#refinery design

[curatorofthisdigitalmorass]

[roomselfcontain2]

Renovated unique home decor visit website new pop studio room sectional couch and apartments for rent spacious big rooms for your family located at adageorge off iwofe road ph city rivers state Nigeria

[atenderofsycamoretrees]

Bach Mai Spring 2023 Ready-to-Wear

Photos by Amber Gray / Courtesy of Bach Mai

[chillers-reynold-india]

Hazardous area Chiller 300 TR - Reynold India Pvt Ltd

Our 300 TR Hazardous area Chiller for Isomerate cooling, built for EIL, Completely in house designed & Factory built, with All ASME U stamp exchangers, API GPHE, getting ready for shipment, to be installed at Rajasthan Refinery

[extramachine]

I for real was not meant to be a girl of flesh and blood. Get me back in my mechanical body.

[suncad]

3D Inspection Services in Gujarat | The SUNCAD Training & Designers

Suncad leading3D Inspection Services in Gujarat. Suncad provides several combinations of 3D inspection solutions, dependent upon our customer’s unique application. 3D inspection is commonly used in the manufacturing process because it is a non-contact test method. It is implemented at many stages through the manufacturing process including bare board inspection, solder paste inspection (SPI), pre-reflow and post-re-flow as well as other stages. SUNCAD is fully equipped with accurate data acquisition tools as well as powerful 3D inspection software to deliver the simplest reports for your most complex projects. For more information visit on : https://suncad.in/3d-inspection-service/ or call us on : 9925023229 

[techno-spectec]

Soybean Oil Refinery Plant Manufacturer,Supplier & Exporter-SPECTEC

Our soybean oil refinery plants are designed to remove impurities and undesirable substances from crude soybean oil, resulting in high-quality, food-grade oil that is safe for human consumption. We offer a range of plant sizes and capacities to suit the needs of small-scale startups and large-scale industrial companies.

[owosa]

COTL Vendors + Lamb Adoptables 

🍺Drinkhouse Toad $50usd ✨Refinery Hare $40usd

Some designs that I left out from the last batch! Inspired by buildings and the Border Leicester Sheep

If you want one, send me a dm!

[fatehbaz]

What it meant to "do geology" in Hutton's time was to apply lessons of textual hermeneutics usually reserved for scripture [...] to the landscape. Geology was itself textual. Rocks were marks made by invisible processes that could be deciphered. Doing geology was a kind of reading, then, which existed in a dialectical relationship with writing. In The Theory of the Earth from 1788, Hutton wrote a new history of the earth as a [...] system [...]. Only a few kilometers away from Hutton’s unconformity [the geological site at Isle of Arran in Scotland that inspired his writing], [...] stands the remains of the Shell bitumen refinery [closed since 1986] as it sinks into the Atlantic Ocean. [...] As Hutton thought, being in a place is a hermeneutic practice. [...] [T]he Shell refinery at Ardrossan is a ruin of that machine, one whose great material derangements have defined the world since Hutton. [...]

The Shell Transport and Trading Company [now the well-known global oil company] was created in the Netherlands East Indies in 1897. The company’s first oil wells and refineries were in east Borneo [...]. The oil was taken by puncturing wells into subterranean deposits of a Bornean or Sumatran landscape, and then transported into an ever-expanding global network of oil depots at ports [...] at Singapore, then Chennai, and through the Suez Canal and into the Mediterranean. [...] The oil in these networks were Bornean and Sumatran landscapes on the move. Combustion engines burnt those landscapes. Machinery was lubricated by them. They illuminated the night as candlelight. [...] The Dutch East Indies was the new land of untapped promise in that multi-polar world of capitalist competition. British and Dutch colonial prospectors scoured the forests, rivers, and coasts of Borneo [...]. Marcus Samuel, the British founder of the Shell Transport and Trading Company, as his biographer [...] put it, was “mesmerized by oil, and by the vision of commanding oil all along the line from production to distribution, from the bowels of the earth to the laps of the Orient.” [...]

---

Shell emerged from a Victorian era fascination with shells.

In the 1830s, Marcus Samuel Sr. created a seashell import business in Houndsditch, London. The shells were used for decorating the covers of curio boxes. Sometimes, the boxes also contained miniature sculptures, also made from shells, of food and foliage, hybridizing oceanic and terrestrial life forms. Wealthy shell enthusiasts would sometimes apply shells to grottos attached to their houses. As British merchant vessels expanded into east Asia after the dissolution of the East India Company’s monopoly on trade in 1833, and the establishment of ports at Singapore and Hong Kong in 1824 and 1842, the import of exotic shells expanded.

Seashells from east Asia represented the oceanic expanse of British imperialism and a way to bring distant places near, not only the horizontal networks of the empire but also its oceanic depths.

---

The fashion for shells was also about telling new histories. The presence of shells, the pecten, or scallop, was a familiar bivalve icon in cultures on the northern edge of the Mediterranean. Aphrodite, for example, was said to have emerged from a scallop shell. Minerva was associated with scallops. Niches in public buildings and fountains in the Roman empire often contained scallop motifs. St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was represented by a scallop shell [...]. The pecten motif circulated throughout medieval European coats of arms, even in Britain. In 1898, when the Gallery of Palaeontology, Comparative Anatomy, and Anthropology was opened in Paris’s Museum of Natural History - only two years after the first test well was drilled in Borneo at the Black Spot - the building’s architect, Ferdinand Dutert, ornamented the entrance with pecten shell reliefs. In effect, Dutert designed the building so that one entered through scallop shells and into the galleries where George Cuvier’s vision of the evolution of life forms was displayed [...]. But it was also a symbol for the transition between an aquatic form of life and terrestrial animals. Perhaps it is apposite that the scallop is structured by a hinge which allows its two valves to rotate. [...] Pectens also thrive in the between space of shallow coastal waters that connects land with the depths of the ocean. [...] They flourish in architectural imagery, in the mind, and as the logo of one of the largest ever fossil fuel companies. [...]

---

In the 1890s, Marcus Samuel Jr. transitioned from his father’s business selling imported seashells to petroleum.

When he adopted the name Shell Transport and Trading Company in 1897, Samuel would likely have known that the natural history of bivalves was entwined with the natural history of fossil fuels. Bivalves underwent an impressive period of diversification in the Carboniferous period, a period that was first named by William Conybeare and William Phillips in 1822 to identify coal bearing strata. In other words, the same period in earth’s history that produced the Black Spot that Samuel’s engineers were seeking to extract from Dayak land was also the period that produced the pecten shells that he named his company after. Even the black fossilized leaves that miners regularly encountered in coal seams sometimes contained fossilized bivalve shells.

The Shell logo was a materialized cosmology, or [...] a cosmogram.

Cosmograms are objects that attempt to represent the order of the cosmos; they are snapshots of what is. The pecten’s effectiveness as a cosmogram was its pivot, to hinge, between spaces and times: it brought the deep history of the earth into the present; the Black Spot with Mediterranean imaginaries of the bivalve; the subterranean space of liquid oil with the surface. The history of the earth was made legible as an energetic, even a pyrotechnical force. The pecten represented fire, illumination, and certainly, power. [...] If coal required tunnelling, smashing, and breaking the ground, petroleum was piped liquid that streamed through a drilled hole. [...] In 1899, Samuel presented a paper to the Society of Arts in which he outlined his vision of “liquid fuel.” [...] Ardrossan is a ruin of that fantasy of a free flowing fossil fuel world. [...] At Ardrossan, that liquid cosmology is disintegrating.

---

All text above by: Adam Bobbette. "Shells and Shell". e-flux Architecture (Accumulation series). November 2023. At: e-flux dot com slash architecture/accumulation/553455/shells-and-shell/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticisms purposes.]

[coolbeesbro]

Updated Heket design! I wasn't super happy with the initial work outfit I designed, and the biggest part being the lack of a hood.

In light of that, here are a few fun additional headcanons for her in my AU!

She's a big girl and proud of it, also being the second tallest of her siblings (5' 10") outside of Kallamar who's the tallest (6' 8"). She's got muscle and is damn proud of it, even being a bit of a show off in the lumber yard. She has many people in the cult simping after her, especially those working in the lumber yard and the refinery.

With her struggle to verbally communicate, Lambert helped her learn how to sign. Not every follower knows sign language, many hop on board to learn. The biggest problem with this form of communication is the barrier between her and Leshy since he's completely blind. Tebryn (yellow cat) is usually around him out of work and signs fluently, so he usually plays translator for her. When he isn't around, she communicates through few word comments and grunts.

Although she previously put an end to fights Kallamar would pick, she's taken to watching him deal with them on his own as a bit of "tough love".

[bethanythebogwitch]

Australian Pokemon - new evolutions

Another set of my Fakemon designed for my original Goorda Region based on a combination of Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand. This time I'm designing new evolutions for older Pokemon, plus a bonus convergent line. Links to previous entries below.

Factortry, the Industry Pokemon, fire/steel type, an evolution of Torkoal. It started eating metal as well as coal and its internal heat melted the metal into slag. The slag has started covering its shell, increasing its defense, but the smoke it releases is toxic. During the industrial revolution, Factortry were used for metal refining, but the practice was banned after it produced too much pollution.

Factortry is based on a coal-burning refinery and industrial age factories, with all the pollution that came with them. Industrial pollution has been reduced thanks to regulations, such as the ones that banned Factortry for use in refining. Its name comes from "factory" and "tortoise".

Castla, the Coral Pokemon, water/rock type, an evolution of Corsola. Its branches have grown together into a fortress-like structure that is virtually unbreakable. It has a symbiotic relationship with small Pokemon that live in its fortress. It defends them from predators while they help clean it. It needs clean water to live in and the populations has dropped considerably due to pollution.

I figured that if Galarian Corsola gets an evolution, the original should too. Like the original, this Castla is based on staghorn coral, but also castles. A castle is a type of barrier and Australia famously has the great barrier reef. Reefs are famous as habitats and are essentially ecosystems based on symbiosis, just like Castla. Like the great barriier reef, pollution and global warming is signaling hard times ahead for poor Castela. Its name comes from "Corsola" and "Castle"

Glideon, the Sugar Glider Pokemon, flying type, an evolution of Eevee. Glideon live in trees and glide around their rainforest homes on flaps of skin between their legs. Using their tails as rudders, Glideon are very proficient gliders and they will perform aerial tricks to impress each other and attract mates. Trainers should be aware that Glideon are highly social and need a diet high in sugar.

Wormeon, the Velvet Worm Pokemon, Bug type, an evolution of Eevee. Wormeon are reclusive beings that live deep in the forest and are rarely seen. Their fuzzy pelt is so soft people can get addicted to petting them. Wormeon bodies are soft and fragile, so they defend themselves by spitting out sticky slime and powerful acid.

If Gamefreak won't make new Eeveeloutions then dammit I will. Glideon is based on sugar gliders and Wormeon is based on velvet worms. Sugar gliders are a type of possum that glide around on skin flaps called patagia and have a very fruit-heavy diet. They are found in Australia and have been exported as exotic pets. Unfortunately, the biggest provider of sugar gliders is pretty unethical. Velvet worms are members of a unique phylum and can be described as worms with legs. They are very soft, hence the name, and spit slime for offense and defense like Wormeon. There are many species of velvet worm in Aotearoa. I may end up revising the Wormeon design as I'm not totally sold on it. I don't think it looks enough like an Eevee for my liking.

Frozosis, the Cryptobiosis Pokemon, ice type. It was once thought to be a regional variant of Solosis, but is now known to be unrelated. These strange Pokemon are found frozen under the ice on high mountains, where the cold keeps them in stasis. Scientists believe they froze themselves possibly millions of years ago to survive a mass extinction and are only now beginning to thaw out. Those who thaw out often roll down the mountains to be found in the lowlands.

Frozosis evolves to Frozuion, the Cryptobiosis Pokemon, ice type. Despite being frozen to the point where biological activity should cease, Frozuion are still capable of moving and feeding. Scientists suspect they are in a sleepwalking-like state of half-stasis and that if one were to fully thaw out, it would have mysterious powers, though nobody knows how to do it safely.

Frozuion evolves to Reunifroz, the Cryptobiosis Pokemon, ice type. They have some strange power that allows them to levitate and act alive, despite being frozen so cold that no conventional life could exist. Scientists are unsure of what would happen if one were to thaw out as they are so cold even molten magma cannot warm them. It is possible that a thawed Reunifroz would have powers unlike any other Pokemon.

The Frozosis line is convergent to the Solosis line. They are based on cryptobiosis, a state of near-death stasis that certain living things can enter to survive extreme conditions. The Solosis line are based on embryo development and the Frozosis line are based on frozen embryos. The first successful pregnancy from a frozen embryo happened in Australia. Because it's frozen and in cryptobiosis, the cell in the Frozosis line doesn't develop like the one in the Solosis line. Frozuion and Reunifroz are based on micro-animals. Some species of micro-animal can enter cryptobiosis to survive changing conditions. Frozuion is based on a tardigrade (the poster child for cryptobiosis) while Reunifroz is based on a rotifer. Their names come from "frozen" and the Solosis line's names.

Previous entries in this series. Misc 4, misc 3, single-stages, non-natives, regional standards, creepy lines, regional variants, birds, early-game standards, misc 2, misc 1, starter variants, starters

[witchofthesouls]

I would love to see you write some more culture differences between the bots and humans. If you wouldn’t mind :0 I wish we saw some in TFP

Same here. I love seeing world-building and deep lore, especially with other fantasy/sci-fi civilizations.

TFP gave us so much and so little at the same time. It's like going to a restaurant, you have a drink and great appetizers, so you're constantly waiting for the entrée that isn't coming!

TFP is also really fascinating when looking at it with the lens of the caste system and its deep roots within and among the 'bots, even their reduced circumstances. I get the feeling that Optimus is way more casual in way with his team than what the decorum would demand, even with his barriers.

The Autobots would find human cityscapes as quaint. Even the dense sprawls of megacities with towering high rises are paltry reminder of what they're used to.

Cybertron was a planet where its wilds had been tamed. Either reshaped or completely stripped. The Wastelands is/was an apt name for the baren landscapes outside the established city-states.

It wasn't just a large difference in public transport and zoning and sheer scale. It was also the functional design and architecture.

City-states mimicked the layouts of Titans' ground alt-modes. They didn't sprawl outward. Those had set perimeters based on Titans' outer defenses. Instead, the cities expanded up or down.

It wasn't limited to just a parking structure or secretive bases. Whole levels housed entire communities of what castes resided there: occupations, hospitals, sewage, refineries, restaurants, entertainment, and so much. Some mecha go without ever seeing the sunlight or feel real wind, especially those at the lowest of the system. The lowest castes are set all the way at the bottom, among ancient tech and dilapidated buildings. Sorting and recycling what could be kept and what must be sent back to the upper levels.

The concept of "open to the public" would confuse the Autobots. The Golden Age operated its society under the strict overview of a caste system, which expanded to "where" and "what" individuals of a caste could access.

Monster truck rallies fall under bloodsport to them. Bulkhead once scavenged money to watch and do small bets at high-stakes drift racing and lower-tier gladiator matches below the ground. Mecha still had to pay entrance fees to it.

Parks were under the Artisanal caste. Blending murals of legends, careful tending to fauna that are functionally extinct that was tailored to the agreed aesthetic, live music from specific pupils of masters, playing on instruments that merged with the gardens, so it was difficult to tell what was a tool and a plant or animal. And entry to any of it was only allowed for certain castes.

Universities were thriving, self-contained communities, and major points of power. No one off the list would be allowed into its grounds. All visitors and short-term guests were deeply screened and monitored. There is no such thing as "dropping by." Everything is meticulously planned and prepared. Unless a faculty member personally vouches for a guest, they must heed the numerous rules or a risk permanent banning.

Academia had long since been territorial over its talents and quality of its programs and people. They refuse to allow anyone outside its jurisdiction to bully one of its own. No matter the rank or caste, it will close its inescapable jaws around an outsider.

The fact that someone could go to a private university and simply jog upon its grounds is mind-boggling to the 'bots.

As well as libraries and their courses and workshops. So anyone can go? Anyone?! Everyone has access to the knowledge!? Can anyone simply go join a seminar on local gardening? Anyone can just go to a playground and start swinging or playing basketball or flying a kite or dancing to music? Anyone?

Bulkhead had a lot of questions for Jack and Raf since they're locals compared to Miko.

"So anyone can go?"

"Yeah. I used to spend my recess looking up bird anatomy and Ancient Greece and Egypt."

"You had a thing for ancient civilizations?" Raf asked.

"Doesn't everyone?" Jack shrugged. "Pharoahs and gladiators and old gods? We ate that up with mystery books or Goosebumps."

"I read Sherlock Holmes and the Chronicles of Narnia."

"Those are classics. Hey, did you get into The Lo-"

"Hold up," Bulkhead cut in, crouched down and leaning more forward, as if sharing a secret and quietly ask, "So anyone?"

"Yes. Anyone." Jack repeated, rapidly firing off each point with a finger. "Their family. Their friends. Their classmates. Their coworkers. Their pe-"

"Even, let's say, a construction worker. He could just go inside and pick up, I don't know, quantum physics? Anatomy of any frames? Gardening?"

"Sure." Raf squinted and moved to wipe off his glasses with his sleeves. "Clubs and people like to donate more to expand the base. Some of the college professors even leave early editions of their textbooks." Raf readjusted his glasses and beamed. "It's for easier access people and for an industrial copier."

"Oh..." There was a wealth of meaning in that small noise.

"You..." Jack struggled on the concept. Perhaps giant metal aliens didn't need books and could download information from their own internet. "You don't have libraries or schools?"

"No. We did." Bulkhead sighed. "I just wasn't allowed into them."

Out of all of them, Miko would be the to come the closest to understanding them in some ways. 出る杭は打たれる. The nail that sticks out gets hammered in.

As a transfer student from Japan, Miko does have instances of culture clashes with her American classmates and host family.

She's loud. She knows that. But Americans are a different breed with no restraint. In some ways, admirable. In others, incredibly frustrating.

Miko is used to a far heavier workload with long hours after-school and a busy city life. Jasper qualifies between a small and large town that she can't walk around easily on her own with the blazing heat and bitter cold nights and the lack of a car or a bike.

Detention in the US is a joke to her. Stay in school after it's over? She's used to doing that back at home with clubs and cleaning it. On a Saturday? Same thing. Some clubs back home ran long hours over the weekend. Do homework? She already finished it during lunch or between classes because she wants all the other time to herself and the 'bots.

Because Bulkhead gets a realization just how free the kids' social mobility is, he tries to get on Miko over her scrapping at school and her assignments, especially after Ratchet's high jacking their science projects resulted in failure. And that was another strange blow since Ratchet is a medic and a scientist. She's smart and quick and can be rough around the edges and so everywhere, and, to him, Miko deserves everything she could want in her short life. (And wasn't that also a terrifying concept to grasp? To just live and die under a single vorn?)

At first, Miko was getting annoyed because it's similar to the well-meaning nagging her host family does, but she reads the worry he has, and they have to really sit down and speak and soothe over his misunderstandings.

It comes as a huge surprise to her that Bulkhead can just download a language into him. Context and colloquialisms would be missing, and he needs work because he's a mix between extreme formality and, much to her delight, yakuza. And it's all because of her own frustration that English is her second language.

[wumblr]

one thing i have not thoroughly expanded upon about nuclear policy is supply chain fragility.

the united states did not have enough fissile material to drop a third bomb on japan. enriching more uranium required the construction of refineries at an industrial scale, and producing plutonium required the contruction of reactors in a practically unprecedented infrastructure project (atoms for peace). sl1 was completely unclassified, nuclear car batteries and airplanes were promised and nuclear mutant gardens produced over 2200 novel cultivars. atoms for peace was a coordinated tranche of propaganda designed to convince the public that a limitless energy utopia was just around the corner if we only built out the reactors to produce the plutonium that would make the arsenal. after it was produced, all of these great visions of the future quietly withered away, and would have revealed themselves as lies all along if anybody had been paying attention.

the nuclear deterrent is expiring. we are currently engaged in subcritical testing in nevada to identify what portion of the arsenal could theoretically still function. in order to make any new warheads at scale, we would need to rebuild a number of reactors comparable to the number that has been decommissioned since the cold war.

we no longer have the manufacturing capability to undertake an infrastructure project of this scale. we can't even cobble together the funding to greenlight a single power plant. gates' nuscale just lost intermountain west, we can't even cobble together funding for six small modular research reactors. given no action, the bombs will become duds, and we will not be able to produce any more.

i would give it maybe 40 years at most, realistically more like 20 (an insufficient amount of time for an infrastructure project of this scale), before the united states loses its capability to defend itself, a "right" it never had.

which is why we're doing "atoms for peace 2" now.

it's still a lie.

the people who are going to have to ultimately end this -- in one way or another, disarmament, abandonment, or detonation -- are alive today. it's us. nobody else is coming to save us.

[redstonedust]

i was never good at the hermitcitizens thing bc im bad at making self inserts but i am thinking about where id insert other ccs as citizens. thoughts so far include:

ferks working in the ore refinery she designed for xbs base.

skizz obviously as a dwarf in the dwarven keep-- but also a familiar face all over the server.

bigb feels like he'd fit in bdubs' coffee shop? he's vibing.

tubbo as a scarland imagineer. i think he'd design crazy rides.

martyn has already cameod in canon but i like to think he's got gigacorp ties and thats how he ended up there /hj

i think they should let hbomb loose in decked out and see what happens. i dont even know where he'd live i just want him to be a minigames champion.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 21

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, light angst, Din being an overprotective man, eventual fluff, kiss and make up vibes

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: This chapter overlaps heavily with the events of the season 2 episode "Chapter 16: The Rescue." You will notice borrowed dialogue and synced plot points.

---

Lieutenant Elia Kane liked to consider herself the type of officer who remained cool under pressure. However, she would be lying if she said that the holotransmission she just received didn’t have her stomach sinking in her abdomen. It wasn’t the content of the message itself, really, but rather that she knew that even as the chief communications officer, this was not a message she could field on her own. She was going to have to show it to the Moff, and he was going to be furious.

Kane did not often find herself on the receiving end of the Moff’s ire, and that was very much by design on her part. The man was terrifying when angered, cold and biting in a way that seemed to suck all of the life out of a room. She had found that the best way to keep in his good graces was to learn how to anticipate his needs before he had them, to know what orders he would give and what questions he would ask before they ever passed his lips. So far, that strategy had been successful, and she was loathe to be the one to deliver him news that he would find…unsettling.

But. Such was her duty. And a good officer of the Empire did their duty even when it was unpleasant.

Striding onto the bridge with a confidence she wasn’t certain she felt, she squared her shoulders and leveled a calm, even look at Moff Gideon, his face turned away from her as he stared out the front viewport.

“Sir.” He cocked his head slightly and turned around to meet her gaze. “You should see this.”

Without further preamble, she thumbed the holoprojector in the center of the bridge, and the transmission flared to life. Just above the surface of the projector, the pale blue, translucent frame of the Mandalorian Din Djarin now hovered, staring daggers at the Moff even across an untold number of lightyears, and Lieutenant Kane watched with lead in her gut as her commanding officer’s face darkened into a glower.

“Moff Gideon. You have something I want.”

---

The days that followed the destruction of the rhydonium refinery on Morak passed in a blur for the crew of Boba Fett’s Firespray. Something about that mission – the success of obtaining the coordinates, the firefight, the hurried but victorious departure – seemed to have lit a new fire in everyone’s bellies, one that had been slowly dying in the weeks since Grogu’s abduction. Now, it felt as though everyone awoke each morning hungry for the next task, eager for the next step that would bring you that much closer to bringing him home.

During the narrow window of time that he had been granted access to the internal Imperial terminal, Din had taken the liberty of collecting information on the location of several other assets of interest, including a long-range shuttle that was currently transporting a scientist by the name of Dr. Pershing. Tracking him down and bringing him aboard had been the first order of business after departing Morak, a pursuit which had resulted in a brief shootout between the two ships. The Firespray had, of course, overwhelmed the shuttle rather quickly, and a mere handful of minutes later, another crew member had been added to the ship’s roster.

You knew little about this mysterious doctor, only what Din had shared with you about his previous encounter with the man back when Grogu had been a quarry. The bounty hunter seemed to believe that he might have some information about Moff Gideon’s ship that the team could use to inform the boarding plan. You also learned from Cara that in addition to being a valuable informant for this particular mission, he was also a high-value New Republic target, and after all this was over, she had every intention of ensuring that he was escorted to Coruscant to stand trial.

For those reasons, Dr. Pershing had been dragged aboard in binder cuffs and tucked away in one of the few remaining empty bounty cells. Din took it upon himself to bring him three square meals a day as well as escort him to the ‘fresher at defined intervals, but otherwise, as far as you were concerned, it was as though he wasn’t even there.

Your next stop, not two standard rotations later, was a nowhere planet boasting grassy, temperate plains dotted with large duracrete refineries, the towering exhaust stacks of which belched clouds of steam and opaque white smoke large enough to be visible from orbit. Din had tracked the final prospective members of your assault team there, though what they might be doing in a nameless place such as this, you couldn’t have guessed.

This time, when he left the ship, he took a reluctant Boba Fett along. Watching the two of them descend the ramp in lock-step with one another, in their suits of complimentary armor, had you doing a doubletake. These men may not have known each other for longer than a handful of weeks, but something about the way they moved together called to mind what few interactions you had had with New Republic officers during your time on Chardaan. Like they were brothers-in-arms, separated by time and circumstance but still very much bound to one another, still very much cut from the same cloth. You resolved then that you would be more intentional about getting to know Boba. You had managed to pull Din out of his stoic, reticent shell; perhaps you could do the same with him.

The two were gone so briefly that you and Fennec had barely managed to begin your daily hand-to-hand lesson before the doors to the ramp were sliding back open, and to your surprise, not two but four Mandalorians in full beskar strode up the ramp and into the navigation room.

Smaller in stature but no less intimidating, both of the new figures wore armor that had been painted some combination of black and royal blue, and both of them were armed to the teeth – dual blasters holstered on their hips, explosive rounds attached to their belts, flame throwers in their vambraces, and jetpacks on their backs. You noticed that the visors in their helmets had been modified slightly to appear sharper, thinner, and more feminine that either Din’s or Boba’s, giving their faces an almost bird-like appearance, and one of them even had white embellishments painted on her helmet that reminded you of an owl.

It occurred to you that these were the first Mandalorian women you had ever met, and the thought filled you with a thrill of curiosity. These were the kinds of women that Din had been raised with, that he had come of age with. Other than his mother, who he had lost at such a young age at Aq Vetina, women just like this had been his first impressions of the opposite sex. You couldn’t help but wonder what they might be like.

And what they might think of someone from their culture choosing someone like you as a partner.

The moment the doors slid shut once again, Boba broke away from the party, presumably to fetch Dr. Pershing from his cell so planning could begin. There was a tension in his shoulders that you were unaccustomed to seeing in the man, someone who you had known to carry himself with such confidence and self-assurance that it almost came across as swagger. Something had unsettled him, and just the thought of that being possible was enough to have your hackles raising on instinct. Resisting the urge to go after him, you instead hovered near the edge of the room as Din began introductions.

Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, the one in the painted owl helmet, and her vassal Koska Reeves struck you as a bit formal, a bit standoffish in comparison to the rest of the companions you had accumulated over the last few weeks, though not unpleasant. In a move that appeared rehearsed, they both reach up to remove their helmets simultaneously, tucking them under their arms and settling into an at-ease posture. As you observed them shaking hands with first Cara and then Fennec, you were struck with the notion that although the two women looked nothing alike, they bore such similar facial expressions that you would have known immediately that they were part of a matched set. Sharp, hawk-like eyes, polite smiles, ramrod-straight spines.

“And who’s this?” Bo-Katan asked as they circled around to you.

You offered her a welcoming smile and your hand to shake as Din replied with your name, adding, “Her expertise is in starship engineering and design.”

Both Bo-Katan and Koska quirked an eyebrow at that, and the former narrowed her eyes dubiously. “An interesting choice,” she said, looking you up and down with an appraising gaze. “Just where do you fit into the puzzle?”

You fought back the wave of defensiveness the question elicited and instead wrestled your expression into something you hoped was blandly pleasant. “I’ve spent a significant amount of time studying Imperial ship schematics – internal systems, security, weapons capability, layout. I’ve put together some information that should make infiltration of Moff Gideon’s vessel safer and faster.”

“Have you ever been aboard an Imperial light cruiser?”

Beside you, you felt Din stiffen at the shift in the woman’s tone, but this wasn’t the first time you had had your work interrogated – it had practically been a daily experience when you had first started working in the shipyards at 18, young and green and a woman to boot.

“Not personally, no,” you admitted evenly, refusing to allow your feathers to be ruffled. “But I’m intimately familiar with the design.”

The two women exchanged a look, Koska all but rolling her eyes, while Bo-Katan at least had the decency to remain impassive, if a bit superior.

“I…appreciate the effort,” she said diplomatically, “but I’m not certain that databases and schematics carry quite the same weight as actual lived experience.”

Ah. So that was how it was going to be.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Din cock his head as he took half a step forward, as though about to protest on your behalf. Before he could form the words, however, you subtly brushed his hand, caressing the bridge of his knuckles over his glove with the backs of your fingers in a calming gesture. You admired his protective nature, but there was no need for him to jump to your defense.

“I understand your concern.” Your voice sounded a bit cool to your own ears, a bit pinched from the tightness of your jaw. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a mockup of the ship. Why don’t you take a look? You can tell me how it compares to your…lived experience.”

Bo-Katan shrugged an armored shoulder. “Very well. If you’d like.”

Crossing to the nav console, you pulled up the ship schematic file you had been laboring over, the culmination of all of your own research plus your days of collaboration with Migs Mayfeld. The pale blue projection illuminated the dim room, and you stood aside, gesturing for both of your new companions to step forward and examine it.

Just then, Boba Fett returned from the lower decks, one hand clapped firmly on the hunched shoulder of Dr. Pershing. The doctor was winded and a little pale in the face, clearly unused to the ladder and the change in the ship’s orientation when on the ground, but there was also a look of relief in his eyes at finally being allowed out of his cell. He put up no protest as Boba escorted him to one of the jump seats, and he lowered himself into it with a grateful sigh.

The timing of his arrival couldn’t have been more perfect. Nodding to him in greeting, you turned back to Bo-Katan and Koska and quipped, “You should know, we picked up Dr. Pershing here two rotations ago.” The two women glanced over their shoulders at you, each of them sending assessing looks to the bespectacled man now catching his breath a few feet away. “How long did you spend aboard Moff Gideon’s ship, Dr. Pershing?”

He shifted anxiously in his seat, seeming to sense that he had walked into a charged conversation, but he did not hesitate to reply. “N-Not quite two years.”

“Hm. And what was it you said, when I showed you the mockup this morning?”

Dr. Pershing swallowed thickly. “Almost flawless.”

You smiled at him in thanks, and you thought you might have heard Din release a quiet, astonished breath through his helmet, the sound a shushed crackle in the weighted atmosphere.

“I’m eager to hear the results of your assessment, Lady Kryze,” you said evenly, and the woman leveled you with a look that skirted the line between incredulity and approval. Her vassal, on the other hand, had contempt in her dark eyes, and though she remained silent, you could almost feel the waves of irritation pouring from her from across the room.

Wordlessly, the two Mandalorians returned their attention to the light cruiser mockup, and then Din was at your side, cupping the ball of your shoulder in his warm palm, squeezing you tightly.

“Cyare,” he rasped, concern coloring his tone, and you offered him a wan smile.

“I’m fine, ner kar’ta,” you replied, using the words he had used all those weeks ago the first time he told you he loved you. You felt some of the stiffness in him ease at the sound of the endearment, which in turn eased some tight, clenching thing in you. You could handle yourself, but you didn’t relish the idea of conflict with any of your bounty hunter’s friends. “Though I am wondering what it says about me that on this mission, I made friends with an ex-Imperial prisoner of the New Republic, but I’m already butting heads with the heir apparent to the Mandalorian throne.”

Din let out a breath of a chuckle, shaking his head. “It says that you care not for station or title or bloodline and that you don’t intimidate easily. Your respect is earned. I learned that the first day I met you.” He paused and flicked his gaze up quickly, as though ensuring that your new guests were still occupied out of earshot. Once reassured of your relative privacy, he rasped, “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

I will know you forever.

The last of the tension bled from your limbs at that, a surging warmth filling your chest, spilling over into a fond smile. “I love you, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Koska turning in your direction, so rather than pulling Din’s forehead down to yours like you wanted in that moment, you chose instead to withdraw. Koska’s dark brown eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you, but if she had any commentary, she did not share it. Instead, she simply said, “Everything appears to be in order. We can use the schematic you’ve provided.”

You kept your face carefully neutral in response. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“When do you wish the start the journey?” she asked, the question directed at Din.

“Tomorrow morning, local time,” he replied. “Provided Gideon’s ship continues to patrol the same sector it has been, the hyperspace trip will be short. We should make the jump prepared to engage the enemy quickly, and this crew needs rest.”

Koska nodded once. “Very well. Lady Kryze will brief the boarding parties on the infiltration plan. Then we will retire until morning.”

---

“This is Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser.”

Bo-Katan had taken a seat at the nav console, the air of a commander settling comfortably over her shoulders. She really was a natural at this, an experienced military leader to her core, and her vested interest in the outcome of the mission had been precisely what Din had been banking on when he approached her to assist. If she was agreeing to help, he had no objection to her setting the strategy.

He had been honest with her when they had spoken in the cantina earlier. Grogu was his only priority. He couldn’t care less who took point during boarding, or what happened to the ship after – as long as he was able to get to the kid and get him out of there safely, he had everything he needed.

“In the old days, it would carry a crew of several hundred. Now it operates with a tiny fraction of that,” she continued.

From his seat, Dr. Pershing interjected, “Your assessment is misleading.”

“Oh, great.” Cara Dune scoffed, voice thick with sarcasm as she crossed her arms over her chest. “An objective opinion.”

The bespectacled man in binder cuffs shook his head. “This isn’t subterfuge, I assure you.”

Cara looked as though she was about to protest further, but Bo-Katan held up her hand to silence her. “Let him speak.”

“There’s a garrison of Dark Troopers on board. They’re the ones who abducted the child.”

Din recalled the moment on Tython when he realized that Grogu had been taken – the moment he looked up into the sky and watched as the squadron of figures in black armor had flown away with the boy clamped in their clutches. They had struck him as similar to the Storm Troopers he had faced on the ground, and yet somehow, also…not.

“How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?” he asked.

“These are third-generation design. They are no longer suits. The human inside was the final weakness to be solved.” The Mandalorian felt a cold, sinking feeling take root in the pit of his stomach at the doctor’s words. “They’re droids.”

Ice spilled down his spine at the thought, and he fought back a shudder. Droids. Of course, they were kriffing droids. Suddenly, it was as though he was eight years old again, staring down the barrel of a B-2 battle droid’s wrist blaster from an underground shelter, shaking, tearful, the screams of his people and the shriek of blaster fire echoing in his ears.

History was repeating itself – his kid, his sweet, powerful little boy subdued, stolen by a creation even more fearsome than the B-2 – cold, unfeeling, soulless things built with the sole function of sowing death and destruction wherever they went.

The thought had rage swelling in him, the heat of it burning away the dread, the fear. They would not get away with this. On his life, he would destroy them bolt by bolt.

If the others around him sensed the sudden wave of deadly determination that had taken hold of him, they did not comment on it. Instead, Fennec stepped forward, asking, “Where are they bivouacked?”

Dr. Pershing rose to his feet and stumbled up to the nav console. With awkward, bound hands, he adjusted the projection of the ship’s interior, zooming in on a cargo bay containing two symmetrical rows of storage cells, each of them highlighted in red to indicate power flow. “They’re held in cold storage in this cargo bay. They draw too much power to be kept at ready,” he explained.

“How long to power up?”

“A few minutes, perhaps.”

“Where is the child being held?” Din growled. His hands had tightened into fists down at his sides, the red lights in the schematic blinking at him almost mockingly.

Pershing tapped a few controls on the console once more and shifted the projection to display another room, deeper toward the interior of the ship but not overly far from the cargo bay.

“This is the brig,” he explained. “He’s being held here under armed guard.”

Bo-Katan nodded slowly, digesting that information. “Very well. We split into two parties.”

“I go alone,” Din countered immediately. He worked better with less fanfare, less interference. He had been a one-man team for years, decades really, before any of the people in this room had come into his life, and as much as he respected their skills, he couldn’t help but feel as though he needed to be at the top of his game if this rescue mission was going to be successful. And that meant working alone.

The red-headed woman eyed him sharply, annoyance coloring her tone as she replied, “Fine.” Turning back toward the ship schematic, she continued, “Phase one, Lambda shuttle issues a distress call. Two – ” She zoomed out on the projection and rotated the ship so that the forward hull was visible. “ – we come in hot and emergency land at the mouth of the fighter launch tube, cutting off any potential interceptors. Koska, Fennec, Dune, and myself disembark with maximum initiative. Once we’ve neutralized the launch bay – ” The projection shifted again, this time expanding and showing a cutaway of the inside of the vessel where several rooms and passageways had been highlighted. “ – we make our way through these tandem decks in a penetration maneuver.”

“How are you planning to get past the checkpoints?”

The bounty hunter startled at the sound of your voice, and he watched as Bo-Katan’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, visibly aggravated for the first time since stepping aboard the ship.

“What checkpoints?” she asked pointedly, and you stepped forward, making your way to the front of the group so you could access the console yourself.

“The moment blaster fire is detected in the launch bay, bridge personnel will engage the secondary security protocols.” You pointed at the connection points between the highlighted decks, circling them with the tip of one blunt-nailed finger. “At every juncture between those decks, you’ll find sealed doors and no way through except genetic scans and digital chain code verification.”

Bo-Katan exchanged a look with Koska, a silent conversation passing between them in a handful of seconds, and Din felt a surge of gratefulness for your presence, for your diligence, for your refusal to be daunted in the face of this task and the array of unapproachable people that he had drug unceremoniously into your life over the last few weeks. Not that he had ever had any doubt as to your skills – he had seen early on how talented you were – but you were proving to be even more adaptable than he would have given you credit for.

You were insistent that you hadn’t been built for this life, but the longer he spent with you, the more Din was beginning to question whether that was true.

“Then we’ll just have to disable those protocols before they can be engaged,” Koska eventually concluded, but you shook your head.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Unless we already had someone on the bridge before we even dropped out of hyperspace. You’ll have to override the system manually at each juncture.”

Bo-Katan quirked an eyebrow, looking at you as though seeing you for the first time, and something about the expression had dread settling in his bones.

“Can you do it?” she asked.

You answered without hesitation. “Yes, I can.”

“Fine. Then you’ll come with us.”

The words fell on Din’s ears like a death knell, and before he could think better of it, he was surging forward, eating up the scant distant between himself and Bo-Katan in two long strides.

Like hell would you be stepping foot on that manda-forsaken ship – surrounded by enemies, drowning in blaster fire, burning your way through to the bridge on a mission that could just as easily end in your death as it could it your victory. The idea of you being anywhere near Moff Gideon was enough to have panic tightening his chest, wrapping itself around his heart and lungs and squeezing until he gasped for air. The idea of you doing it without him? While he was somewhere else? Unthinkable. Absurd. Too horrifying to even consider.

You couldn’t go – he wouldn’t allow it.

“I don’t think so,” he growled as he loomed over the princess, drawing himself up to his full height. Bo-Katan, however, was completely uncowed by the domineering display. With only an icy glance in his direction, she peered around his shoulder, making eye contact with you directly, and you seemed determined to ignore his outburst.

“Count me in,” you said. You sounded resolved, confident, your mind already made up, and something not unlike terror roiled in his stomach.

“Cyare – ”

You didn’t let him continue. Louder, sharper, as though to drown out his protests, you barked, “What else, Lady Kryze?”

Bo-Katan offered you a solemn nod of silent acceptance, telling you without words that she understood, and then plowed onward, saying, “Our party will be the misdirection. Once we draw a crowd, you – ” She looked sharply up at Din, her proud, pointed chin jutting upward at him in a gesture that dared defiance. “ – you slip through the shadows, get the kid.”

“Those Dark Troopers? They’re gonna be a real skank in the scud pie,” Cara quipped.

Shab, the Dark Troopers. Yet another reason why bringing you aboard was a terrible decision. But it seemed the rest of the group was content to move forward as Fennec mused, “Their bay is on the way to the brig. Can he make it there before they deploy?”

The question was directed at Dr. Pershing, who seemed to weigh his response before replying, “It’s possible.”

“Here.” Fennec produced a silver data stick from a pocket on the inside of her jacket, holding it out to him. “Take his code cylinder and seal off their holding bay. Anyone else, we can handle.”

Fennec could, no doubt. Cara, too. And of course, Bo-Katan and Koska were Mandalorian-trained. He knew their capabilities as well as he knew his own. Each of them could handle any enemy they encountered – he was certain of it.

But you…

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, Bo-Katan nodded once, seemingly content with the current plan. “We’ll meet at the bridge,” she said, a note of finality ringing through her tone, and Din released a heavy sigh. That was it then. You were going, and no one else was going to protest it.

Glancing back over his shoulder, the bounty hunter met your gaze through his visor. Your jaw was set so hard it was nearly twitching, and your bright eyes burned fiercely in the dim light of the holoprojector. You were livid, and there would be hell to pay the next time the two of you were alone.

---

After finalizing a handful of remaining details, the party scattered, left to their own pursuits until the scheduled rendezvous time the next day. Almost immediately, you jumped back into your sparring session with Fennec, which had been interrupted by the arrival of Bo-Katan and Koska. This left Din with little opportunity to take you aside, to confront the conflict that he was certain was brewing on the horizon, to ask you not to go. He wasn’t discouraged, however. He was certain there would be other occasions for the two of you to talk between then and tomorrow morning.

However, it wasn’t until hours later, when most of the crew had chosen to retire to their bunks for the night, that he was finally able to speak with you in private. All afternoon, you seemed to find task after tasks to keep you occupied – finishing your training with Fennec, chatting with Boba in the cockpit, disappearing down a maintenance hatch for ages (since when was Boba allowing you to work on his ship?), eating dinner in the makeshift mess with Cara, locking yourself in the ‘fresher for a particularly long sonic shower. If Din didn’t know better, he would think you were avoiding him.

When you finally entered your shared bunk, he was there waiting for you. Your hair was long, clean, and loose around your shoulders, and you had left yourself haphazardly dressed for the climb up from the ‘fresher – boilersuit unzipped, boots untied, scarf dangling from one of your rear pockets like a flag in the breeze. The privacy you could achieve on Boba’s Firespray was minimal, but it wasn’t non-existent, and you had clearly gotten comfortable with everyone on board over the last few weeks. Still, you made the effort to shut the bar-crossed cell door behind you when you caught sight of him sitting on the bed, elbows on his thighs.

You did not greet him, did not cross the narrow room to stand between his spread knees, did not pull him into your arms as you had each night since he had started sharing your bed again. Instead, you simply offered him a limp half-smile of acknowledgement and began shedding your outer layers for sleep.

Taking his cue from you, Din stood and removed his breastplate, pauldrons, and thigh armor in silence. It was the compromise you had insisted upon – he could keep his flight suit, his helmet, even his vambraces and gloves. But the armor on the front half of him, the part that would touch your skin as he wrapped his body around yours in sleep, that was to be left on the floor. Had he been traveling alone, he would have been perfectly content to keep his armor on at all hours, even through sleep. Sharing a single-width mattress with another human in full armor had proven challenging, however, so he was willing to concede to your request for the sake of your comfort.

Now, though, based on your behavior, he wondered whether the bed would remain chilly with or without the addition of the beskar.  

Clad in only your breast band and underwear, you slipped into the bed first, sliding under the thin gray blanket, rolling onto your side, and facing the bulkhead. Silent. Cold. Final.

Din sighed as a pang of hurt pulsed through his chest. He had no wish to fight with you. Perhaps…if he could make you understand…

“Cyar’ika,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so that his words would not travel to the other crew members, who were settling in for sleep mere feet away in their own bunks. “Cyar’ika, look at me.”  

“Just come get in bed, Din,” you muttered back, your face still turned to the wall. “We have a big day tomorrow – we need to rest.”

The bounty hunter sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and twisted so he could look at you, even if you refused to turn toward him. His knee pressed into the small of your back like this, his shin cushioned by the plush curve of your ass, and even just that small amount of contact had his heartrate slowing, the ache in his ribs easing. For a man who had gone for so much of his life without touch, he hungered for it with you, and simply having you close made even the dark, looming cloud of this conversation feel more manageable.

Releasing a heavy breath, the sound crackling through his helmet, he rasped, “I don’t like the idea of you joining the boarding party, ner kar’ta.”

You scoffed softly, and the vibration of it traveled into his body through his knee. “I know you don’t. You made that very clear in the navigation room. In front of the whole team.”

“Do you fault me for wanting to keep you safe? After everything that’s happened, everything that’s happened to you when you try to get involved, do you blame me for wanting to keep you away from it all?”

His question was met with silence, then a reluctant sigh. “I don’t fault you for wanting to keep me safe. I fault you for treating me like a child, like someone you’re obligated to look after in front of…” You paused, the words stuck in your throat, voice thick with emotion as it dropped to a whisper that he had to lean in to hear properly. “…in front of all those other women. Your peers. Your friends. How do you think that makes me look to them?”

The Mandalorian paused, a shadow of guilt passing over him at your words. He supposed…he hadn’t thought about it like that. Hadn’t considered it at all. In fact, the idea that you might be comparing yourself to someone like Fennec or Cara, like Bo-Katan or Koska and somehow finding yourself wanting would never have occurred to him. How could it, when you were so singularly brilliant? So effortlessly intelligent, so uncommonly kind?

Gently, tentatively, Din reached out a hand to settle on your bare shoulder. He ran the pad of his thumb across the joint in a soothing gesture. “Cyare – ”

You shook your head, as though his touch had startled you out of your thoughts, and you continued, “It doesn’t matter anyway. The boarding party will never make it past the launch bay if they don’t have someone overriding the security protocols. I have to go. It’s the only way.”

The bounty hunter weighed his words carefully for a moment before responding. “Could you teach Marshal Dune the override sequence? Or Fennec?”

“I could,” you shrugged, jostling his hand, knocking it from your body. “But it’s complex. And if the Imps start modifying the algorithm on the fly to try to lock us out, I’ll have no way to guide them through it. If I stay behind, the second Boba jumps to hyperspace, you all will be on your own. It’s too much of a risk.”

Too much of a risk? What was too much of a risk was you stepping foot on that cruiser. A hot rush of frustration flashed up the back of Din’s neck as he growled, “I don’t think you fully appreciate how dangerous this is going to be.”

That was finally enough to get you to look at him.

Spinning around in a flurry of long hair and tangled blankets, you flipped onto your other side and glared up at him. “Don’t I? We’ve traveled across half the galaxy gathering a crew of some of the most…terrifying people I’ve ever met to take this on,” you hissed. “We’ve got, what…four Mandalorians now? An ex-Rebel dropper? An assassin? I am very well aware of what we’re walking into.”

“And you think you’re ready for that?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, and Din tried not to allow his gaze to drop to the way it propped up your soft, full tits, only barely covered now by your breastband. “Honestly? No, I don’t know that I am! But I do know that this? This is something I can do.” Jabbing a finger at him, poking into his thigh, you added, “And you need me on this one, Din. This is what I’m good at. Plus, Cara and Fennec will be with me, and I know that neither of them would ever let anything happen to me. I guess I don’t know much about Bo-Katan or Koska yet, but…they seem competent?”

He nodded reluctantly. “They are.”

“Okay, then.” Loosing a tense, frustrated sigh, you rolled onto your back, forcing his knee to press into the dip of your waist now as you stared at the ceiling. “You must…trust all of them, right? I don’t think you would have asked them to come on this mission if you didn’t trust them.”

“I do. I trust them with my life.”

“Okay!” With a firm grip, you gathered one of his hands into both of your own, holding onto him in a way that felt like a plea. “Then trust them with mine.”

“Your life is far more precious to me than my own, cyare.”

Your gaze snapped to his, and you hit him with a quirked-brow, deadpan expression. “You’re ridiculous,” you said seriously, and Din couldn’t hold back a gruff burst of laughter. The sound prompted the smallest smirk from you, and then you were joining him in his laughter, your low chuckles mingling with his own in a way that felt deeply intimate in the close, quiet air of the shared bunk.

After a moment of this levity, he threaded his fingers through yours and relented. “Fine. But I still don’t like it.”

You offered him a wry smile and dropped a kiss onto the back of his hand. “You don’t have to like it. But you do have to let me do whatever I can to help get our boy back. I know the risks. You have to trust me to make my own choices.”

Silently, the bounty hunter nodded. You were right, of course. He couldn’t force you to stay behind. And he certainly couldn’t find fault with your desire to do your part to rescue Grogu. Were he in your position, he would do the same. But you were also right in that he didn’t have to like it. He only hoped he would be able to keep his wits about him tomorrow when it came time to execute the plan. You would be boarding separately, fighting separately, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of you and your safety. The stakes were too high; Grogu was counting on him.

Content to leave things as they were for now, Din laid down beside you on the mattress, tucking his arm under the thin pillow and pressing in close. It was the only way for the both of you to sleep on such a narrow surface, but he hardly minded. The two of you had had such little time to enjoy one another, to grow accustomed to your newfound intimacy before your lives had been thrown upside down, and now you spent nearly every minute of every day surrounded by other people. Any opportunity he could take to feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body, the strength of your hands – he would take it.

“When this is all over…” he sighed, slipping his hand under the blanket to caress the small of your back, “I want to take you to meet the naur’alor.” You looked up into his visor with a question in your eyes. “She is…or I suppose she was the head of my covert. She’s my Tribe’s armorer, our spiritual leader.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Of course. I’d be honored.” There was surprise in your voice, as well as a note of reverence that had his heart clenching behind his ribs.

If he had ever been uncertain, if he had ever questioned, those words were enough to quell his doubts, and you didn’t even understand the significance of what you had just agreed to. You simply wished to know him, to understand his culture, his roots, the people in his life that were important to him. To you, it was a pure thing, an easy thing, and it made Din’s heart swell with love for you.

“I plan to ask for her blessing. I…want you to be mine in truth.”

Under his palm, he felt your breathing stop for a moment, felt your fingers dig into the fabric of his flight suit.

“Din. What are you saying?�� you whispered.

With slow, gentle precision, he dragged his hand from the small of your back to the curve of your cheek. He brushed your hair back from your face, mourning the barrier of his leather gloves between you, wishing he could feel the texture of the strands beneath his fingertips, and then he cupped your jaw in his palm to bring your forehead to his.

“I would have you wear the sigil of my clan so that everyone we meet will know that you are under my protection,” he explained. “Other Mandalorians would no longer see you as aruetti. You would be Mando’ad – a child of Mandalore, like me. Like Grogu.”

You were trembling now, little tremors traveling from your body to his. “You want me to…be Mandalorian?”

“I want you to be my riduur. My…wife.”

All of the air in your lungs seemed to leave you in a rush, and Din watched as your eyes began to glisten in the low light. Tears welled along your lash line, the tip of his thumb there to brush them away before they could fall.

“Really?” you asked, the sound strained and tight with emotion.

He was certain you would be able to hear the smile in his voice, feel the softness of his gaze even with his helmet between you. His own heart racing, he nodded. “Not right away. I want to take my time with you, court you properly. After I have…proven myself a worthy partner, I’ll ask you to take the riduurok – the marriage agreement. And at that time, you can tell me whether you wish to spend your life with me at your side.”

Pressing yourself as close to him as you could manage, you nodded urgently. The bridge of your nose knocked into the bottom edge of his helmet as you whimpered, “Din, I already know my answer.” More tears spilled over your cheeks and tracked toward the pillow tucked under your head.

The bounty hunter dropped his hand from your cheek and instead pressed his index finger against your plump, trembling lips. Stars, you were so beautiful, he could scarcely stand it. “Don’t say it yet, mesh’la.” His voice was closer to a growl now as he desperately tried to keep himself quiet, not ready for his words to travel any further than the slip of air between his face and yours. “Taylir bic o’r gar kar’ta. Hold it in your heart. So that when I ask, you know for certain.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, “okay” whispered in the quiet, so faint that he could barely hear it. With a little whine, you pressed your forehead harder against his, this time smushing your nose against his visor in a move that startled a chuckle out of him. It was like you were trying to press your way through the beskar, as if you could phase through the layers of metal and electronics if you simply tried hard enough.

“I wish I could kiss you,” you murmured, and Din couldn’t hold back his laughter. Had he ever met anyone as sweet as you? You made him yearn for a life he never thought he would have – a soft life, a comfortable life, a life filled with gentle touches and bright laughter, witty banter and hot kisses.

“I wish I could kiss you, too, cyar’ika.”

“You sure you can’t take your helmet off here?” You dropped a kiss, just a single press of your lips, onto his visor, and the sight of your mouth so near had Din digging his fingers into your hips. “You can blindfold me again, I don’t mind.”

With another breathy burst of laughter, the bounty hunter tucked his face into the crook of your neck. “I know. I promise, ner kar’ta. The minute it’s safe, you’ll get as many kisses as you can handle.”

“Good.” Arms snaking around his neck, your hands came up to cradle the back of his helmet, palms pressed flat to the reflective surface. “I’ll hold you to that.”

---

Note: Right now, this is looking like it will shake out to be about 25-ish chapters in total, so we are nearing the end, friends! I hope you enjoy getting to see how this saga comes to a close!

[mayhaps-a-blog]

OK, having seen Tales of the Empire, I don't think the Thrawn stuff is as retconned as people are shouting about. Gotta get a bit puzzle-piece here - fitting pieces together - but it does all work out.

1. We don't know what Pellaeon was doing before he served under Savit, or even what he was doing while serving under Savit. His connection with Thrawn on screen could be seen as a close partnership, but honestly, could equally be a one-time introduction: Pellaeon attends a presentation on a new starfighter, Savit (if presents) grunts that it's too expensive, Pellaeon is intrigued by the design and looks up an Admiral who might be interested, forwarding the idea along. Thrawn picks it up, gets Pellaeon to arrange an introduction of his choice, they amicably part ways until Treason.

Thrawn: "I want to make sure she can fight. Sneak in my assassin to try and kill her."

Pellaeon: "...Yes, sir (?!?)"

Thrawn: "You can wait below until she wins. I'll lurk menacingly on the balcony."

Pellaeon: (mental sigh. There's worse people in the Empire, such as that blithering Moff) "Alright. Fine. Sure. Whatever. You got it, sir." (I am never working with this nutjob again.) (Two years later: kriff.)

2. Elspeth was active on Corvus, but they stated pretty directly that they were only interested in the raw materials. Lothal had specifically the fuel refinery and doomium mines. So, strip mine Lothal, harvest Corvus, assemble the parts on Corvus in the factories and ship the final pieces to Lothal for assembly, fueling, and testing. Pretty standard for large-scale production, these days - almost nothing is harvested, designed, and produced all in the same place. Even the Death Star had multiple bases for production - more, if you count the prison labor in Andor, and wherever they were shipping the raw materials from. Andor was just parts assembly!

3. They never said that Thrawn had the 7th Fleet - he said "my fleet", which is also just a term for a large group of ships. Could easily have been referring to his Task Force, which he had as an admiral, when speaking with a civilian (Elspeth) and thus using the informal term.

There's a few points I can understand people being upset about - Thrawn's no longer the TIE Defender's initial designer, although how much he may have improved on before the final design is unknown. This is in line with Legends, where we see less of a direct hand from Thrawn and more of a "collect all the genius designers to work for me" in terms of practical engineering, but we see him tinkering more in Canon, so arguments could be made either way as to how it should go. I will point out that something as complex and large as a ship would definitely not have one singular designer - that is a team effort, with the project lead's name getting stamped on the final package but a whole host of experts right underneath.

My personal quibble is that Pellaeon seems eternally stuck in his 60s-70s - this has to be at least 10 years before his cameo in the Mandalorian, and yet he looks exactly the same! Did his hair ever have color or is he just forever an old man? XD