paid with whatever credits he had to get as close to her address as possible, but still ended up carrying her on his back for the last stretch. She was loud and obnoxious the entire way, endlessly wiggly, and shouted pure nonsense in his ears.

When they finally arrived at her residence, he was greeted by her frantic parents and was subsequently arrested by the Coruscant Guard on charges of drugging, kidnapping, and assault. Without a single chance to explain himself, Wolffe was placed in binders and tossed into a holding cell at the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. He sat in that cell all night trying to figure out how he could've messed up so badly on his first visit to Coruscant that his general probably thought he was the most incompetent commander in the GAR.

In the morning, however, it wasn't his general who came to get him, but a woman. Wolffe didn't recognize her at first. Her clothes were elegant, made of fine linen, her auburn hair was neatly wrapped in a bun, not a strand out of place, and her soft blue eyes shone with compassion against her pale skin. It was her eyes. That's when he realized she was the same woman he carried home from the bar the night before. She was the last person he expected to show up at the Detention Center to bust him out, but he wasn't about to be ungrateful.

She introduced herself and then proceeded to profusely apologize for what happened. Wolffe was shocked when she started crying while explaining how she only wanted to have a fun night out away from her high-class lifestyle and strict parents. She never intended for anyone to get hurt by her shenanigans, especially the man who protected her honor and was kind enough to bring her home after she was too drunk to walk straight. In her eyes, he was a hero, not a villain, and she couldn't let her parent's influence lock him away forever, so she had him released.

It wasn't long afterward that they started seeing each other in secret, away from the prying eyes of her parents and the GAR. One thing turned into another and they both fell hopelessly in love. She knew he was a clone, and that her parents would never approve, but she didn't care. Even after Wolffe protested, saying they should break up, she insisted that she would regret leaving him over something so trivial as family status. So, she professed her love for Wolffe to her parents and they slammed the door in her face. It was the bravest thing Wolffe had ever seen.

She was left alone with only the clothes on her back and the credits in her pocket. Wolffe wanted to help her adjust, but she refused, asserting that she needed to make it on her own if she wanted to be seriously involved with him. Weeks later, when Wolffe arrived back on Coruscant after his first mission, she had a job, an apartment, and the beginnings of her own life. Fear crept into the back of his mind that she moved on and didn't want him anymore, but when he arrived at the coordinates she sent him, she welcomed him home with open arms.

It was that same night when they accidentally made Cara. It wasn't something either of them planned on, but they were both young, in love, and lacked certain levels of education on the matter. They learned quickly though, and even with the options and obstacles presented to them, they decided to keep Cara. They both knew it wasn't going to be easy, and Wolffe felt guilty about letting it happen, but his wife was ever the stubborn woman and she knew that it was meant to be, even if it terrified Wolffe more than any battle ever did.

Their first moments together felt like they happened only yesterday, but now, they were just memories. Memories that Wolffe replayed in his mind as he desperately tried to grasp onto every remnant of his wife he could, afraid that he'd lose her completely if he didn't catch all the pieces. There was still some part of his mind that didn't want to believe she was dead, even as he looked over at the funeral pyre with her form–her auburn hair, blue eyes, and pale skin–lying on top of it, just waiting for him to light the fire and fill the air with her remaining essence.

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draculasfavoritewife · 1 year

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Din Djarin x Reader Headcanons Pt. 1

Summary: How you met the Mandalorian and eventually became his lover.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon violence, a shower massage. Very slow burn because I like suffering haha.

Yeah so these started out as headcanons but because I can't write briefly to save my life, it basically turned into a fic in bullet point form lmao. There is a second part coming soon once I dig the rest out of my notes app!

Also, because I like to create origins for reader characters, she is culturally Mandalorian by birth, but because I'm a huge nerd she was raised by the Lorrdians because I always thought their nonverbal language skills were absolutely badass.

*Translations of words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You and the Mandalorian first crossed paths on a wild outer rim planet somewhere, having been sent after the same bounty by the Guild

He questioned why you wore a beskar breastplate, thinking you had stolen it from his people

The bounty had escaped, and against his better judgment, he brought you with him in pursuit, especially after you told him your armor had belonged to your buir

You were born into Clan Viszla, but your family had escaped to Lorrd during the unrest, where you had been raised in the traditions of the Mando'ade but also learned the Lorrdian language

Because of this, you quickly became accustomed to reading his body language, as he rarely spoke

He doesn't know what to make of you, since you long ago abandoned your helmet and thus in his eyes broke your creed

For your part, you're aware he must have been raised by extremists, but you respect his religious beliefs

The two of you make a surprisingly good team and end up splitting the bounty

Neither of you could say why you stayed, and why he didn't drop you off somewhere, but you kept working together

As you get more comfortable, your sarcastic nature begins to surface more often

He can't tell if he hates or enjoys your constant commentary, but he's occasionally willing to give back; most of the time you just get a long-suffering sigh in response

Although he stays mostly aloof, you can read by his gestures eventually that he pretty much considers you friends by now

The problem with this is that you're an extremely touchy person physically, having grown up in a very intimate community, and he is not

At first he shrugs you off whenever your hand brushes his armor as you pass by, but after months of patience from you, he finally accepts your friendly hand on his arm with a grudging sigh of defeat

You get to know each other a little better with all the time you spend patching each other up in hard-to-reach areas

Now you know the color of his skin, which, although such a small detail, makes you feel immensely honored, since hardly anyone else ever will

For his part, he's surprisingly gentle at tending injuries, and you just wish that someday he might take off his gloves to touch you

Little facts about each other keep surfacing during these vulnerable sessions

"What are these for?" he asks you once when he has to pull your braids away from your neck; he's perceptive, to have picked up that they mean something

"The Weequay started that custom, each one stands for a year I've been away from Mandalore"

He's quiet for a long time before asking one more question

"Do you ever mean to go back?"

"I don't know if I want to anymore; but it feels right to honor my first home"

When he's finished cleaning up the lacerations across your upper back, you rise to your feet and let your hand linger on his shoulder

"Thank you, Mando"

"Din," he murmurs, so soft you can barely pick it up over his modulator "My name is Din Djarin"

He trusts you with his actual name

"Din," you smile, warmth spreading beneath your skin at finally having cracked his shell "Thank you"

After that, your interactions shift a bit

He's a little more welcoming of your casual touches

He would never say so, but you can tell he almost leans into them now

You can also tell by his posturing that he hasn't really been touched by anyone for a very long time

Does he realize he craves the contact?

Chasing that one bounty all over Tatooine did a number on both of you

You didn't know sand could get some of the places it's gotten

"I need a shower" you tell him as you step back into the Razor Crest, sand trailing in your wake

"I know you must need one too, Djarin, don't pretend that fancy beskar suit keeps it all out"

"I'll wait" he grumbles

"You can join me, you know" you offer "Another set of hands always helps with sand"

He stares at you for so long, you start to wonder if you've been too forward, but you mean exactly what you've said and nothing more...don't you?

Finally he wordlessly gestures at his helmet

Of course, his creed

Wait, does that mean he actually considered it?

You smirk up at his expressionless visor, feeling his sharp gaze fixed on you

"What, Din, don't tell me you've never showered with the lights out?"

You're very satisfied with how your idea unfolds, and he accepts without too much further need for convincing, so here you are, sharing the small 'fresher shower with the Mandalorian himself

Din stays mostly silent as the two of you work to rid your bodies of sand, though you can hear him sigh softly every time your skin kisses his for a moment

He's almost too much for you in this cramped space, smelling of sweat and smoke, solid and muscular where you've collided, and all your other senses are on overdrive since you can't see a thing in the darkness

And that's when it hits you that you've fallen for him

But you keep that thought to yourself

He makes an excellent platonic shower partner, attentive to when you need help scrubbing the grime from areas that are hard to reach

His hands are wonderful without those gloves, so much larger than your own slender ones, startlingly tender despite their roughness

And so warm, his whole body is so warm

You return the favor, and feel how tense he is beneath the surface

You can't tell for once if that tension is caused by you or if he just carries that much all the time

So as you wash the grit from his broad back, as your fingertips skate over the scars of his brutal lifestyle, you experimentally nudge into those rigid muscles, in an attempt to loosen him up a bit

The sharp inhale makes you freeze

"Forgive me --"

"No" your heart jolts at finally hearing his low voice so clearly without the modulator "Don't stop"

So you continue to massage out the stiffness wherever you find it, trying not to let his clipped breaths affect you too much

Then you part ways without a word once the water is off; he leaves you alone there in the 'fresher to dry off with the lights on, wondering if something went wrong

Buir = Parent

Mando'ade = Children of Mandalore

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #headcanon #slow burn #part 2 coming soon #I am SO in love with this man #hes so hot #i love him #romantic #x reader #female reader #star wars #bounty hunter #absolutely not simping over here in my corner hehe #he's so soft under that beskar we know this #this is the way

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clonefandomevents · 1 year

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Trans Clone Week Prompts!

Here are the prompts for the upcoming Trans Clone Week!

Day 1-June 25th: My Gender Is: Its Complicated, On Kamino, Firsts, Trust/Support

“I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be beautiful.” - Michael Cunningham

Day 2-June 26th: Choosing Names/Name Changes, Force Sensitive Clones, Holding Hands, Time Travel Fix-It

"Finding yourself" is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you." - Emily McDowell

Day 3- June 27th: Mandalorian/Alien Cultures and Gender, Clone Culture, Cuddle Pile, Culture Clash

"I don’t know if this is sexy or just weird." - Lady Gaga

Day 4-June 28th: Sister/Brotherhood, (No) Order 66, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Flirting

"What is done in love is done well" - van gogh,

Day 5-June 29th: Body Modification, (Sharing) Armor/Clothing/Weapons, Disabilities, Ritual/Traditions

"He breathed out and settled in the feeling of being himself, of being something whole.” - Austin Chant (Peter Darling

Day 6-June 30th: Trans Parenting/Elders, Freedom, Boundary Setting, Parental Figures

"What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?” Ada Limón, ‘The carrying’

Days 7/8- July 1st and 2nd: Free Days!

Was there a prompt you liked but didn't end up here? Do you have an idea that doesn't quite fit the prompts? Do you just want to create anything that makes you happy? These two free days are for any and all creations!

For the prompted days, choose 1, choose 2, choose them all! Anything the prompts inspire; we would love to see! And if you have any questions at all, don't hesitate to ask!

#trans clone week #clone wars #trans clones #prompts #quote prompts #image prompts #fandom week #fandom event #star wars event

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and-claudia · 2 years

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His Heir pt. 31 (Darth Maul x pregnant! reader)

This one is short but.... well I'll just let y'all see for yourself. A/N at the end too ;D

Wordcount: 1041

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I was laying with my head in Maul's lap.

"What do you want to name him?" I asked, looking at the scans we just got of him.

Now, at twenty-two weeks, we were over halfway there, and we weren’t even in the ballpark of finding a name for him and it was starting to stress me out.

He thought for a moment, "I haven’t thought about any specific names if I am being honest. Do you have any ideas?"

"I’ve thought about what type of name we should go with but I haven’t been sure on what would work best. If I am being honest he is kind of a mess of cultures…”

“What do you mean?” Maul asked.

“Well I am a Mandalorian. You’re Dathomirian. You are also a Sith Lord and Nightbrother. I am Human. You’re a Zabrak. There are just so many routes we could go. Or we don’t even have to go down one of those paths for his name, we could just go with a name in Galatic Basic. I just don’t know what to do Maul. I’ve thought about it so much that my feels like it’s going to explode…”

Maul looked at me oddly for a moment. I could tell he was probing at my mind through the force. I didn’t mind though, he knew that I could feel him digging around my thoughts and if I truly didn’t want him there I would block him out. I let him in, but I only allowed him to see what I wanted him to see.

“You have a name picked out already… why didn’t you say something?” He asked gently.

I pushed myself to sit up, with some help from him, and turned around to face him.

“Because I really want him to have a name like the Nightbrothers…” "Are you sure? We could go with a more traditional name." Maul offered.

I shook my head.

"Maybe a traditional middle name, perhaps even a Mandalorian one, then he could have a little piece of both of us. But I really want him to have a Nightbrothers name. My only issue is they’re hard to come up with. Like your name isn’t hard, it’s Maul, you say it the same way as the word maul, like some mauled by an animal.”

Maul laughed at my explanation but nodded for me to continue.

“But… um… But other names like…like…” I trailed off, not sure how he would feel about bringing up his brother.

“Like Savage.” He said for me and i nodded before continuing.

“Like Savage,” I agreed, “I’ve played around with a few words… and I just know.”

“Let me hear them.” He said.

“I like Riot, and just leave it as Riot.” I said, watching him to judge his reaction.

“I like that. What else do you have?”

“Okay bear with me on this one, the word lethal, but pronounce it Lee-thal.”

“Hm… I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before. It’s different.” He said.

“You hate it don’t you?” I asked.

“No. Not at all, I’ve just never heard it. I like it actually.” He said, easing my worries.

“Okay, I have one more, vicious but make the ‘i’ a long ‘i’ so it’d be Vīkous… thoughts?”

“If I am being honest, I like all of them. I think any of them would be perfect for our son. Is there a particular one you are leaning towards?” He asked.

“Not really honestly. I’ve thought about maybe just waiting until he’s born to pick one. Get a good look at him, decide what name fits him best.”

“I like that idea.” Maul agreed with a smile, bringing his hand to rest on the side of my belly.

Maker, his smile could make me melt on the spot.

"What about a last name? I know we’ve talked about it some, but I just really don't want him to take mine." I said.

"I know, but I don't have a last name,” Maul began, “... well actually I suppose I may... my lineage isn't exactly certain. I was taken by Sidious so early that I don't know anything from my early life besides training in the ways of the dark side."

I grabbed the hand that he had resting on my stomach and brought it to my lips to press a kiss to his knuckles while muttering, "I'm sorry." Against his tattooed skin. I knew he didn’t like talking about his childhood.

“I've thought about that too actually… your last name.

“Oh?”

"What if you took the name Oppress?" I suggested gently.

"Fr- From my brother?"

I nodded.

“I think he would be honored to have you and his nephew take on the name Opress. Maul Opress, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Maul smiled once again, “I suppose it does. What about the names you suggested, how do they sound?” He asked.

“Let’s find out. First, Riot Opress… I actually really like that if I am being honest.”

“Agreed, it sounds powerful. Okay how does, Lethal (lee-thal) Oppress sound? I like that one as well.”

I gasped a little, “Okay I love that one too… last is Vicious (Vīkous) Oppress…” I cringed slightly and I could tell by the look on his face Maul wasn’t a fan either.

“I think Vicious (Vīkous) Oppress is off the table. I’m not loving it like I did the other two.” I said.

Maul nodded, “I agree.”

“Okay so, this,” I placed my hands on my stomach, “is either little Riot or Lethal (Lee-thal) Oppress.” I said before looking up at Maul with a mischievous smile on my lips. I took my hands off my belly and placed them on his cheeks, “And this is not-so-little Maul Opress.” I said, smiling widely as he smiled at his name.

He shook his head slightly at my antics before bringing his hands up to replace where mine just were on my stomach.

“The Opress Family… sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He asked, not looking at me.

“Well, I’m not an Opress.” I said.

Maul was silent for a moment, before looking up at me.

“I know…” He swallowed hard and it was making me nervous, “But would you like to be?”

A/n: Y’all THOUGHT you were going to get the baby’s name in this one but I threw a curve ball there at the end!!!!! 😉😉 Anyways which name do you think it’s going to be??

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#darth maul fic #darth maul #darth maul fanfic #darth maul x reader #darth maul smut #darth maul imagine #darth maul x pregnant reader #lord maul #maul #maul x reader smut #darth maul x reader smut #darth maul x you #maul x reader #maul x pregnant reader

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teecupangel · 2 years

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Mandolorian Desmond AU?

When you think about it, there are really not that many changes that need to be made to make a Mandalorian Desmond AU because the Mandalorians have a lot of similarities with the Brotherhood.

Hell, they even have their own ‘Creed’.

So, for this setup, we’ll incorporate Desmond’s backstory to fit with Mandalorian culture.

In this scenario, Desmond is a Mandalorian instead of a Foundling. He would be the son of two Mandalorians with his father being the leader of their Clan, one of the most secretive Clans of Mandalorians and some even believe they were a myth.

To Desmond, he was simply living in a secret isolated compound known only as the Farm.

Just like all Mandalorians and Foundlings, he would start his training as a child but it would be harsh and brutal for him. He would grow up being unable to satisfy his father and his mother spends most of her time off-world as a bounty hunter.

Things become much harder for him when his mother returned with a Foundling named Lucy. She joined their training and it became clear that she had the skills to thrive in their training. The other children begin to whisper that, given enough time, she would be able to dethrone Desmond from the top spot of their ‘class’.

Isolated by the rank of his father and his own single-mindedness to please him, none of the children tried to console him nor say that it was bullshit since, by the time she could reach Desmond, Desmond would have gotten better as well.

Instead, the whispering and his father’s silence broke Desmond and he… just stopped trying.

He did the bare minimum and no amount of his father’s ‘pushing’ worked until…

Finally, Lucy did surpass him and they all ‘graduated’.

Desmond left the Farm and became a bounty hunter like his mother, taking odd jobs here and there. He pretty much cut off any relationship he had with the Farm but he does answer when they call. They rarely ever call though. The most contact he has with the Farm were his mother who showed him the basics and gave him some tips on bounty hunting before leaving him alone but, at that point, he saw her more as a teacher than an actual parent so he simply ignored the aching of his chest, and Lucy who liked to leave him messages about what she’s doing. He doesn’t understand why Lucy was sending him these messages and never bothered sending a message back although he does read them.

It’s fine. He knows Lucy didn’t think he would answer anyway.

Everybody in their Clan knows…

He was alone.

Whatever plot you’d like to have can be pushed by making Lucy send a message that catches Desmond’s attention. If you want Desmond to interact with Din Djarin, the setup could be that Lucy is in a spot of bother after allying herself with Din Djarin in a quest gone wrong.

Unorganized Notes:

Their Clan is part of a bigger Family and Desmond would find out from the other Mandalorians that their Family is one of the most secretive Families out there with one of the Clans having ties to the first ruler of the Mandalorians. Desmond calls bullshit on that 'connection' though.

Their Clan is also ostracized by a lot of other Clans because of how they trained their young. Their Family is also not that well-liked because they tend to… be less honorable than usual, having no qualms with dirtying their hands to get the job done. Desmond would later find out that, even by Mandalorian standards, he’s actually better than most of them due to his training. This only ends up making him feel even more isolated.

To further incorporate AC Lore, the Mandalorians are what the Brotherhood had evolved to but, because of how long it has been, it’s not the same Brotherhood anymore. Only hints of its origin remain in Mandalorian culture with even the Creed having evolved into something else. On the other hand, Desmond’s Family is the closest to the Brotherhood’s successor even if they have been heavily influenced by Mandalorian culture and tradition.

If you wish to include other non-modern Assassin’s Creed characters (like Altaïr, Ezio, and Ratonhnhaké:ton), they can all be part of the same Family as Desmond but as part of one of the other Clans.

For more twists and turns, this could be the setup where Desmond Miles let the world burn and the survivors used Isu tech to travel to another planet to start anew. This planet would later be called Mandalore and Desmond Miles is actually the first ruler of the Mandalorians, his real name having been lost in the passage of time. Our Mandalorian Desmond could be a reincarnation of Desmond Miles or we can totally HZD this and be an actual clone of Desmond Miles, taken from some kind of DNA sample (perhaps called Sample 17???), and his father’s disappointment in him is because he simply cannot match up to the legend of Desmond Miles.

#mandalorian desmond #yeah i call it quests #din is like… an rpg quest master at this point #assassin's creed #desmond miles #lucy stillman #do i tag star wars in general or just the mandalorian?#shrug #when in doubt #don't add any XD #teecup writes/has a plot #ask and answer #fic idea: assassin's creed

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graylinesspam · 2 years

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An excerpt from a story I've been writing about Ahsoka exploring togruta lore in order to connect with her heritage. And also acting as a jedi delegate speaking with a lost traditionalist togruta tribe.

when their ships landed at the edge of the village they were met with a line of armed men. Their lekku were all warm shades ranging from a deep magenta to a bright yellow. Their weapons were traditional. The repurposed tools and hunting knives and spear were held in tight but lowered grips. Though they wanted to show strength to the invaders they did not want to show aggression. Not a curled lip or an exposed fang could be found on their faces.

In the center of the delegation was an elder not as old as the ones she'd befriended from the green lek tribe, but his montrals were tall and his lekku were wide. His skin showed the wear of sun and labor.

"Will they attack?" Mundi asked after she'd taken the time to assess their welcome party.

"I don't think so," Ahsoka said. "But why don't you let me go first?"

Mundi nodded to the front of the ship and the gunship doors slid open. Ahsoka stepped off the ship first; her choice to go barefoot had raised several eyebrows but she was glad for the opportunity to ground herself. Her beaded ankle bracelets flashed for a moment as she stepped down into the tougher, reedier grass.

As she took two tentative steps forward Rex and Echo exit the gunship behind her. Their boots made loud crunching noises as they trampled the grass. Master Mundi and one of the three delegates from Cerea filled out the right side of the ship.

The men in a line before her studied the group carefully, apprehensive looks were cast to the clone troopers and, with cautious recognition, to the Cereans. But it was the sight of Ahsoka that caught all of their attention.

She was the shortest among them but she stood in the lead. Every man there shot quick glances at her murmurs growing across the line.

The Elder had eyes only for her. He separated from the line, his palms open in front of him. He and Ahsoka approach each other drawn across the no man's land like magnets.

They met in the middle palms laid flat against each other and heads turned until they lay cheek to cheek. "Welcome sister," his voice hummed richly through his chest. There was a warm sort of familial feeling that overtook her in response.

"I am honored to see you elder," she replied In the people's language. Hoping beyond hope that her pronunciation wasn't mangled.

"You bring many with you today. Those that resemble the troublemakers. And men in much armor. Do you bring conflict to us?" He asked with much patience in both the speed and tone of his words. Speaking slowly the way Ahsoka had to accommodate her.

"No. I have brought peace with me. Those that have trouble with you have called to me to speak. So that there will be no conflict. They come with great respect but also urgency."

The elder holds her hands in a loose grip between them as he pears around Ahsoka's shoulders, suspicion in his eyes. But it isn't Mundi or the Cereans he is looking at. It is Rex and Echo.

"You bring peace, but you bring soldiers in much armor with great weapons?"

Ahsoka is somehow blindsided by the accusation. It simply hadn't occurred to her that the sight of blasters or clone armor would seem aggressive to the lost tribe here.

Ahsoka scrambled for a reason that would make sense to these people without a twenty minute backstory about Mandalorians and the galactic war.

She glanced back at Rex and the excuse came to mind easily. Something that she'd pondered idly in a childish bid to have more connection with her culture in a religion that didn't foster much; and in an environment where she didn't even need a full hand to count the amount of people that looked like her.

She raised an open palm over her shoulder and quickly flashed a mandalorian hand signal she'd used a hundred times to direct her troops. With practiced efficiency Rex and Echo strode either of her flanks and stood once more at rest. Both visors trained stoically forward.

"Revered elder, this is Rex, my hunting partner. And his brother Echo. It is the way of their people to remain armed but they follow my lead. My orders. They're loyalty brings me great honor."

The elder looked shocked. He inspected Rex closely peering into the black of his visor to try to see into his heart.

"Rex, take off your helmet, lower your head to the elder." It was the first time she'd spoken in basic since exiting the ship but Rex didn't need any context to follow her order.

He removed his helmet and ducked his shoulders so the shorter man could peer into his eyes.

The elder searched him trying to weigh his gaze against the unfamiliar danger of the weapons on his hips. Trying to determine what sort of man she was bonded to.

Ahsoka knew both men were confused by the interaction. The title she'd given Rex, hunting partner, bhat sa'behm, was sacred and it had no equivalent outside of Togruta society.

A hunting partner was a life bonded friend. Usually someone you grew up with, someone you'd learned to read better than anyone else. Someone who could get lost in the grass and shadows of Shili but remain by your side. With no words between you and no wasted breath. Some said hunting with another for a long time bonded your souls in the next life. Ensured you would be reborn in the same body. Two halves made whole.

She supposed her and Rex were close enough to that. Though what they hunted were droids. And she wasn't convinced reincarnation was real. They still had an unmatched read on each other. She'd rather have him at her back than anyone.

Finally satisfied with peering into Rex's soul the elder turned back to her. "He is wise in this life. But his soul is young." he determined. "You are not. An old spirit in a young body." he said with a chuckle. "perfectly suited."

#ahsoka tano #captain rex #Echo #Togruta #Togruta lore #star wars #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #501st #fanfic #Togruta language #Tribal societies #Grassland tribes #Hunting partners #little sister ahsoka #Badass ahsoka tano

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stardustloki · 7 months

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When you already have 536 kids, what's one more?

“Where would I be without your wisdom?” Bail asked.

“Still wondering where to hide the chancellor’s body,” Breha answered, before standing abruptly, leaving him wheezing in the dressing room, absentmindedly wondering if his wife was trying to kill him too.

The Chancellor is dead (but Bail had nothing to do with that, he swears!) and the Organas have found themselves the proud parents of Commander Fox and 535 other members of the former coruscant guard. What could go wrong?

Read it on ao3 here.

Or below the cut...

Bail Organa smoothed down his cloak and turned to his wife as she put the finishing touches to her outfit, pressing her hairpins into place.

He opened his mouth to speak, before catching her eye in the mirror.

“If you’re going to ask me if I’m going to be alright one more time ,” she warned.

He sighed, before bending down and pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

“Bail,” she said softly. “Like I told you, I’m fine. I’m not about to have a breakdown over meeting Padme's two newborns.” She took his hand and rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, smiling ruefully. “I have always wanted a baby of my own, like I know you have, but I’m not 32 anymore, I’ve accepted my infertility, I’ve accepted that the stringent adoption laws are there for a reason, that I can’t just decide to bypass them because I’m Queen. Besides,” her voice took on a more teasing tone, “I have five sons just out there, and many more scattered across the galaxy. When would I have time for a baby?”

Bail found himself smiling softly, heart filled with relief and affection, and he drew his wife’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

“Where would I be without your wisdom?” he asked.

“Still wondering where to hide the chancellor’s body,” she answered, before standing abruptly, leaving Bail wheezing in the dressing room, absentmindedly wondering if his wife was trying to kill him.

Once he’d managed to get his breathing under control, he followed her out into the corridor, where he found her admiring how smart Fox, Thire, Tree, Jare and Infra looked in their freshly polished armour.

“But ma’a- Mom ,” Thire was complaining, though the exasperation in his tone was surely for effect. “We always keep our armour in good condition!”

“Am I not allowed to compliment….”

Fox, the only one to acknowledge his entrance, rolled his eyes at him and grinned, his smile scrunching up the scar across his cheek, almost hiding it from view. Then he graced Bail with the most terrible salute he could imagine from a man literally bred to join the army. “Reporting for baby-meeting duty, sir!”

Bail found himself grinning fondly back, thinking about how far his once uptight and anxious kid had come, and pulled him into a hug, resting their foreheads together in a way that Fox had told him was traditional in mandalorian culture, and was now traditional amongst the clones too. His son melted into the hug willingly, something that never failed to fill him with joy and relief, considering that not so long ago, the only people who could touch Fox without him having to suppress a flinch were his fellow corries, and sometimes he hadn’t even been able to manage it then.

“Excited?” he asked once they’d parted.

Fox nodded, his over-long curls (definitely not regulation) bobbing as he did so. “Rex says Naboo’s beautiful, and I’m looking forward to seeing him, and the tubies.”

Bail wondered if he should remind him that most people at the naming ceremony gathering would be referring to the twins as ‘newborn babies’. He decided against it.

Fox was right, Naboo was particularly gorgeous this time of year, and as they walked through the fields from where their ship had been directed to land, towards the lake house where the event was due to be held, Bail couldn’t help but feel calm and content. The smell of the colourful spring flowers filled his nostrils, the sound of hundreds of busy insects reminded him of the here-and-now.

As they walked, Tree told them all excitedly about the different plants that he could see around them, almost too fast to understand, monologue flicking from topic to topic as he spotted something new. Bail could have cried with happiness for him. Tree, one of the younger members of the guard, had named himself with the dream of seeing the vast array of plant-life the galaxy had to offer. Instead, he had been stationed on the durasteel jungle known as Coruscant. Now, thankfully, he had a job in the horticultural gardens of the alderaanian palace, as well as being invited on training missions with the Agri-Corps. He was glad that his kid was now able to experience many moments like this, and could show off the knowledge that he’d gained.

Under the sunlight, his sons’ armour gleamed, and Bail couldn’t help but admire how smart they looked - how right his wife had been to compliment them. They looked impeccable in the Phase 3 design, merging the best parts of mandalorian and clone armour, decorated with intricate personalised designs the corries would never have dared used in the days of the former republic.

Despite the range of colours used in their designs, you could almost always tell who had served in the coruscant guard by their armour - although they’d taken some time to become comfortable with the idea of being visibly individual, nowadays their armour was usually the most artistic and unusual, strewn with patterns and symbols from different cultures, especially (Bail was somewhat-selfishly pleased to see) those inspired by Alderaanian art and tradition.

As they walked up the steps to the entrance he looked down towards the lake to see a young man and woman gleefully jumping around, shrieking with an infectious joy and splashing each other with water. At the edge of the lake sat a man in a hoverchair, smiling as he conversed with C-3P0.

Sabé greeted them at the entrance, kissing Bail and Breha on both cheeks, before offering her arm to each of the clones and gripping each of theirs tightly. After they made their way inside, Fox and the others made a beeline for Rex, stood in the corner next to a beaming Ahsoka, already watched by an attentive group of the 212th.

“So,” Bail could just about hear him saying over the chatter of the other guests. “You may think you can hold a tubie like this-” Ahsoka passed him a plastoid toy doll and Rex proceeded to hold it upside down by its ankle, before moving on into several other positions that would definitely cause permanent damage to a newborn. “It is not a small cadet!” Bail could now hear Rex quite clearly. “It does not want to be wrestled or thrown onto soft surfaces! It is a tubie near the start of its growth cycle. You handle it as you would handle a frag grenade, and you always, always , support its neck, like this.” He then settled the doll into his arms in a way that showed Bail that Rex had spent quite a lot of time helping with the newborns. “What do you always support?”

“Its neck, sir!” the clones chorused.

“It’s good to see you here,” said a voice from behind him, and Bail turned away from the demonstration to find Anakin Skywalker behind him, cradling a sleeping newborn, wrapped in a soft blanket.

The baby was tiny, perfect in a way that Bail knew he would never find the words to describe, and all at once he found himself hit with a strange sort of loss. Oh. Maybe he should have been worrying about himself, not Breha.

“You too,” Bail managed to reply in a normal tone of voice, still continuing to look down at the newborn.

“You can hold her, if you’d like,” he was told, and with far more confidence than a new father should have had in Bail’s opinion, he suddenly found the baby placed into his arms, as if for some reason Anakin knew without a doubt that Bail wouldn’t drop her. Bail did not share the same faith, but stared down at the precious bundle, shaking slightly as the baby seemed to curl inwards, towards his chest.

“She can sense she’s safe with you,” Anakin said seriously.

“Excuse me?”

He glanced up towards the retired Jedi, and was surprised to see a nervous expression upon his face. “I’ve been having visions.”

“Right,” Bail said. That didn’t sound good. He’d heard from Padme about how Anakin would have nightmares about bad things to come.

“I saw the future, in another universe, one where I- where Padme-” he cut himself off, and Bail couldn’t help but feel for him as he watched him try to fight back grief. “In the universe where Palpatine won,” and Anakin spat the name, betrayal still clearly hot on his tongue. “The universe in which you didn’t kill him-”

“That has never been proven,” Bail interrupted.

“Sure,” Anakin replied, completely ignoring him. “In that universe, you and Breha took in our daughter, and you raised her as your own. You loved her, and there was never any doubt that you were her parents.”

He didn’t know what to say - what in the galaxy were you meant to say to something like this? - and instead opted to continue staring blankly at Anakin’s intent expression.

“So Padme and I have talked, and we’ve agreed that you and Breha can be co-parents if you’d like.”

Bail found himself choking on thin air as he looked frantically between Anakin and the baby cradled in his arms. Surely, Anakin couldn’t be in his right mind? And yet, there was something that whispered to him that this idea was the right one, the strangest feeling of deja-vu.

“You can feel that’s what the force wants for her, can’t you?”

Despite himself, Bail found himself nodding. “Her name’s Leia,” he said, and then wondered why he’d said it, wincing at appearing so presumptuous.

“Yeah it is,” Anakin agreed, sounding thrilled. “Leia, after the mighty Krayt dragon. I’m glad you can sense it too. Only, maybe don’t go telling people until after the naming ceremony, it’s meant to bring bad luck.”

Once again, he found himself nodding in a numb agreement as he stared down at the sleeping girl. “Leia,” he whispered. It meant 'beloved' in Alderaanian, and he couldn’t help but think that it fit her perfectly.

“Why are you okay with this?” Bail asked, frowning back up at Anakin. Of course, he’d matured a lot recently, especially after the chancellor had disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and had the revelation that he was going to be a father, but he’d always felt that the young man had a selfish streak - how could he bear to share such a gift?

Anakin was quiet for a few moments. “I guess it’s just growing up on Tatooine,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Families are rarely traditional, or even blood relatives. They’re who you choose. Maybe, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to share her, but, the Force is telling me this is the right decision, and I can’t help thinking how incredible it is that she’s going to be loved and cared for by so many people. Force, Rex has said almost the entire 501st want to be the children’s uncles. And, I just think, how lucky are they? How many people get a family like this?”

They stood there, silently, for a few moments, as the noise of the gathering continued around them, and Bail allowed himself to process what Anakin had said, to believe it was true.

He was just wondering about how they’d explain this to Breha, to everyone else, hell if this set up even had a chance of working, when abruptly, a horrible thought hit him.

“What happened to her brother?” he hardly dared ask the question, but knew he needed to. Why had they only had Leia, and not both of the children?

“He grew up with Beru and Owen on Tatooine,” Anakin replied, and Bail found himself sighing in relief. “They always referred to themselves as his aunt and uncle in my visions, and they’ve let us know they feel a little young to be parents, so they’re just gonna be his aunt and uncle again, and we’re gonna make sure he gets to visit them as much as possible.” He paused, before adding, “After we’ve defeated the Hutts, of course.”

“Of course,” Bail echoed.

“Well, I can’t let you be the only one in the family to decimate a political body!”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother protesting his innocence again. He supposed it only really mattered that no one had ever found enough evidence to prosecute him, and that the proof of the chancellor manipulating both sides had been too irrefutable for most people to want someone to face trial for his suspected murder.

Explaining the idea to Breha went less smoothly, as the Force seemed to think it had done enough interfering for the day, but Padme had been speaking to her while Anakin had spoken to Bail, and gradually her bewilderment seemed to lesson, and her confidence grew, until she hesitantly agreed to the co-parenting idea, and (after Padme had asked them both), to be another Aunt and Uncle to Luke. Bail watched in hope and relief as she smiled down at baby Leia in her arms.

Next, they needed to speak to their current kids, and so Breha beckoned Fox over to join them, figuring that he was probably the best one to start with.

“She’s my sister?” Fox asked cautiously, after he’d understood the situation (and after Bail and Breha had both made it very, very clear that neither he nor his brothers were going to be replaced).

“If you’d like her to be,” Padme said.

Bail watched him stare in awe at the bundle in his arms, held very carefully and according to Rex’s earlier advice. Fox brought his head down very slowly to brush Leia’s in a gentle keldabe, before he looked up, tears forming at the edges of his eyes.

“Yes please,” he whispered.

The naming ceremony was beautiful, a mixture of Nabooian, Tatooinian and (as Bail would never have expected a mere hour earlier) Alderaanian and Clone customs.

Before it had begun, Padme and Anakin explained their decision to involve Bail and Breha in the upbringing of their daughter (and, by extension, their son). The announcement had still felt strange to Bail’s ears, and those attending were understandably perplexed. The situation, perhaps, was saved by Mace Windu, who yelled that it was the Will of the Force (and then had to swiftly leave due to a shatterpoint migraine - whatever one of those was).

Anakin and his family from Tatooine (Owen’s and Beru’s hair still damp from the lake) led the Tatooinian blessings, in a language that Bail was surprised to find himself unfamiliar with. He did learn, however, when Anakin translated the final part into basic, that Leia’s brother’s name was Luke, and he was named for the hope that he brought. Then, a Nabooian priest, with Padme and her family, as well as the surprising addition of JarJar (who was not allowed to hold neither Luke nor Leia), began the second part. The next part was improvised by Bail, Breha, Fox, Thire, Tree, Jare and Infra, as they hastily pulled together something based on Alderanian and Corrie customs.

Later, Bail would remember feeling overjoyed but confused, and slightly embarrassed (though everyone who’d watched would assure him that it was beautiful).

After the ceremony was over, Obi Wan Kenobi stood, staring accusingly at Anakin and Padme. “Now,” he said. “Given that you didn’t bother to invite any of us to the wedding, I don’t suppose you would mind renewing your vows?”

All in all, it was a very good day.

That evening, as sunset turned to dusk, and Luke and Leia were safely bundled up in a portable cradle, everyone gathered around the lake, chatting and laughing.

“What happens now?” Fox asked from his place on the sand beside him.

“We live,” Bail told him.

#commander fox #bail organa #anakin skywalker #coruscant guard #breha organa

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thesunlikehoney · 1 year

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take ur fav/s between these! :D also very happy to hear ur thoughts(any)

HELLO MY FRIEND!!!! THANK YOU T-T

I am going to answer all of these because they bring me joy and because I have many opinions XD

9: Anakin killing the Tuskens. Just. I'm not upset about Anakin killing people I am upset that Lucus had him kill these specific people in this specific way for these specific reasons. Like. Come on Lucus. You're the one who showed your ass, not Anakin.

10: Oh boy. Worst part of fanon hands down is the tendency to strip away what little complexity canon gives to the clones. Sure, canon doesn't do a fantastic job with them, but there are Themes and there are Character Arcs and there are situations where the clones are in conflict with the Jedi and when they are in conflict with each other. A lot of fanon tends to ignore that and flatten the clones into a monolith.

14: One thing I see in fics all the time is Cody and Wolffe and Fox and Bly and Ponds as batchmates, with Rex as their collective baby brother. I don't know why. This is not negative or positive it's just something I see a lot that I don't really understand. It's usually sweet. I guess some fic with this hc got popular and other people started writing it?

16: I answered this in another ask but I'm gonna answer it again because there are many things are popular that baffle me. Mando clones. Like, fully embracing being Mandalorian as a community and using Mando'a fluently and respecting all these traditions and beliefs. I have written Mando clones! But I have also written non-Mando clones. And the more I think about it and write about it and look for fic that does not use Mando'a the more I wonder why this is so popular that it's virtually inescapable. Clones wanting to be Mando and wanting to have this culture and this language that could or maybe should have been theirs is one thing, exploring the complexities of what could be called a diaspora is one thing, but I have read a lot of fic where the clones are written as basically Mandalorians who just kinda happen to be in this situation serving the Jedi and it. Hm. Yeah Jedi and Mando parallels are cool but that's not. That's not who the clones are. That is not the role they serve in the narrative. Why are so many people writing the clones as straight up Mandalorians?

17: There should be more fic where Cody and Obi-Wan are not friends. That is all.

18: Davijaan. It's Davijaan it's always gonna be Davijaan I am always gonna be sad that my dude has so few fans. He's so great guys. He's a pilot and he doesn't paint his armor and he's in the background of more scenes than you would think. But jokes aside this applies to all the clone characters who are just there for a few scenes and get forgotten. Fandom shaped Fox and his two minutes of screentime into something great why can't we do that with Boost and Longshot and Hawk and Appo? All these minor characters with so much potential.

21: I said TCW show in another ask and I guess I kinda stand by that, a lot of lists say it's something that needs to be watched but honestly I don't think that's the case. I don't know. I think by and large most SW fans are pretty realistic about the quality of this canon XD

22: So there are two short scenes (if I recall correctly) where they are brought up, but the clones have identification chips in their wrists. I have seen one other fic besides mine even touch that. It's so-- there is so much there, so much to explore in regards to autonomy and personhood and the logistics of desertion. And it adds so much context to the Chip Arc. Of course Rex and Anakin and Windu and Shaak Ti were totally unphased when Fives said the clones had a chip in their head. They already had a chip in their wrist, what's one more? I wouldn't say it's my favorite part exactly but it's... I guess it's another thing fandom is sleeping on. Something from canon that adds a lot of meaning to the story for me, but that nobody else seems to even acknowledge.

#cordelia answers asks #thank you thank you thank you for these #this was a blast

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something-tofightfor · 2 years

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15 Questions

Thank you for tagging me last week - @grogusmum @quica-quica-quica @oonajaeadira and @miss-mandalorian - im sorry it took 8 years for me to respond!

1. are you named after anyone?

I am not. My mom always told me that after 26 hours of back labor she didn’t care what my name was, and so she didn’t even spell it the correct way because she wrote really fast. I get called by my middle name a lot more than my first by my family anyway.

2. when was the last time you cried?

About 20 minutes ago. (Have TLOU playing in the background) But the last time I actually cried for a reason that wasn’t media-related was on my birthday because I did my yearly tradition of listening to my voicemails from my dad.

3. do you have kids?

I do not and never will. I am perfectly happy without them.

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

Sure do. If I’m not being sarcastic, you know there’s something wrong.

5. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

Posture. And I tend to look at people’s hands - don’t know why, it’s just always something that I’ve done.

6. what’s your eye color?

Blue! But they’re sort of a gray blue.

7. scary movies or happy endings?

I haven’t ever seen a movie or show that has truly scared me - I wish I could find one. I *do* like happy endings, but know that they’re very unrealistic in a lot of scenarios - even though they’re fun to imagine.

8. any special talents?

I am UNREASONABLY good at word puzzles and trivia games - Family Feud, Wheel of Fortune, Lingo, Jeopardy, bar trivia ... I retain ridiculously unnecessary amounts of general knowledge and pop culture trivia, and it’s always a shock to people.

9. where were you born?

A hospital about 10 minutes from where I currently live.

10: what are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, singing along to music loudly and off-key. Gardening. Live music.

11. have you any pets?

A half Maine Coon / half Siamese cat named Neptune that is the literal light of my life, and a tabby cat named Beckett that lives with my sister because my dad stole her.

12: what sports do you play/have you played?

The closest thing to a sport that I participate in is skiing.

13: how tall are you?

5’6”

14. favorite subject in school?

I loved all of my writing courses. My senior year, I had four of them, two study halls, two art classes and both early dismissal and late arrival. I’d literally go to school, write and fuck around in the art room for 5.5 hours a day and then go home. It was great.

15. dream job?

Someone needs to pay me to travel around and try new foods And if that isn’t going to happen, I would love to work on the continuity department for moves and TV ... because the amount of inconsistencies I’ve caught watching the shows and movies I love is staggering and I KNOW I could do better since I am obsessed with details.

If you want to play, please feel free! So many people have already been tagged, I’m not sure who is left.

#tag game #fifteen questions #about me #get to know me

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sir-phineas-lost · 2 years

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Following up on a previous post here since a whole lot of people decided to chime in and the OP blocked me.

@jediapplegist

I’m sorry, when did I ever say Tarre wasn’t a Mandalorian?

This is a fairly common argument on this topic and it stems from the fact that most of them don’t seem to know what “being Mandalorian” means in the context of Star Wars. They think it means “he was Mandalorian so he could do whatever he wanted with that metal”. But this isn’t an identity you get to claim just by being born on Mandalore, it is something you have to uphold a certain code for (though the specifics of said code varies among Mandalorian sects). Tarre Vizla being from Mandalore and being recognized as a Mandalorian to the degree that he would be gifted enough beskar for both his lightsaber and a full set of armor (which he is always depicted with) are two different things.

Fun part about that code, it includes making sure that beskar stays in the hands of the mandalorians. Which is why collecting beskar is an ongoing side-quest for Din Djarin. Tarre Vizla leaving his beskar lightsaber to the Jedi would violate that code.

He was a Mandalorian too, yes, but we know he specifically left it to the Jedi,

This part is just a straight-up lie. We know next to nothing about Vizla as a person or what instructions he left regarding his weapons. The story only says that the Jedi kept it after his passing. As usual, Jedi-stans can’t conceive of a scenario where the Jedi do not have explicit moral permission for everything they do.

As far as we know, the Mandalorians never did what you said, they never even seemed to ask for it in accordance with their customs

Notice how they also assume the worst for any group that isn’t the jedi.

You're basically saying Tarre's own wishes regarding his people and who his belongings were left to didn't matter.

Again, we do not know what Tarre Vizla wished for because no official material clarifies this and Jedi-stans are making this “last will and testament” up wholesale to try to whitewash a more complicated issue.

And here is the kicker, even if Vizla did leave it for the Jedi, it is easy to argue that he had no right to do so. Beskar isn’t given out to just any mandalorian, using it or the armor requires upholding the code which in turn includes keeping beskar out of non-mandalorian hands. Leaving the darksaber to the jedi would mean that he broke the code that gave him the right to use the metal in the first place. In other words, Tarre Vizla, a jedi, decided that he had enough connection to his mandalorian heritage to take and use their sacred objects, and then decided that he didn’t need to uphold the cultural law that says “don’t give this to anyone who isn’t a mandalorian”.

@monjustmon

Beskar is a material. It's not part of the culture in itself, but a resource cherished by it.

It is a resource that is unique to their system. And they only give it to people who swear an oath to respect their culture. It belongs to them. Funny how they didn’t make this argument about the Jedi and their kyber-crystals though.

The practices and traditions surrounding beskar are an aspect of the culture, and it would be inappropiate if a beskar armor (a cultural artefact) had been melted to make a lightsaber by some Jedi with no connection to Mandalorian culture, but that outright wasn't the case. The Jedi as a group weren't actively sourcing beskar from Mandalorian territories and communities- a member of dual culture made the object and then left it to them.

Again, Jedi stans don’t seem to understand what being mandalorian entails. Tarre Vizla couldn’t have gotten beskar legitimately just by being from there. If he decided that being born on mandalore (but not a mandalorian) meant that he had a right to use their sacred metal without upholding their rules for it then it means he as a jedi committed cultural appropriation.

And aside from the lightsaber, the fact that he walked around in mandalorian armor means he either made it himself with no regard for what wearing it means to mandalorians (which is cultural appropriation), or he convinced an armorer to make it for him by swearing to uphold the mandalorian code, which he would have broken by giving his beskar lightsaber to the other jedi (which would be cultural appropriation).

This has nothing to do with uplifting a side over another and everything to do with which community crossed the boundaries of respect.

Again, using beskar (mandalorian steel) at all without respecting the law that says it can’t be used by non-mandalorians is already a crossing of that boundary. Jedi stans just have to make up excuses for why it is totally fine for their faves to cross whatever boundary they like.

@jedidruid

Tarre building his lightsaber with Beskar clearly has the same reasoning as with Gungi building his with Brylark Wood. It’s a way for their lightsabers to reflect their birth cultures. It’s literally what every Jedi does, creating a lightsaber that feels right to them.

Yes, and the fact that he thought he had the right to use that metal because it “felt right” to him without also respecting the mandalorian culture’s laws around beskar means he appropriated their culture for his jedi ways.

@smhalltheurlsaretaken

He doesn't say they 'liberated' it (coughRebels), doesn't say they rightfully got it back, he takes pride in the fact that they stole it.

Yes, and then Rebels came out and revealed that things were a lot more complicated than the line by a one-note villain from a previous cartoon made it seem. It happens with long franchises (just look at the EU). Sabine was also from house Vizla and she sure had a lot of reverence for what the saber meant to mandalorians. Deal with it.

@short-wooloo

Beskar is rare, but it is not only found on mandalore/in the mandalore system…

This is yet another straight-up lie. The Star Wars book confirms that beskar is only found in the Mandalore system. It is also knows as “Mandalorian Steel” precisely for this reason. The mandalorians were genocided by the Empire for the express purpose of strip-mining their planet for beskar. Din Djarin has an ongoing quest to find and return as much beskar to mandalorians as he can because the only way a non-mandalorian can get their hands on beskar is by benefiting from the genocide of his people.

So the fact that this guy wants to claim that it exists on other systems not only to deny that they have any right to be upset by other people using it but also to push his own headcanon to make their concerns even less legitimate....yikes.

#star wars #star wars meta #mandalorians #jedi #anti-jedi #kinda #honestly I think they just made a cultural oopsie because they didn't understand what keeping that weapon meant to them #but by God the jedi-stans are so fucking annoying about making their faves pure and perfect in every scenario #they demand that everyone take their fake-group so seriously but make constant excuses when asked to do the same #it's tiresome #jedi critical

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notthestarwar · 1 year

Text

Snippet from: what the living do

Jango, haunting Obi Wan’s ship; tells the story that brought him here to Cerasi, haunting Obi Wan

What if he was a ghost. What if everyone was a ghost.

Jango could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He suddenly knew that he had to get this out. He needs to come clean. The whole thing.

This might be his chance. His chance to have someone understand who he was when he started on this path, right at the start, because that wasn't Jango the man, that was who he was as a teenager. As a child. And maybe, he's just been trying to fix what he didn't get right. What he couldn't get right. Way back then.

"Can I tell you the whole story? All the way back. It's a long one..." He asks her suddenly, before he can think about it too hard.

Cersai snorted. "Jango we've got nothing but time. Go ahead".

Jango made no argument, he didn't want to. He wanted to finally get this out, no more stalling.

Something had changed, he had spent so long avoiding the subject that he hardly knows how to tell it, but it’s time. He wanted to be rid of the weight hanging from his shadow, this burden. Jango wants to be free.

He starts by taking a deep breath, a rush of oxygen that he didn't need, that he'll never need again, filling his lungs.

“My parents were farmers. When I was 10, a group of militants from a group called Death Watch, I suppose you could call them terrorists; came to my house and killed both my parents and my sister and set our home on fire.”

“I still do not know why they spared me. It was not a kindness.”

He's staring down at the floor with its soft rubbery lumps to stop anyone skidding across it. Something that Jango, is never going to have to worry about again and isn't that funny.

“There was another group, the Haat’Mandoade. They opposed Death Watch and they sought to one day succeed the New Mandalorian, a pacifist group that at the time ruled Mandalore.”

“The Mandalorian Civil War. there were 3 factions.

One ultra violent and using tradition as an excuse. Death watch were extremists.

One, extreme in their pacifism and determined to wipe the slate clean and rid us of all and any tradition.

“At the time I lost my parents, the Haat’Mandoade were a small faction, grassroots really, but everyone knew that one day, they’d be more.

And then, one final group. The true Mandolorians.”

"The Haat’Mandoade arrived at my home too late to save my parents, my sister, but they did come. That mattered to me, that someone had cared enough to try.

It was a middle ground that Mandalore desperately needed, we were pulling ourselves apart, destroying our people with our own hands."

They aimed to fall somewhere in the middle, a movement where we could still be Mandolorians, keeping our language and our culture, but working to be better than the Mandolorians of the past. A modern Mandalore for modern Mando’ade. Promoting defence over expansion. Peace rather than war.

Their leader was a man called Jaster. He had originally been a watchman and in his spare time, he was an amateur historian, he wanted to share with the Mando’ade what we once were. He wanted to give us a way forward, taking the best parts of our history and learning from the worst.

They followed a strict code, written by Jaster himself, the Supercommando Codex.”

“The Haat’Mandoade were dangerous to Death Watch. They had relied on the support of Mandolorian’s driven to them by the New Mandolorian’s strict approach to our traditions. With each controversial policy, Death Watch’s numbers would swell with those desperate enough to look away from their more distasteful acts, but as soon as these Mando’ade had another option, one that was fair and more concerned with defence over destruction and expansion, they had no need for Death Watch.

The Haat’Mandoade started as a group of highly trained Mando’ade loyal to Jaster. They worked as a for hire militia when they were not spending their time working to end Death watch, to save others from the devastation they had already brought to so many.

That other option was the Haat’Mandoade, led by Jaster and his super commando’s. They were a middle ground.

The Haat’mandoade wanted to lead us towards a better future and with Jaster at the helm they were well on their way. “

“After losing my parents they took me in, I saw first hand as what had started as something small grew. Jaster had known my father, in truth, it was he personally who took me in, picked up where my Buire had left off, before death watch put a stop to all of that.

He taught me it all, to fight but also to follow a code, to follow his code.To fight for what was right. He taught me of our history, where we had come from as a people, what we had done. Jaster thought it was important for Mando’ade to know that, so we would know better than to keep repeating the same old mistakes.

So I went with them, with Jaster.

“He offered. And that was Jaster in a letter. He knew how to give orders but when it was important, he asked.

And then one day, he offered to adopt me.”

He offered to adopt me, if that’s what I wanted, and of course that’s what I wanted!

He led by consent, he was only willing to lead if he knew that we wanted to follow, that he was leading us in the direction we all hoped for.

There was no doubt in my mind that had I not wanted him to say those words, he still would have looked out for me. Had I wanted distance, he would have found someone else to care for me. That was the man he was and that is why I never would have said no. I wanted it all, everything I could possibly have and I wanted it immediately, so I could hold it tight to my chest and never let go.

Thanks to Jaster he had it all.

I never would have said no, not to Jaster. I was so young and still I already knew what It was to lose it all. I loved him, I wanted Jaster to be my Buir because he was Jaster.

So he adopted me and I found myself with a parent, once again.”

Jaster had given Jango all he could ever dream of just by being himself. Just by offering up what he was to Jango, because really, all Jango has ever really wanted, whoever he is: a boy standing on the outskirts of a burning field; or maybe someone a bit older, looking down on the crumpled body of his mentor; a teenager, kneeling and bound, surrounded by the bodies of people he'd led in to battle; or an adult, just, stumbling down the gangway of a slave ship, blinking away the light of the first sun he's seen in years; was to be loved.

“The thing was though, all those things that made Jaster so great, they weren’t apparent only to me, everyone saw it. It was why he had so much support. It was why his super commandos were so loyal. It was why death watch were so scared of him, why they hated him so much.

Sometimes when you want something so much, you only end up pushing it further away. Like squeezing a slippery bar of soap so hard that it shoots right out of your hand and- splats- right in to the murky depths of the drainwater.

So when Jaster adopted me, it hadn’t just been Jaster the man adopting me, it was the Mand’alor saying those words too.”

Jaster adopting him could never just be Jaster, stepping forward as a buir. It would always also be the Mand'alor stepping forward. The voice of his people, elected by their will. And so in accepting that offer of adoption, Jango, a small boy from a farm in the rural outreaches of Concord Dawn, was stepping in to something he would never really have enough time to fully understand.

His people loved him, that’s why they followed him. That is why they took him as their leader. But he wasn’t just their leader. They had made him King.

“The members of the Haat’Mandoade, their supporters had elected him to the position and now he was a King as well as a man, the Mand’alor and in their eyes, the only rightful one. A complication considering that death watch claimed Tor Viszla as the rightful Mand’alor of Manda’yaim and the new Mandolorians were claiming that the position was defunct.

"I'd been adopted by the King of our people. He was, an elected leader but also a king: the Mand'alor, and, he was killed for it. His second betrayed him. I was 14.

My second chance at family, at a parent, shattered just like that and the Haat’Mandoade found themselves without a leader. They needed a new Mand'alor and they had few alternatives. The thing is they didn’t want an alternative, they wanted Jaster, but he was dead and so, they picked the only person who symbolically, might offer their movement what Jaster once had.

His people’s trust, would paint a target on his back and In the end, it was Jaster’s position as Mand’alor that would take him from me before I could even legally drink on most planets in the Galaxy, leaving me parentless once again.”

They picked me.

I was 14. I wasn't ready to be their leader. But to put me on the throne was to send a message: you can kill our leader but you can not kill what he has started.

“The Haat’mandoade were now My People, the movement was My Movement, I was not just part of a greater whole, I was responsible for them, for it all. I had advisors and Jaster’s friends and Verd but that could never make up for all that I wasn’t, all that I hadn’t had time to be.

So in many ways it was a symbolic gesture, handing me the reigns. But calling someone a King can never just be symbolic. I was at 14, now the leader of our people.”

I couldn't be who they needed, what they needed. I was trying just to keep my head above water. On one side we keep having to fend off attacks, on the other the official government are decrying us, lumping in with those maniacs.

I just tried to keep us going as we had been. Mercenaries for hire to keep food on the table while we gathered support and figured out what the hell else we were supposed to do. We made sure always, that we stuck to Jaster's code.

But a code is not enough to lead a movement, that’s why they had made Jaster Mand’alor in the first place. He’d taught me, those few years we were together and thanks to that in many ways I understood his intentions what he was trying to do, but I was also a child, in even more ways I did not understand, I could not.

We were going to make a new Mandalore, a better future for our people, together. But in my hands, we were barely surviving.

“My people, had put the trust they once had in Jaster, in me and it would be that, that killed them. It would be that, that killed Jasters dream.

"In the years after I took the crown I managed to keep things going just about, thanks to the help of my advisors and my Buirs friends, most of which were the same people. We took jobs, the worlds we visited carried on turning, and then there was Galidraan.

What the Haat'mandoade had, what delicate soft thing had been laid in Jango's waiting hands, it could have been something. They could have been something and Jango, he can never forget that. He'll never let himself forget that.

The Haat’Mandoade started dying the day I took the crown. It took a few years but the writing was on the wall from the first moment I touched it, A boy leader to thank for a dead kingdom.”

We took a contract or rather, I took a contract because I was the leader, I was in charge.

The governor of the place tells us there are terrorists hurting people, he told us they were Mandalorian.

We put two and two together and figured, death watch.

So we took the Job and tried to find them but we didn’t get a chance to take them down before the other shoe dropped.”

Death Watch were on this planet, they were there because we were there. It was a setup, the Governor was in their pocket, when it came down to it, we were on that planet because Death Watch had invited us and what a welcome they had prepared.

The Governor went to the Republic with a plea for help. He told them the same story he had told us, with one key difference. He told them that we were the terrorists and he told where they might find our camp.

“I was a king, but I was also a boy. I couldn't protect them. They were all dead."

Death watch created evidence to support the tale and at the behest of their republic, the Jedi flew in to save the day.

The scheme was a success. The Jedi killed almost all of my people that day. The Haat’Mandoade were no more.”

He can't hide the part that he played. That's who Jango is, the Jedi killer. And he's sat here, In a Jedis quarters with a Jedis dead best friend.

"I killed 6 Jedi with my bare hands but it still wasn't enough to save my people. I don’t tell you this to brag, only for you to see what it was like.

You have to understand the brutality of it, in all directions. I fought with all I had, I would have given my life for my people, you have to understand that. But I survived. I survived and they all died at the hands of those Jedi.

In a day, they had destroyed all that we built just because they blindly waltzed in without checking.”

“Eventually the Jedi captured me and they took me to the local authorities who handed me to the Governor and the Governor was working for death watch, always had been.

They'd killed my parents, my sister, my adopted buir and now they had set up the annihilation of all I had left. All that Jaster had left in my hands.

It’s the truth. There's a part of Jango that never really left that ship.

When he walked out that door he had to tear a part of him loose. Something that got caught during his time there, and was and always would be, lost, thanks to his time in slavery.

The governor sold me in to slavery. It was. It was bad. Torture really. Spice ship. Took me years to escape. The person who left that ship, he wasnt the one that got put on it"

Sometimes Jango closes his eyes and thinks he's still there. And that's ridiculous really because he's never been further from slavery than now, you can't chain a ghost.

Slavery is like that though, It seeps in to your bones, you can never leave it behind. Afterall, didn't he go ahead and enslave the clones, that's what the Jedi had said he'd done anyway.

He'd learnt the violence of slavery at the hand of another and when he'd finally gotten away, he'd just gone and turned it on another, on a million others.

“After I left that ship, what was left of me at least, I found myself back in the Galaxy without any kind of purpose. I had been a king and now, there was nothing. I had led my people, Jasters people, to their certain end.

He takes a shaking breath. He's near the end now. So close he can feel the shape of it, his end. It's almost within touching distance.

What was left of the Haat’Mandoade had scattered. But most of them were just dead. There wasn't really anything left for me to go back to. I'd led most of my people to death. I was hardly about to rally the survivors and secure their deaths too.”

Once, I'd been handed a legacy. A chance to do better. With that code our people could have been something. Jaster had set us on that path and all that was needed of me was to keep our people still following it. But I hadn't been able to do that.”

He'd seen the consequence of violence more than most which probably makes the next part worse. Jango knew what even well intentioned violence could do and still, he set out as a bounty hunter.

By his early 20s, he already found himself responsible for the death of hundreds. People were still dying thanks to what he had failed to do, they would be for decades. Death watch had gone unmatched for all of his time away and still, they wrought terror now he was free. But he couldn’t fix that. There was no way for him to fix all that his incompetence had brought down upon his people, upon Mandalore.

Thanks to Jango, there was nothing left of Jaster’s path and so he set out to find a new one.

His skills lent well to bounty hunting and so that is what he did. It was all he was good for really, killing. Death had torn through his life since he was a boy, he knew the consequences of what he was doing more than most and still, he sold himself as a killer for hire.

"Now I've got a reputation by this point. They called me the Jedi killer. They'd thought me dead for the past few years, but here I was. I'm back and I'm different, but I've got to do something. I need food, I need a life.

No-one is going to hire the Jedi killer for any Non-violent job are they and really, what else was I good for. Its all I knew. I was good at what I did. Jaster had taught me to hunt.

I already had the kind of reputation you need as a bounty hunter, far before I stepped a foot on that slave ship, all of us did, we'd been working as mercenaries. So I picked up from there."

More than anything, Jango is a violent product of a violent world. He just can't help himself.

He'd been good, he'd been more than good. Jango has never been able to approach a task with anything but brutal competence. If he doesn't know how to do something, he learns. More than that, he becomes an expert.

It was that really, that sealed his coffin. Signed the warrant and dotted the t's of his downfall.

"I made a name for myself. Even more of one. Jango Fett, bounty hunter.

Jango was too good. He caught the wrong type of attention.

I was the one they came to for the difficult jobs. The one you contact when you can pay.

A man approached me and he said, I've got a job for you. An unusual one but you are uniquely qualified.”

The Jedi have ordered an army. They want it ready in 10 years to fight in a war the Jedi will lead them in. For the Republic.

“He tells me the pay is good. Ridiculously good. But he says, that's not why you'll want to do it though, here's why:

He says, we've got an idea. Me and my employer.

We want you to be the donor. It'll be a clone army but they won't be able to think like people or anything. Just like droids but they'll be grown rather than made.

The Jedi will have their army but in the end they won't really be loyal to the Jedi and that’s why we want you, Jedi Killer as the template. They'll turn on them and you'll have your revenge.”

“You have to understand, the Jedi, they'd taken everything from me. I'd lost everything i knew so young but thanks to Jaster, I'd rebuilt from there. The Jedi took that from me.

The new Mandolorians were a monster of the Republic's creation and with them, we'd been shoved to the sidelines. They had split our support in half, every non Death Watch Mando’ade was too busy fighting each other to properly oppose Death Watch.

That is why they were so strong. That is how they succeeded. The republic did this.

The Jedi and everything they represented, the Republic, they were the reason we'd been vulnerable to death watch in the first place.

And now, such a obvious show of their arrogance, still claiming to be peacekeepers while ordering an army. So yeah, I wanted it all to blow up in their faces. They were asking for it"

Jango shrugged. “So, I agreed.”

#snippet #mywritingntwyw #mywriting ntwyw #this is from the first multi chap i ever wrote lol #i dunno I'm going through a weird stage with my writing now. i don't like anything that I've got posted tbh.#trying to find what made me like them in the first place #this was a fun scene. i like the idea of your physical state as a ghost changing you.#theres nothing to be afraid of the worst has already happened. nothing matters anymore. so you're overly honest #and for someone like Jango that has been repressing everything so long. i think that would be something like a floodgate releasing

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strawberryvulture · 2 years

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i’ve noticed that whenever we see Satine she’s always “modestly” dressed/covered - which is a total contrast to many costumes of other characters:

and i think it would be interesting to write this as some sort of Mandalorian religious thing - like how Din Djarin and the Children of the Watch don’t take off their helmets, and don’t seem to uncover any other parts of themselves either.

of course Din and his people are religiously orthodox/extremist, so Satine’s situation would obviously be different - more like covering your head before going to mass and less like wearing a nun’s habit.

but it would still be really intriguing to paint Satine as religious, as following religious traditions - especially because she’s so devoted to Mandalore and it’s people. like…we’ve seen her wear low cut dresses and show her hands and her hair, but maybe as a sign of respect and modesty she keeps her arms and legs covered (we never see her arms and legs in any canon imagery)

and!! it would bring up an interesting layer to her dynamic with Obi Wan. Obi’s devoted to his religion and Satine is devoted to hers - but those religions have vast differences and few similarities.

you could play it like “their religious and cultural differences cause friction between them” or as “they’re aware of their differences and have a profound respect for each other” - and between the two, the latter seems much more plausible/in character.

just imagine

Obi Wan, during their year on the run, shielding her with his cloak so she could change clothes without any of her limbs being seen. Obi Wan quickly covering the exposed skin on her arms when bad guys attack and their weapons have ripped her sleeves. Or!!! Satine hiding injuries from Obi because she doesn’t want to break her promise, doesn’t want to reject the traditions of her people - when Obi eventually finds out he turns his back/separates them with a curtain, and talks her though cleaning the wounds.

Satine never “said the word” because no matter how much she loved Obi Wan, she’d never expect him to break his oath or turn his back on the code. because she knows how important being a jedi is to him. because she knows and understands how important his devotions are. He never once asked her to compromise her beliefs for him - and she’s not going to ask him to compromise for her.

#somebody stop me #clothing in media is something that can be so personal #star wars #star wars meta #satine kryze #mandalore #the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #obi wan and satine #obitine #the mandalorian #din djarin #death watch #aayla secura #ahsoka tano #[communing with angels]

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay! I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck? Look whenever you want? That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind. You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are? Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look. You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right. You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there? Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means. It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible. Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look. Sort of.

Sort of. Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid. Mostly for him. What if he’s making a mistake? It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you. This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn. Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him. To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around. Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer. Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?” (“I don’t know. Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?” (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?” (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles? Or moles, or birthmarks?” (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?” (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?” (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?” (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look. One right after the other. You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence. You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take. One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally. And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines. He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful. When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib. But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off. He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because. Now he does. Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully. Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch. Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear. At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom. He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door. Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them. Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born. Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare? He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye. But to you, he’s… his own monument. Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else. A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him? No, that’s not phrased right. What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference. He could be anybody. There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features? Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun. Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would. Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing. Every single time. You feel like you could do it in the pitch black. You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous. Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable. Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous. Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides. He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back. He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over. No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova? For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning. He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it? Din is… different, he notices. He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too. He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around. That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why. You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood. While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes. Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite. Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder? He said you’d say no. Was he right? You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could. Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself? Where would it be? Naboo? No, that’s too cheesy. One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it. You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels. Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away. You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is. You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated. Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you. “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair. “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it. “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it. “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss. You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs. “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time. You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it. “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around. “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body. The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it. “Be safe. Please.”

But then… well. Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach. You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so. Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned. “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up. You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him. But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you. Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him. You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea. “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

***

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…? You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real. You actually fucking did it. You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey! See that, bug!?” You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms. “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him. “No demon powers necessary, little man! I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two. You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward. You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach. You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious. Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm. It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible. You have company. “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.” He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you. It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still. Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…” You immediately feel yourself get nervous. “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more. The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity. Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits. It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it? But it doesn’t hit. It misses, like usual. Miserably. And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck. You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either. But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect. There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly. However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just…

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point? All that practice and nothing to show for it. If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot? Are they gonna stand still for you? Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk? You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done. It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time. You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him. “I hit it earlier. I did, I promise. You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago. “I know you did. It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center. I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet. Dumb. Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear. “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection. It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things. Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through. You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you. Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it. “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point. I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist. “Try using this one when you do.” And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship. Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand. You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor. Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety. It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look. The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be. The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside? Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot? Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him. Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones. “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs. “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up. He didn’t have to do this. This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do. Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle. You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place. It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly. “They’re… dangerous animals. Fiercely protective, preferring solitude. The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him. It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor. Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel. You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back. “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other. The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right. The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is. What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears. Fuck yes.

“Look at that!” Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory. Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous. You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark. “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot. A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later. “That one.” Bark splinters. “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing. “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous. As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance. So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger. Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress. He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that. Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way. It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back. That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again. “We have to get going. The fifth quarry is far. Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker. You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest. His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight. “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you. After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding. You hope he sees it in your eyes. You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along. It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.” Short. Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay… Um. Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.” Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks. Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now. “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay. I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp. “My fault for being late.” And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive. Aloof. Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help? Maybe?” Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you. “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up. You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it. “I can be useful. I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—”

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?” He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze. You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how. I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.” He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before. “No. Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry. Quit asking. I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine. Uh. You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then. No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder. Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat. Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting. It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself. It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting. Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him. A choice he made because it just fit him best. You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you. You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence. Not… everything else’s. Now it’s haunting again. Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes. Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance. Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will. You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid. You’re quiet but in a different way from Din. When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to. When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right. What were you thinking, wanting to tag along? Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though. That still stings a bit. This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time. Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally? You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap. He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there. You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either. The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be. He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is. You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms. There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny. He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull. There’s a good chance he’s already asleep. “I think… he might still be mad at me. Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation. That’s not gonna work, come on. They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips. It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?” You ask him, unable to even fathom. “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength. You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again. It’s just as well, you figure. He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time. You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be. So big, crammed into such a tiny place. You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace. He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time. You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door? The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be. You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?” You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor. A complete mystery again. Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.” His voice stops you dead in your tracks. It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter. “I… hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

And… Maker, if anybody else had said it. If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment. But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted. That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it. This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now. Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before. Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him. He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is. “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to. It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before. Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time. “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well. Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet. “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly. “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way. I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel. I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?” He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused. “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…” Now you’re confused. “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything. “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now. “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing. He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all? By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.” He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground. “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor. “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?” He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they? You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little. You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?” Din asks you, the words sounding cautious. Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all. “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this? It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed. Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did. Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier. It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now. At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have. You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second. There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him. Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral. “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that. What are you, an eight year old? Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life? Credits? Time? Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Why is he even entertaining this right now? “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words. “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall. Someplace to find for yourself. Explore. Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that. Like he… just inherently understands. He knows.

He knows you. He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying. You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now. “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing. “Ever. And not because you can’t handle it, understand?” He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to. “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars. He’s… too kind. You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve. You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to. Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands. You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it. “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit. Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints. That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din. Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this. Yikes, this is a toughie. “Um. If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words. “Say what you mean. Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain. “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry. It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before. If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week. But only if you want to, you don’t have to. It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise? Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah. Well.” You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that. As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up. You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?” Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest. So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?” You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you. You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip. You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable. One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker. The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you. Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue. “Forgive me. Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed. But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing. Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through. You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours. It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…” You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic. It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good. Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you. “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering. Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes. “There could be, but I don’t know it. I’d use… out of a million million millions. Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier. Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation. How is that possible? You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through. You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t. You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower. You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?” You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth. The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall. Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…” You blink, surprised. “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay. You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it. He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you. “You’re going to run.”

“Um.” You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised. “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation. “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee. “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves. He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside. “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire. You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start. You’re going to run from me. Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now? You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised. Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?” He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay! Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone. “One. This is a safe world, but things can always happen. You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only. Do not shoot me with it. Do you understand?” You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow. “Out loud, please. For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you. “Do not… shoot at me. Near me. Around me. No, just—don’t shoot. Unless I am… very far away. Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that. You frown, but acquiesce regardless. “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words. “Second rule. Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either. We’re on foot. I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair. “Good.”

“Three,” he says. “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you. Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight. What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod. “Also not really a rule. Please continue.”

“Four.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back. “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide. “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious? “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you. “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet. Trust me.”

You… do. Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do. If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin. It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it? It actually sounds right on par for him. “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly. “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright? I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises. Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening. “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too. Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly. It is a very, very stern tilt. “Okay. New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows. “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious. “Us. Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate. “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh. Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting. “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry. You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine. “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator. Not mean or harsh, but firm. “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not. When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground. “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest. There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud. It… really is a struggle for him too, then. You understand.

“Okay,” you nod. There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given. You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself. It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more. “Final rule. I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe. Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies. He doesn’t do that. Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?” You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you. Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself. “This is your communicator. It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance. I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days. If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.” Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other. Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head. His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator. “Gar darasuum.” For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain. You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning. Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here. Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way. The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?” You ask, already clueless. “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side. “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me. You know how I think. I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…” He slowly shakes his head. “See me. Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now. “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time. “Remember what I told you a long time ago? What your best weapon is?”

You… do not. He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast. You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?” Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers. “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet. So…” He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Don’t try to outrun, okay? Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.

Outsmart. Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking. His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know. You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair. Are you going to a city? Would there be one in walking distance? The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals. The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him. He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long. Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement. He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #reader insert #the mandalorian #rough day #no-droids

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