#and later where are we putting the returned Mandalorians? to what extent do we let the Separatists secede? are we dissolving the Republic? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ereborne · 6 months

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please please please, did the space-monk keep his armies up his sleevies??

Of course he did!

This is an exceptionally silly title, but in my defense, it’s a nonsense file full of contradictory timeline schenanigans and snippets of a fic I am not writing. The same fic I’m very very absolutely not writing that I mentioned in the seven-sentence post last Sunday, actually! It has been plaguing me.

The thing is, is that I am so sure there ought to be a way to make it work. I haven’t found it so far, so far I have only found many ways not to make the metaphorical lightbulb, but I feel so strongly that it should work. I will make it work eventually, and then I will be free.

The ‘it’ (army up our sleevey) in question: the Mandalorian Empire! I am so sure that there should be a way to rewrite these wholeass war stars so that the Mandalorian Excision is a turning point in the history of the Jedi Order, but in the opposite direction from canon. Have it be the first time the Jedi were commanded to go commit large-scale violence against a sovereign system just because the Republic said to, and so the first time the Jedi found themselves truly pushed to a point where they cannot do as ordered without wholly breaking the tenets of their Order but cannot disobey and keep themselves safe and in a position to fulfil the objectives of their Order—and have them turn to the Force for a third option.

It's a pretty radical third option, because I want to play with the timeline and also because the one scene makes me so so so happy, but—instead of killing off the Mandalorians, they meet with them, make a deal with them, pack them up on ships, and slide them into a pocket in the Unifying Force to be retrieved (much) later, when it’s safe. Fast forward all the way to AotC, once the Jedi have discovered the clone army prepped for them on Kamino and received that implicit authorization to hire what amounts to a mercenary army, they can do a fine magician’s flourish and pull the better part of the Mandalorian Empire out of their sleeves! What a scene that would be, I want it so badly.

And all the fun of the set-up, too! Imagine it, right, the Jedi have elevated ‘from a certain point of view’ to a zen art and have a now long-running history of taking creative options to do the most good possible regardless of Republic guidelines, but keeping it all on the down-low has given the Jedi chronically poor PR (essentially the same as they have in canon) and the truth of many things has passed out of memory and into the keeping of the Force. Then the tragedy at Galidraan happens, Dooku’s faith wavers, and the Force returns one secret to them—Dooku’s good friend Sifo-Dyas gets him together with Master Archivist Jocasta Nu and the three of them learn about the pocket Mandos waiting to be pulled, the absolute proof of how far the Jedi will go (and how much the Force will support them) in order to preserve life. And then immediately after that revelation is when Sidious comes to whisper in Dooku’s ear, all his manipulations, how the Republic is corrupt and the Jedi are useless and if Dooku wants power enough to make a difference he’ll need to do something radical—and Dooku is playing him the entire time.

And thematically, it could be so good! Revisiting the original Star Wars question of are the Jedi knights following lords or monks serving a higher purpose! The distinction between lying to gain the freedom to do good (Jedi mind-trick) and manipulations to gain power to do evil (Sith compulsion)! Once-and-future Mandos who are both the kings waiting to return to their people and the sword waiting to be drawn! The Clone Wars are still fought, kind of! An Empire still rises, kind of! The clones who were chattel, produced and sold by a failed Mand’alor, denied any culture or history, destined to fight and die unacknowledged in someone else’s war; now being adopted wholesale by the returned Mandalorian people, hailed as a gift from the Force itself, sharing their knowledge of modern times and being taught all the cultural traditions of Mandalore’s heyday, being treated as beloved children and kept as safe as any Mando’ad could be! Anakin, fatherless child of the Force, as the prophesied Chosen One, found by the will of the Living Force, trained by a sleight-of-hand master with a powerful connection to the Unifying Force, strong enough to bring balance to the Force not through massacre but instead by bringing back an entire people! Renewal, healing, proof that good will always ultimately triumph over evil but that you have to get it there through a balanced combination of faith and hard work! So fun!!!!

Exactly how and when all this happens and what the hell all the fallout is, though, all that stuff still escapes me. This file is an absolute nightmare bog of snippets and bullet-point ranting.

#asks #anternika #hi hi hi hi <3 <3 <3 <3 #thank you for validating my incredibly silly joke #I just I so very much want to see Obi-Wan and Anakin open up the void of space above Kamino into essentially a Force-constructed hyperlane #pull an armada out like space rabbits from a galactic hat and then laugh directly in Sidious' face #and then a three-strand plot to handle the Separatists the Sith and the rehoming of pretty much everybody (Jedi and clones and Mandos etc)#I know there has to be a way to do it but it's like I'm doing a puzzle blind. just slamming pieces together and feeling them fail to click #how to have the clones around long enough to be established characters and give them agency enough to opt in to the fighting?#have Dooku sneak Obi-Wan in as a trainer on Kamino before the Jedi are able to officially discover the clone army? where's Anakin?#other questions then: what's the place of the Shadows in this adjusted Jedi Order? what's the state of slavery in this galaxy?#what's the state of the Mandalorian remnants? the New Mandalorians? what's Obi-Wan's history with them now?#and later where are we putting the returned Mandalorians? to what extent do we let the Separatists secede? are we dissolving the Republic?#who knows! certainly not me. I have a million options sketched out and they're all mutually-exclusive #and anyway almost all my scenes turn into various characters talking to the clones about their past experiences and future opportunities #I just love them so much

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the-scandalorian · 3 years

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Tempered Glass: Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of wounds, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: Chance brought you and the Mandalorian together on Nevarro. Now, on his ship, you have to broker a careful trust with him, despite both his and your instincts to distrust others. Notes: I’ll be loosely following the events of the first season and see what happens from there. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @honey-hi @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @red-leaders @zoemariefit

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Before you could decide what to say to him, the Mandalorian rushed across the hull in two long strides and grabbed your shoulders forcefully, lifting you from your seated position and pushing you up against the wall. You exclaimed in surprise as a strong forearm came up to hold your chest in place, restricting the expansion of your lungs in a painful way. Your hands automatically scrabbled against his arms, trying to break his grip, but his hold was iron. He was leaning all his weight into you, crushing you into the wall, and even bracing your legs against his armored thighs didn’t budge him.

“Who sent you?” he yelled, his helmet inches from your face. The depth and rasp of his voice through the modulator made your stomach drop, and your fight instincts kicked into high gear.

Here’s the Mandalorian I was expecting.

Your upper arms were trapped against your sides, but you could lash out just enough to dig your fingers into his injured side, exploiting his weakness. He grunted and faltered, loosening his hold, and you took the chance to shove him off of you while pulling the long knife from your belt and whipping it up to his neck. At this same time, he recovered and yanked his blaster out of his holster to press the barrel into your stomach. His left hand had a vice-like hold on your bicep.

“No one! No one sent me!” you panted. Your right hand pressed your knife against the fabric at his throat, and your left gripped the back of his neck so he couldn’t move away from the blade. Your finger hovered over the activation switch on the hilt.

In this position, you had to tilt your head up to look into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. You tried to make out his eyes, but all you could see was your own reflection in the inky black surface. You were sweaty and out of breath. His breath was fast and loud through the modulator, chest heaving just inches from yours. This is not an opportune time to be turned on.

“Why were you following me this morning?” he demanded. So he had known.

“Why were you watching me in the cantina a few weeks ago?” you countered.

He tensed, surprised by the question, and cocked his head to the side, considering. “...You looked familiar,” he offered.

Maybe he really had recognized me from my bounty puck, like the bounty hunter in the alley today.

As you contemplated this possibility, the threat you each posed to the other became almost palpable.

He was worried that you were after him or the child—both of whom were clearly high-value targets. And if you had really run into him by chance and didn’t know that before, then you obviously knew how much they were both worth now. You could easily take advantage of that. You, on the other hand, suspected that he knew you yourself had a bounty on your head—and here you were, on his ship, mostly at his mercy. However, you’d say the stakes were higher for him. He had more than just himself to worry about. He clearly cared about whoever this child was.

“I wasn’t following you today. I wouldn’t have been so obvious if I was tracking you. Is that how you would follow a bounty? I was trying to talk to you,” you admitted.

He seemed unsure of whether or not he should believe you. His grip on your arm loosened almost imperceptibly. You reciprocated by easing the pressure of your hold on his neck.

Perhaps, the fact that you were both so vulnerable meant you could come to an understanding.

“Can we just talk? I’m not after you or the kid. I don’t even know why they’re after you. I saw you the other day in the cantina, and I was curious about why you were watching me, so I followed you to talk today. Then I got caught in the fray when I ran into you in the alley. That’s it. It sounds ridiculous, but that’s it. Let’s lower these and just talk.”

You hoped you could earn back the fragile trust you’d had between you just minutes ago on Nevarro, but you had no reason real reason to trust each other. It was clear that neither of you was used to trusting others.

Trust was a bad habit you’d had to unlearn to survive, and the same was true for bounty hunters. His was also a brutal, solitary profession.

But, there was also no explicit reason you had to be enemies.

He hesitated. “You first.” His voice rasped in the modulator.

You continued to hold him where he was, close to you, for another moment as you considered what to do. You didn’t want to hurt him, and it seemed like his instinct was to protect rather than attack.

You slowly released your grip on his neck and dropped your blade.

He lowered his blaster and replaced it in the holster at his side, still standing just inches from you. You knew that he was only open to this truce because there were several ways he could overpower you if he needed to. You hadn’t forgotten the fire that had erupted from his vambrace. He likely had a myriad of other deadly tricks up his sleeve—literally.

After a tense moment, you both stepped back.

“Why did you help me?” he asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Why did you help me?”

“I... don’t know. It made sense at the time.”

“Why’d you let me on your ship?”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you,” he shrugged, like that was obvious.

“Well, I appreciate that,” you laughed. He cocked his head in surprise. The tension thawed slightly.

You sat down on opposite sides of the hull, a safe distance apart, watching each other warily.

“Are you Guild?”

“I’m not a hunter.” He seemed skeptical but didn’t press the issue.

You reached for your bag, and he tensed.

“Just getting water.” You yanked your water bottle out of your bag and drank.

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “What weapons do you have?”

“Blaster, knife, spare blaster. Not quite the arsenal you have,” you motioned to where his weapons closet was partially open, displaying an impressive array of firearms, explosives, and knives.

He nodded and explained, “Weapons are part of my religion.”

“Right,” you muttered, not really sure what that meant. You met his visor briefly then looked away again. Having his attention trained solely on you felt like sitting under a spotlight. And it wasn’t just the threat of danger that made you squirm.

You flicked your eyes back up to him when he shifted. You followed his movements as he pulled the blaster from his holster and stood to put it on its hook in the closet, then did the same with his rifle and vibroblade. He clicked a button on the wall, and the weapons closet clanged shut. You were still acutely aware that his whole body was a weapon, so this gesture of peace was largely symbolic.

Nonetheless, you responded in kind by placing your large vibroblade and both your blasters on a crate out of your reach.

You sat in awkward silence for a moment. You weren’t really sure if these empty gestures meant anything real... or were just that—empty. How likely was it that you were going to progress from strangers to two people who actually trusted each other in the confines of this tiny ship within the span of minutes? Not very.

“I’m going to use the refresher,” you announced. He nodded.

His searing gaze followed you the short distance to the door, and you suddenly forgot what you usually did with your arms when you walked.

It was a relief to close the door behind you and be alone for a moment. When you washed your hands, you noted the generous amount of the Mandalorian’s blood drying on your fingers, smeared there from when you made contact with his blaster injury. From the looks of it, his injury was worse than yours.

You scrubbed your hands clean and leaned down to splash water on your face, wiping away the sweat and dirt on your brow. Then, you rested your palms on the edge of the sink and took a few steadying breaths, studying your face in the small mirror before you.

I’ve been in tighter spots than this.

And this time, like every one of those other times, you steeled yourself and concentrated on the next immediate step you could take to improve your situation. You let your anxiety fall away as you narrowed your focus to a tangible action: treating your thigh wound. If you let yourself consider more than that, spiral in uncertainty and linger on every unknown and variable in this situation, you’d feel overwhelmed.

One step at a time.

When you returned to the hull, you opened your bag to pull out your med pack, sat back on your crate, and got to work cleaning the graze wound through the hole the blaster shot had left in your pants.

The Mandalorian reached into a container and pulled out his own much larger med pack. With precise movements, he removed his cape, his bandolier, and the top half of his armor. He turned away to pull up his shirt and inspect his wound. He was careful to stay angled in a way so you couldn’t see any of his exposed skin—you weren’t sure if he didn’t want you to know the extent of his injury or if he wasn’t allowed to reveal any of his skin to you.

From the way he was contorting awkwardly, it was clear that he was struggling to reach the extent of the wound.

“Do you want help?” you offered, knowing he’d refuse. You felt compelled to try anyways.

He snapped his helmet up to look at you, like he was surprised you were there. You waited for his answer. Several moments delayed, he jerked his head slightly, like he’d rediscovered a lost train of thought, and muttered: “I’m fine.”

You shrugged and finished tending to your own wound. When you had finished tying a clean bandage around your thigh, you noticed he was squeezing a tiny amount of bacta from an almost empty tube.

“Do you need this?” You held your full tube out to him.

He looked up. Again, he seemed to have forgotten you were there, or perhaps, was so caught off guard by your question, that his answer came after a long stretch of silence. It seemed like a weird reaction to such benign questions.

“Thank you,” he replied, dropping his shirt to walk toward you.

He reached for the bacta, but instead of taking the tube, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it hard. You cried out in pain as the bacta clattered to the floor. His free hand whipped behind his back to grab a pair of cuffs from his belt. Despite your struggling and flailing, he wrenched your arm over and cuffed your hand to a rung of the ladder that was just a few inches to your left.

You kicked out a foot to trip him, but he evaded it. You reached for him with your unrestrained hand, but he jumped back.

Shit. You cursed yourself for placing your weapons out of reach. The small blade strapped to your ankle wouldn’t be of much help at the moment. You let out a frustrated huff of anger. You were better than this, smarter than this.

“I’m sorry. I have to,” he insisted. He started to pace back and forth.

“You really don’t,” you argued, as you slouched against the wall in defeat. He’d cuffed you part way up the ladder, so your arm stretched uncomfortably above your head when you sank to the floor. You rubbed your free hand over your face, thinking.

“I can’t risk it,” he continued, almost apologetic in tone. He seemed to be convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He tilted his helmet down at you: “Nothing?”

“I mean, what’s the long term plan here?”

“I’ll leave you somewhere nearby—you can choose the planet—but I need to sleep before I can do anything else. And well...” he gestured vaguely to you then to the compartment where the kid was sleeping.

You watched him resume his circuit of the tiny hull and weighed your options. There weren’t many, and the fact that he was so worried about what you’d do to him or to the kid made you feel less threatened by him. He was spending his time thinking about how you might hurt him, not about how he could take advantage of you. At least, you hoped that was the case.

“I understand,” you relented, letting out a heavy sigh. At least he didn’t freeze me in carbonite.

He froze midstride to stare down at you.

As annoyed as you were by the restraints, you couldn’t really blame him. Honestly, you’d do the same exact thing if you were in his position. You’d already started thinking about the safest way to get some sleep in his presence—your next clear course of action—knowing that your temporary truce was fragile.

He regarded you silently, as if waiting for the catch.

“You could have just asked. I probably would have tried to talk you out of it, but I really do get it. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

He stood, looking down at you, incredulous.

It was strange, but not unfamiliar, to have to read someone in full armor, to take all cues from body language and tone. And in the Mandalorian’s case, even his tone was somewhat obscured. You stared back up into his blank helmet but felt sure you were reading him pretty well.

You glanced up at the handcuffs and were comforted by the knowledge that you could pick the mechanism fairly easily with some combination of your small vibroblade, the bobby pin in your hair (which was only there for this express purpose), and—if it came to it—the underwire of your bra. You’d done it before.

He doesn’t need to know that.

It seemed like, as someone who regularly restrained people, he should assume you could pick locks, but you weren’t about to bring that to his attention. You were going to let him think you were completely at his mercy because clearly that’s what he needed to feel safe. Plus, you didn’t want him to resort to a more extreme means of restraining you.

“Could you at least cuff me to something so I can lie down?” You wiggled the arm that was stretched awkwardly over your head.

He tucked his thumbs into his belt and cocked his head as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trick. He sighed quietly though the modulator.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, striding forward to unlock the cuffs. You held your hands up in surrender. He led you toward a spot along the wall where a pipe ran a few inches off the floor and gestured for you to sit by it.

When he leaned over your body to snap the cuffs to the pipe, you caught a glimpse of his neck, where a sliver of skin was exposed between his cowl and his helmet. His skin was golden brown—definitely not green like the child, definitely human. It was less than an inch of skin, but you couldn’t help but feel that you’d witnessed something scandalous or intimate, like you’d accidentally walked in on someone changing. You also couldn’t help but notice that he smelled good under the faint odor of metal and blaster residue.

He wasn’t rough when he secured your hand in the cuffs this time.

Walking around the hull, he collected a ration pack and a thick blanket from two different crates and grabbed your water bottle from where you’d left it by your bag. He tossed the items to you one at a time.

Thoughtful.

He picked up your bacta from where it had fallen to the floor and sat back down to finish tending to his own wound.

You pulled the blanket under you so you weren’t sitting on the cold, hard floor of the ship and leaned back against the wall.

You opened the ration pack, picking at the contents, and considered the man before you.

You had a million questions for him but somehow couldn’t think of one thing to say. Nothing seemed particularly pressing as the stress and exertion of the day were beginning to catch up with you. He wasn’t a particularly chatty guy and didn’t seem interested in conversation beyond determining whether or not you were trying to abduct his child—and the jury was clearly still out on that front as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, he finished treating his wound and replaced his upper armor. He disappeared into the refresher for a few minutes then returned to what you had assumed was a storage bay, where he had placed the child. After shifting the child gently, he climbed—in full armor—into the smallest, most ridiculous bunk you’d ever seen before closing the door and disappearing from view. Doesn’t he have a room?

You finished the ration pack, kicked off your boots, and curled up in the blanket to lie down. You were grateful that your physical exhaustion was absolute. Otherwise, you were sure your mental chatter would have kept you awake. You needed rest before you could decide your next move. Telling yourself that you’d just doze, not sleep deeply, your eyelids drifted shut almost unwillingly.

***

The next morning, you woke to the Mandalorian leaning over you to release your wrist from the cuffs. You started at his unexpected closeness, jerking back, and he looked down. Clearly, you’d fallen into a deep sleep for several hours. Whoops.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You still weren’t used to that rich, raspy voice. Does it ever not sound seductive? It didn’t help that you could smell him again when he was leaned over you like that. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to move away.

“That’s okay.”

He stood, clipping the cuffs to the back of his belt. You sat up, leaning against the wall, and rubbed your eyes.

He sat on a crate across from you, with the baby on his lap, feeding him little pieces of something gross looking. The kid was perched happily on his knee, wiggling his giant ears in satisfaction as he chewed and watching you with unguarded interest.

“Who is that?” you asked.

The baby was alert and cheery, periodically letting out joyful little chirps, a marked difference from their subdued temperament the night before.

“He was a bounty,” the Mandalorian stated simply, as if that explained the whole situation.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his non-answer and didn’t respond. Obviously, there was more to the story, but he didn’t want to share it. That was fine. You didn’t owe each other anything (except maybe your lives, but in that regard, you figured you were even).

You watched the Mandalorian. He was sweet with the child—patient, too—but awkward and unsure. You didn’t have all that much experience with children either, but you knew holding a baby out in front of you with straight arms, as you’d seen him do for a moment yesterday, was not normal. He seemed caring and invested but inexperienced.

How long has he had this baby?

“I think we can help each other.” The Mandalorian spoke slowly, interrupting your train of thought.

This development surprised you, especially considering he’d made you sleep cuffed to a pipe.

From the moment you set eyes on the armored warrior, you had expected him to be cold, withholding: a lone wolf. In some ways, he was—the armor alone was enough to make him seem hostile and untouchable—but in other ways... He was almost... kind? He’d protected you, a stranger, without hesitation. The fact that he was caring for a wanted child was another piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.

“How’s that?” You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket in your hands.

You hadn’t had the chance to formulate a full plan for yourself, but you didn’t really need to. You’d do what you’d always done: disappear. You’d lay low for a few weeks, then return to one of the three places you had hidden supplies: namely, new identification and credits. And then you’d disappear again. Maybe change your hair. Find a temporary job somewhere. Same old routine.

“The same people are after both of us.”

You snapped your head up to look at him.

“They saw you holding the kid and board the Crest. They know you’re with me,” he continued.

The same set of questions played in your head: Did he recognize me as a bounty that day in the cantina? Or did he notice the moment when the bounty hunter had recognized me in the alley yesterday? Or does he really just think I’m caught up in this with him because of pure chance?

He took your silence as an invitation to proceed.

“I can drop you off on a nearby planet. We can go our separate ways, but I think they’ll be looking for you too. It might be best to stay together for the moment.” He spoke carefully, like he knew he was out on a limb, and he didn’t expect you to agree. This was the most you’d heard him say at once. When you really considered it, he was right. Based on they way the fight went down, with you and the Mandalorian protecting each other, everyone would conclude that you were a team. That’s how the word would spread. Hunters would come after you both. If they found you separately, they’d assumed you knew where the other one was.

Between bites, the kid let out the cutest, tiniest sneeze you’d ever heard. The Mandalorian wiped his nose gently with the edge of his cape, and the softness of the gesture made your heart squeeze. You looked away briefly to hide the smile on your face.

You turned back to him, expression neutral, meeting his inscrutable gaze once again. “We’d be harder to find if we went our separate ways. We could lead them in two different directions,” you reasoned, trying to parse out all the options.

“I... feel bad that they’d come after you for no other reason than you happened to run into me in an alley.”

Again, his thoughtfulness surprised you.

For now, it seems safe to assume he doesn’t know about my bounty.

And you weren’t ready to share that yet...even though you knew hiding it was unfair to him and to the child. They were both already at risk. If you decided to stay with him for the moment, you’d eventually need to admit that you were a liability all on your own.

Not yet though.

“What’s your plan?”

“Head somewhere deserted. Lay low for a couple weeks, then go from there.”

That’s what you would be doing alone anyways. He’d already proven his skill in battle. Would it be so bad to have someone looking out for you for once?

It would be a relief, if you were being totally honest with yourself.

“Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. “For now, this makes sense,” you gestured between you two.

He nodded once.

You posed the question that was plaguing you: “What made you change your mind about me? Why are you trusting me all of a sudden?”

“You stayed cuffed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. Apparently, it had been a test, and you had passed. I guess he was being smart, not underestimating me.

He seemed satisfied to leave the conversation there, but your curiosity got the better of you. You took the chance to build on this blossoming trust.

“So, does the helmet stay on all the time?”

He met your gaze for a moment before looking down at the kid and saying, “No living being has seen my face since I was a child. This is the way.”

Well, that’s super sad.

You thought back to the exchange between him and that huge blue Mandalorian. They’d both said the same thing then too.

Mandalorians have a catchphrase?

You wondered what this helmet rule meant in practice: for instance, does that mean he could be helmetless around someone if they couldn’t see his face... Like, were blindfolds or very dark rooms on the table? And what about the rest of the armor? Can he take that off? How bad should I feel that I’d seen a sliver of his neck? You wanted to know the answers to all these questions but obviously couldn’t ask.

Instead, you nodded and said, “What’s your name?”

“Mando is fine.” Impersonal. Business-like. It’s what Karga had called him.

His proposal to stay together for the time being had felt like an opening, but clearly peeling away all his layers of metaphorical armor would take a long time. He was so guarded, but it seemed like he didn’t really want to be. You related to that on a deep level.

“Mando?” You voiced the question that had popped into your head when Karga called him Mando the first time: “Isn’t Mandalorian spelled m-a-n-d-A-l-o-r-i-a-n?”

“...yes?” he confirmed tentatively, unsure of your point. His hand, which was in the process of feeding the child another bite, paused midair as he watched you. The kid made impatient whiny sounds and reached for his hand.

“So shouldn’t your nickname be Mand-a?”

He scoffed, making a sound somewhere between amusement and annoyance, and resumed feeding the child, who let out a contented coo as he chewed.

There was an awkward beat of silence while you waited for him to ask for your name. When he asked, you’d share your fake name, as always.

He didn’t ask.

***

Chapter 3

#my writing #tempered glass #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #mature #the mandalorian reader insert #din djarin reader insert

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morganas-pendragons · 3 years

Text

It’s A Long Way Down | D.D.

gif by @bestintheparsec

I was never planning on posting something on Tumblr during No Content November, but this idea has been stuck in my head since I saw Mando 2x03 and on top of that, people kept tweeting ideas on Twitter and now this thing is born... be gentle. I’ve been hesitant to write for him since I started the show last year. I played a little bit with what we know of Din’s past for the sake of this plot.

Without further ado, hurt/comfort galore! 2x03 spoilers!

Please let me know what you think!

tag: @earthtokace / @dindjarindiaries / @kyber-queen

***

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Drowning.” He replies, soft and quiet as he processes the last three days in the midst of the silence. “Almost drowning.. and thinking about how you’d cope when I was gone.”

If I was gone.

Maybe the world would be better off. That’s what Din thinks. That thought lingers for a split second in his mind until he sees the desperation in your aspect and how you need him to understand that this world is a better place with him in it.

The Watch didn’t allow him attachments. They didn’t allow him to feel. He was a warrior.

He was a warrior, and the entrance of you and The Child made his hardened heart soft.

Din has never liked the water.

When he’d been taken in by the Mandalorians and had sworn his Creed, the one thing they had drilled into his mind for his entire childhood was that he was a warrior. Warriors knew how to fight, how to survive, how to endure.

A Warrior who did not dare show his face. This was The Way, and the way kept him safe.

The one thing he could never quite master as a Foundling was enduring the water. To stop the way his lungs seized, how panic overtook him, how he just stopped.

Din didn’t like the water, and Din had never really learned how to breathe.

Then he’d met you. You - the one person he could admit to loving, to admiring from a distance because he has his Creed and you have some kind of Code you live by - and your devotion to both him and The Child has slowly eased the ache in his chest, cracked open his ribs, and taught him a different way of breathing.

Slow, steady, easy. He’s never known life to be that way.

***

There is no Light without the Dark.

Through passion, I gain focus.

You had run across Mando just after the end of the Empire. You’d seen that Death Star explode with your very own eyes and had declared that your final mission with The Rebellion, in which you bid a tearful farewell to Luke and Leia and made your way into the galaxy.

A vast galaxy.. alone.

You and Luke had very differing views on the Jedi Order as a whole and in that difference, you’d taken two different paths. You had followed the Code of the Grey Jedi, and Luke had taken to the Jedi Code.

That Code had carried you through alot of darkness.

Through knowledge, I gain power

Through serenity, I gain strength

The Clone War had introduced you to the concept of Mandalorians. You’d never really had the pleasure to meet one as you’d always been on different fronts a distance from the Dream Team, but you knew of them. You knew they carried a Creed the same way you did.

What you didn’t expect was the extent in which The Mandalorian did. The two of you had met in a cantina only days after he’d taken on The Child, and his claim for knowing where to find you on Sorgan was whispers of a rogue Jedi who’d left the Rebellion to seek peace.

Peace was what you found, contrary to popular belief. Compared to being a part of the Jedi Order, being with The Mandalorian was the most peaceful thing you’d done in over a decade.

Through victory, I gain harmony

You’d been raised around Yoda, so you were familiar with the species, but past that.. You were as clueless as Din was.

You stowed your lightsabers away and that part of your life with it. You left behind the title of Jedi and put all of your efforts into taking care of The Child. Into taking care of Din.

That was easier said then done.

There is only The Force.

***

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

That’s all he is thinking as he stands examining the vast waters of the ocean the two of you sail on with the Quarren crew. Your fingers are curled in the direction of The Child’s pram, and he’s giggling as he tries to maintain control of his body while you spin him.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile in weeks. It’s always small ones too. He looks forward to the first time he’s granted the opportunity to see a real smile.

It had taken you a while to open up to him about your time with the Jedi. You’d barely been a padawan when The Order’s genocide had been in effect, and the greater majority of your life had been lived in fear. Your Code and your Lightsaber were your only guide until Leia had found you and recruited you into The Rebellion.

All your life you’d been looking for a purpose, and she’d given you one.

Being here with The Child - caring for him, teaching him, had given you a new purpose - and being with The Mandalorian had taught you a newfound sense of compassion for people raised as he had been.

Your compassion and heart had won him out in the end. He’d admitted to being in love with you months ago, but he had yet to vocalize it. He would. He will.

It happens so fast. One minute the two of you are smiling - even though you cannot see his own - about The Child’s reaction to the Mamacore, and the next minute you’re roaring with rage as his pram is shoved into the center of the cage and he’s forced to retreat inside for fear of being killed.

He’s a child. A child who’s been too involved in death, in seeing death, in flirting with death.. and Din has had enough of it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like the water. He doesn’t like how it weighs him down, how it threatens to suffocate him, to fill his lungs with something cruel and cold that replaces the warm fire that floods his veins that has been placed there by you.

“You’re-You’re a Jedi?”

“Push him down! Harder!”

His world is illuminated in a flurry of blue light as the Quarren’s keep pushing him down under, down down down and his first thought is ner jeti.. i’m sorry. He’s sorry that he’s again put you in this position where you’ve had to reveal yourself, reveal who you are, and all to protect him and The Child.

Failure.

He’s a failure.

Between you and the trio of Mandalorians that arrive shortly after, the Quarren’s are dealt with in a matter of moments and then he’s being lifted - his lungs are reactivating, are expanding and contracting to remind him that he is alive - and he collapses in the midst of wheezing his concern for the child.

“The Child! Help-Help The Child!”

The Mandalorian on the left dives into the water to rescue The Child from the creature. You turn your attention away from the bodies and sheath your sabers before kneeling in front of Din to assess him.

“The Child-” He rasps, because his thoughts are never on himself, only you and The Child. His life doesn’t matter if it means the two of you are safe. “Jeti, ner ad-”

Jedi, my son.

Your gentle hand on his knee is enough to capture his thoughts. Your way of evaluating Din’s state has never been through the physical sense, but the mental. He doesn’t know how to shield because The Jedi was a foreign concept to him until he met you, and he’s always been receptive to your gentle nature. You don’t need to talk. You never have.

You look.

His mind is a flurry of panic and fear as you gently soothe it into a peace that makes his whole body go lax as Koska breaks the pram shell in half and gently scoops out the baby. “Here you go, Brother.” Koska murmurs, watching from beneath her helmet as you stand to your feet and allow Din to reunite with The Child he claims not to have an attachment to.

Yeah... okay.

Din and Bo-Katan converse - in which he is given an inexplicable truth about himself that he's not quite sure how to process - and he shuts down the idea of them even being real Mandalorians because their way is not his way. It’s a whole new reality he’s never had to face before.

“You are a Child of The Watch.”

And as you stand there, you take in the distress in which the man you love - and have yet to tell - is trying so desperately to hide.

***

His panic bursts through the surface when you unsheathe your sabers in the hall that connects and run right into the line of fire, deflecting blaster bolts left and right so Din can run right past you and blow the door to the bridge right open.

The fight about it comes later, long after the two of you have returned to The Crest for the coordinates to Coravus where Ahsoka Tano is supposedly located. She is a Jedi - or was, once - and might be the only connection you have left to the person you used to be despite how young you had been at the time.

Your first clue to his apparent agitation is the way he hasn’t unclenched his fists and has yet to look at you from where he sits in the cockpit. Your anger is growing steadily at his silence, which has never happened before.. not until you put your life into the line of fire.

“Say it.” Your voice echoes from behind the captain’s seat as you cross your arms over your chest. “Mando-please, stop giving me the kriffing silent treatment and just let me have it.”

“Ner jeti...” He stops short and stands to his feet, practically towering over you in a way that would intimidate most people. He has never once made you feel afraid... but he constantly makes you ache. With want, with pain, with desire. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt since before Order 66. “You cannot do that.”

“Do what?? Save your life? Mando, I’m-”

“Din.” Your rant is cut off halfway as he exhales lowly, a rumble through the modulator, and lifts a helmeted head to meet your gaze. “My name is Din Djarin. I thought it was time you know that.”

Your entire body freezes. You have been a partner, an ally, since the day he’d found you on recruited you to help return The Child to his kind. You have been careful in ensuring that it’s strictly a professional relationship, you never had anticipated this- The intimacy that comes with divulging such a secret as his real name.

“Din?” You rasp, eyes glassy with tears as the air is knocked from your lungs. It rolls off your tongue easily. The sound of his name, his real name, is beautiful. “Wow. It’s... beautiful.”

His response to your affirmation is like watching a galaxy of stars be born in front of your very eyes. He’s so receptive to it.. starved of it.

“I used to forget everything.” Din says. “The people who trained me.. they wanted me to be the best of our clan. There was so much we had to learn. Gun training, hand to hand, the significance of beskar and how important our Beskar’gam was to our safety. I was so good at it. I excelled.. but the one thing I could not shake? The water.

They trained me in the water, jeti. They trained me in the water, to become part of the water... all I could think about was how much it suffocated me. I’m af-” He stops himself short because admitting to a fear is not something he was taught to do, it was bottle it up and compartmentalize in order to get the mission finished. “Afraid of the water because I can’t fight it like I do with a bounty. I can just..”

“Succumb. Sink. Let go.” You murmur. “And that’s not something you know how to do.”

“Yeah.”

You’re oddly intrigued by the fact that this utterly fearless person, this man, was afraid. He’d always struck you as the opposite.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” You ask.

“Nearly drowning.” He replies. “And wondering how you and the ad would cope when I was gone. That’s why I need to tell you.” Din takes another step to close the gap that stands between you both. You’re practically trembling with anticipation. “Thinking about how...”

Din stops. You rest a hand against the exposed skin of his neck and tilt your head as his mind thrums - resonates with the truth of his affection for you - and your lips part in wonder as you realize what he’s trying to tell you.

“Me too.” You whisper. “For a while.. probably since the start. Din, you are a good man. You’ve always been a good man, and I think it’s time that someone puts your needs before themselves instead of the other way around. Please.” Din is slightly taken aback at the pleading tone of your voice as you meet his gaze. “Please let someone take care of you.”

That’s all you can muster before he’s collapsing at your feet.

‘’Take it off.” He begs.

“No, no- Your Creed-”

“Sarad, I want to learn how to breathe again.” He interjects. “This is how I do that. It’s just a faster way of being able to be married to you for the rest of my life.” The man you love is kneeling at your feet and totally willing to abandon part of his livelihood because of you. “There’s nothing I’d want more. Go ahead. Take it off. Please.”

Part of you had always been okay with the anonymity, but as this choice lays just within your fingertips, you find yourself desperate to look upon the face of the man who’d destroy entire galaxies for you and his son.

The Beskar’gam hisses as you remove his helmet and find yourself staring into vulnerable onyx eyes that are wide enough to envelop whole star systems in their splendor.

“Din Djarin.” You whisper, smiling tearfully as trembling hands lift to cup a stubbled jaw. “What a beautiful face to put with an equally beautiful name.”

He exhales his breath on a shuddered sigh and leans into your touch as you begin mapping his face with your fingertips. Din doesn’t dare move, too drunk on the feeling of touch ghosting across his skin in a intimate way that he’s not experienced since his parents left him in that cellar. His face grows warm at how needy he must seem, but you don’t seem bothered by it.

In fact, the way his skin blooms red under your kiss makes your heart swell and your smile widen at the reaction it elicits.

“You know Din, if you wanted me to kiss you.. all you had to do was ask.” You muse. You can read his mind and his body in the same way you read the feel of your lightsaber and the air of a room of hostiles. “Now I don’t know about you, but The Child is asleep and I find myself tired after having to deal with Bo-Katan all day.. can we go to bed?”

“Yes.” He nods once, then twice, allowing you to take his gloves off and lead him in the direction of the tiny cot that somehow manages to house you both. The Beskar’gam comes off one piece at a time until Din is now standing in his usual underclothes which you have not been able to grace yourself with the image of until now as he lays each piece on the floor.

You’re laying flat on your back when he’s finished, arms extended towards the ceiling as you beckon him forward. Din realizes that as he stares at your willingness to be there for him in his most vulnerable moment that he may sleep tonight with no night terrors.

No thoughts of drowning.

“Din Djarin, cyare..” You coo, beaming as he crawls into the bed and allows himself to curl into your body and rest his head on your chest. “I think you should hear it now.” Gentle fingers card through dark curls as he focuses on his breathing - in and out in and out - and listens to the sound of your voice to lull himself to sleep. “I love you.”

He hums thoughtfully and burrows himself deeper into your neck, smiling against the curve of your neck as you lightly graze his temple with your lips. Before Din can properly fall asleep, he rolls himself on top of you and settles himself comfortably against your body. It’s not too heavy, just enough to envelop you in the warmth he radiates.

He’s safe.

You wrap your arms and legs around his form and nuzzle his temple.

Darkness falls upon both of you as Din whispers, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” before promptly falling asleep in your capable hands. He’s safe.

Tonight.. he’s not drowning.

Tonight, he breathes.

#Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars imagines #star wars oneshots

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

Text

dream clouds, ghost ground (real friends, dead hometown)

an accidental jangobi au

( and also @batsutousai and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover but it won’t let me tag you :(

i uhhhhhh plotted this from my prompt roster without rereading the actual ask, so this is completely out of timeline for the anon’s prompt? and i didn’t realise until i was halfway through?? so here’s this??? i already have ideas for a sequel???? (and it’s 3157 words gl)

some context: there’s no age-out, but obi-wan is still sent to the agricorp and stays there. yarael poof inspects the facility 7 years later, and obi has visions of korda 6/galidraan and finagles themself onto the rescue mission of the true mandalorians. cue chaotic, still-has-the-impulsivity-that-got-them-kicked-out obi-wan. who is also nb just for funsies.

title from start//end by eden

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not as Yarael had expected, but then, he had never met them while they lived in the Temple.

The young Jedi breaks away from their group of friends on the other side of Bandomeer’s main greenhouse as soon as they catch sight of Yarael, the other novitiates trying and failing to hold Obi-Wan back from running through the dark green garden beds right up to him. They don’t seem to care that they’ve interrupted Master Fodvam’s tour of the facility, and ignores her to glare at Yarael with a fire in their eyes that he vaguely remembers as being the cause for their failing the initiate program. Stocky and toned with dark freckles on every bit of exposed skin from working the desert Enrichment Zones, Obi-Wan glares up at Yarael with a set to their lips so very like Master Yoda (and Qui-Gon Jinn, for that matter) that Yarael raises a placating hand to the Kubaz master at his side and smiles back down at Obi-Wan.

At first flush, he might have thought Obi-Wan approached him to beg to be allowed to return to the Temple and become a knight —it would not be the first time an old initiate had done so, though they usually attempted such an action much sooner after their reassignment— but instead, Obi-Wan wastes no time in demanding, “You have to go Korda 6, the lives of thousands depend on it.”

“And why is that, young one?” Yarael returns calmly, though Obi-Wan must be pushing seventeen standard; everyone is young to him these days.

Master Fodvam sighs, reaching out to put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, but they shake her off. “Obi-Wan,” she admonishes softly, for all the good that does.

“There’s going to be a genocide,” Obi-Wan insists over the sound of their friends trying to call them back across the greenhouse, “Death Watch is going to kill the Mand’alor and slaughter the True Mandalorians, and no one here will listen to me.”

Curious about their absolute certainty, Yarael gently pushes against their mind, but has to jerk away when the Jedi shoves him right back out, Yarael’s second brain fizzling like it had been shocked by a bad power coupling. Perhaps Master Yoda had been too hasty in handing this one over to the Council of Reassignment, when even though Yarael can sense their fear and hurt, their lingering doubt in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan has not a single crack in their shields. Not a single doubt in themselves.

Master Fodvam shakes her head, but it appears more out of a helplessness than disappointment. “Master Poof,” she says, “Novitiate Kenobi has spoken of this premonition for the last standard tenday, and I’m afraid none of the masters here are versed in the Unifying Force.”

“At all,” they stress.

Interesting indeed, that Master Yoda would nominate Obi-Wan for the Agricorp over the other branches, then, for surely they would have shown precognition as a crècheling. “Novitiate Kenobi, you clearly have complete faith in such a vision.” Yarael doesn’t try to enter their mind again, but does open his senses between them, benignly inviting Obi-Wan into his own instead. “Show me.”

Obi-Wan is bewildered for all of a moment, eyebrows pinched, but then they blink in understanding and snap their eyes closed. A flurry of images is all but shoved into Yarael’s lower brain, a confusing mash of forests and armor and blasterfire, but, yes, there is Vizsla, and there is Mereel, and there is a Mandalorian in blue armor leaving Mereel to die on the battlefield.

“How are you sure this is Korda 6?” Yarael asks, opening his eyes to Obi-Wan’s mentally-drained expression, tanned skin sallow under the freckles.

“I’ve heard some of the mission report,” they say, and let Master Fodvam gently support them where they had pushed her away before; Yarael will certainly have to teach Obi-Wan to strengthen their mental stamina. “Every night for the last tenday I’ve seen this battle, I’ve seen ten different ways it could go, and all of them end with the True Mandalorians’ slaughter, unless we do something.”

The Quermian looks Obi-Wan up and down once more, reaching as far into the Force as he can manage, and he doesn’t have a lifetime seat on the High Council for nothing.

“Then we’ve not a moment to lose, do we?”

If Obi-Wan is surprised Yarael insists on taking them to his ship to join him for his update to the Council, they don’t show it, and don’t appear nervous at all as the holocall connects. In fact, they stand off to the side with their arms behind their back and a serene expression on their face, right until Master Rancisis admits a contingent of Jedi had just left to help a planet deal with a violent insurgence of Mandalorian commandos, led by Jango Fett.

And then Obi-Wan only blinks before turning his gaze up to Yarael. “Then we are too late for Korda 6. We must make for Galidraan.”

The holo of Master Rancisis flickers as he winds and unwinds his appendages until he finally says, “We did not tell you the planet’s name.”

On Rancisis’ left, Master Yoda taps his cane against the floor. “Clear it is, that truth in Novitiate Kenobi’s visions there is. To what extent, we do not know, but great pain I sense if act quickly we do not.”

After meeting each of the other coucilmember’s eyes, Master Rancisis leans forward in his seat and points one undulating finger at Obi-Wan. ”You will go with Master Poof to Galidraan, Novitiate Kenobi; if you leave now, you may make it in time to prevent the Jedi from having a hand in this massacre.”

Obi-Wan checks with Yarael first, their deference almost endearing as they look up at him for confirmation; Yarael cannot help a small smile, and if the Council has not guessed his intentions by now, then they are as blind as a naked womp-rat. “Well, Novitiate Kenobi?” he prompts, “Are you prepared to see this through properly?”

Obi-Wan drops their shoulders to raise their chin instead. “To be truthful, Master Poof, I would have been disappointed to be left behind.”

Obi-Wan is already at the hatch of Master Poof’s cruiser when they finally land as close to the coordinates the Council had given them as they dare, and Obi-Wan sorely wishes they had asked Master Fodvam for a blaster before leaving Bandomeer. Nothing can be done for that now, and there is the more pressing matter that Master Poof had been unable to contact the Jedi already planetside, but perhaps they shouldn’t have expected the Force to make it easy on them.

As soon as the cruiser is settled, Obi-Wan elbows the control panel for the landing hatch and drops right down into the snow; they’re not quite dressed for this weather, not coming straight from the desert Enrichment Zone, but they can hardly feel the cold over the cloying, suffocating fear that saturates the air until even the trees tremble with it. And they might be stronger in the Unifying Force than anyone else in the Agricorp, but Obi-Wan hasn’t been wrist-deep in soil for seven years to come out of it without feeling the Living Force just as strongly.

Run, the trees tell them, and they do, pushing themself up onto more compact snow and taking off for the True Mandalorian camp. Master Poof calls after them, but they don’t slow until they reach the top of the nearest ridge, a sheer drop on the other side right into the camp, and Obi-Wan is forced to look out over their worst vision come to life.

The Mandalorians stand as one facing the opening to the ravine on Obi-Wan’s right, where the Jedi spread out among the tents as Master Dooku reads them a list of false wrongs, and Obi-Wan knows the Mandalorians will not surrender. Mand’alor Mereel’s son stands before Dooku in newly-painted blue and red armor, raising his blaster as Dooku ignites his ’saber, and Master Poof halts abruptly at Obi-Wan’s side and lifts a four-fingered hand, but he won’t be able to Force-suggest anyone in beskar, and—

And he has a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

Obi-Wan had not failed their Jedi training, they were bright and talented and wanted absolutely nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight, but their temper had seen Bruck to the Halls of Healing, and their impulsivity had seen them to the Agricorp despite the potential they had shown in their seven years in the crèche.

Their temper, they have control over that now, Obi-Wan is rarely even angry these days, but their impulsivity has been the, ah... cause for many of the Bandomeer masters’ grey hairs, so to speak.

So Obi-Wan does not think before grabbing Master Poof’s ’saber, barely able to even lift the hilt almost as long as their arm, and leaps from the crumbling snowbank with as much Force behind their feet as they can muster. Sound snaps to silence in their ears, vision narrowing on the scant yard between Jango Fett and his death, as Obi-Wan yanks the Living Force around themself and hauls it up right from the ground, grabs it by the roots of the nearest tree until it sings.

By a miracle of the Force, Obi-Wan lands perfectly between the new Mand’alor and the Jedi, igniting Master Poof’s unusually-yellow lightsaber just in time to deflect Jango’s first blaster bolt right into the ground — the ground that shakes and splits, exploding snow into the air to make way for the evergreen roots that surge through the cracks and grab Dooku’s entire arm, sending his ’saber flying.

Obi-Wan inhales once, twice, before allowing their other senses to flood back to them, and the Force sees fit to immediately make them aware of Master Poof stumbling down the bank after them with his upper hands raised in surrender.

“Peace, Jedi!” he shouts, successfully pulling the gaze of everyone in the ravine away from Dooku’s limb held aloft by mud-slick roots and to himself instead. “We have been misled,” he presses on, almost seeming to glide over the packed snow to stand at Obi-Wan’s back and place a palm between their shoulders, “These Mandalorians know nothing of what you speak, Master Dooku, we are both being played by the Governor of Galidraan.”

Jango Fett growls over his external comms, close enough to make Obi-Wan shiver. “What the kriffing fuck is going on?” he snaps, not bothering to drop his blaster as Obi-Wan glances at him and can just see the shadow of his eyes behind his visor.

“Death Watch had the governor call the Jedi here under false pretences, your grace,” Obi-Wan says, and doesn’t know what to make of the way the Mand’alor twitches at their voice. They can feel their shoulder weakening from hefting such a massive hilt, unwieldy even gripped at the balance point, but Obi-Wan refuses to let their arm shake, not with both sides holding them under such scrutiny; Maker, maybe they should have changed into Jedi robes instead of their dark tunics and kama? It gives them a silhouette neither wholly Mandalorian nor wholly Jedi, and certainly only adds to the confusion.

Nothing to be done about it now.

“The governor lied to the Mandalorians about their targets, to perfectly set them up for a Jedi arbitration,” Master Poof explains. “And of course knew that the Mandalorians would never surrender to the Jedi.” He looks slowly around at both parties, letting his words sink in until the Jedi are shutting their lightsabers off in disgust.

The Mandalorians don’t put away their blasters, obviously, but they do lower them enough to be an act of good faith; only when Jango lowers his own does Obi-Wan power down Master Poof’s ’saber, and is all too happy to hand the weighty thing back to him with a shallow bow.

Master Poof smiles in amusement, clipping the hilt back in its rightful place on his belt, before calmly nodding to Dooku. “Novitiate, you may release Master Dooku now.”

Startled, Obi-Wan immediately calls on the Living Force to pull the roots away from the man and coax them back into the ground, hoping they hadn’t damaged anything enough for the evergreen just up the ridge to suffer.

Dooku massages his red wrist and eyes Obi-Wan carefully, the clouds of breath before his lips casting strange shadows over his face in the dying sunlight. “I was not aware the Agricorp was still teaching Consitor Sato to its novitiates. Nor so... successfully.”

“... Master Fodvam would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to the High Council.”

“I am on the Council, Novitiate Kenobi,” Master Poof chortles, but turns back to the Mandalorians still effusing bewilderment before the new Mand’alor can decide they really are all better off dead. “Mand’alor Fett, I presume?”

Jango shifts subtly, still close enough for Obi-Wan to watch his eyes dart to the Quermian. “For all of a week, jetii; how you are aware of this already does nothing to convince me to trust you. Any of you.”

Master Poof just smiles serenely. “There is little one cannot gather from the Force upon first meeting, your grace. However, you are correct, and I would not be aware of Jaster Mereel's death if my companion had not told me of it.”

Jango doesn't get the chance to ask him to clarify just what that means, the girl padawan at Dooku's side cutting in rudely,

“And Master Poof, just who is your companion?” as if she can’t tell from Obi-Wan’s attire that they were a Jedi Knight washout.

So maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have complete mastery of their temper just yet, but they don’t get to snarl back before Master Poof answers cheerfully, "They are my new apprentice!"

Oh.

“Master Poof...?”

“I cannot very well leave a novitiate so strong in the Unifying Force untrained, can I?” Master Poof shakes his head. "As the matter stands, our duty to Galidraan is not yet complete: the governor has pulled both the Jedi and the Senate into his personal affairs, and has allied with a known terrorist group. Master Dooku, might I suggest we make to arrest the actual perpetrator of these crimes?”

“Vizsla will be there,” Jango interrupts. “And he must know his plan has failed by now, you'll be walking right into a trap.”

Obi-Wan raises a brow. “A trap meant for you, your grace. When we engage Governor Martinet, it would be unwise for the True Mandalorians to still be on planet.”

“Why do you keep calling us that?" he snaps, the blue-armoured Mandalorian at his side grabbing his shoulder to hold him back from... striking Obi-Wan? From removing his helmet? Obi-Wan isn't sure.

They are sure that, if the Jedi succeed in apprehending Vizsla, the New Mandalorians will make themselves known much earlier. “One day, soon, you will need to make the distinction between yourselves, and those that will use ‘Mandalorian’ as a ploy for cultural reform, as claim to an identity that is not theirs,” Obi-Wan says, finding Jango’s eyes behind his visor once more. “The Children of the Watch will choose ‘True’ as that distinction of your people in retrospect, some fifty years from now.”

The Mandalorian holding Jango’s shoulder tenses. “Are you some sort of prophet, kih’jetii?”

“Hardly,” they smile, because the Force promises to back off a little after this mess is all said and done, whenever that may be. “But the Force decided I was the most likely candidate to make it here in time to stop a genocide, though I’m not sure if it knew how much information I actually needed. Irregardless, everything from today is now changed from any visions I had seen of it, I’m no more a prophet than you are.”

Jango twitches again strangely, and his companion tightens their grip on their blaster.

“Novitiate Kenobi is right,” Poof interjects gently. “You should take your people to regroup and recover, your grace, you will be of no use to the galaxy dead.”

“Wait,” Jango grits through clenched teeth. “It would... be unfair for us not to aid you in this, not when this was our disaster, too.”

“There is no need for that,” Dooku says regally, Force-calling his ’saber back to his hand. “This has become a Senate matter, and to involve yourselves further would be an unnecessary risk.”

“So you... want us to just leave?”

Dooku raises a single eyebrow, expression blank otherwise, but Obi-Wan still shudders at the dark anger in the man, the rage that had hit its boiling point upon first meeting Jango and believing he had slaughtered almost two hundred innocent activists. The Force warns Obi-Wan about that darkness, the way Dooku has not yet released it; it also gives them hope, though, that the master can be pulled back into the light, with a little persuasion and lots of tea.

The conversation has moved on without them when Obi-Wan tries to focus back on the crisis at hand, Jango’s commandos already starting to pack up the camp while Dooku and Master Poof quietly discuss the Jedi’s next moves. Neither seem to have realised Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention, which is just fine by them: Master Fodvam is already at wit’s end trying to keep them focused on anything but plants, somedays.

A heavy gaze pulls their own to look up, across the camp to where Jango oversees his people’s retreat, but Obi-Wan knows the Mand’alor’s attention is on them alone. Obi-Wan gazes right back, refusing to the first to look away, and is somehow thrilled rather than disappointed when Jango does just that.

He does not say goodbye, but that’s alright, Obi-Wan knows they’ll be meeting again soon.

Following a stomping Jango up into Jaster’s old ship, Myles won’t stop laughing at him.

“‘The one who will speak of the truth,’” he quotes gleefully, just as jovial in his punching of Jango’s sides as he attempts to unbuckle his helmet, and he doesn’t back down even when his Mand’alor growls at him. “Kriff, who knew that witch would end up being so literal?”

“I told you I don’t believe in that osik,” Jango snaps, trying to shove his best friend off of him. “I don't believe in that old hag's ‘prophecy’ any more than I believe in Jedi competence.”

“Ah ah, Jang’alor, you shouldn’t speak of your ba’buir like that, what would Jaster say?”

Jango finally gets his helmet off and yanks his hood down so he can get right in Myles’ face to snarl, “That adiik is not the future of Mandalore, kriff whatever the fuck Jaster’s buir says! One dream and one crazy old enby witch spouting oracle nonsense does not make Obi-Wan Kenobi my destiny.”

Jango doesn’t need to see Myles’ face to know it lights up in victory. “Nobody said their full name, Jang’alor.”

“Finish that thought and I’ll throw you out the airlock.”

Mando’a:

Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore.

jetii — “Jedi” sing, pl. jetiise

kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, highly offensive

osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit

ba'buir/e — “grandparent/s”, gender neutral

adiik — a child aged from 3 to 13, used here as an insult

Cansitor Sato — Traditional High Galactic for “Plant Surge”, a Living Force-related technique of controlling plants (usually vines) to ensnare or slow an enemy; in legends, this was taught to Agricorp members as well, headcanoned here to be usually only taught to master/older members.

Novitiate — personal headcanon for the form of address for non-master members of the Jedi Corps.

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

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Aliit ori'shya tal'din - Rogue, Chapter 11| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Following on from the argument and the hot and heavy moment on Nevarro, you and Mando return to the ship, where you manage to have a conversation without ripping each others throats out.

Warnings: 18+ because there are mentions of sex but nothing overly explicit or directly happening, weapons, swearing, Fllllluuuuffffyy times~

AN: Short and sweet for this chapter as the next one will be longer and have a lot more detail – things are really gonna start kicking off from here. Drama, powers, feels, it’ll aaallll be going on.

Also, the next chapter might be uploaded a little later, as I’m waiting on a replacement charger for my laptop and Apple are taking forever.

Word count: 4k+

Rogue Taglist:

@snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ((my gif this time around))♥︎

Mando’a Translation: Aliit ori'shya tal'din – family is more than blood

He knew he had her from the moment she saw the sword.

Curiosity had bloomed in her eyes, fighting with the wariness and in the end – winning.

If he was honest, he hadn’t planned on telling her he knew about her powers yet.

But she had been as hesitant and defensive as he expected, and the moment seemed to fit.

Why else did he put the sword across the table?

They said she had no recollection of the powers – or rather blocked them out entirely. And again, they had been wrong.

The symbols had called to her and she had recognised that pull, she just didn’t know why.

And he was more than happy to aid her on her journey.

The Mandalorian showing up did somewhat complicate things. He was a key player that would ultimately determine the path she chose. And if she was as headstrong and stubborn as he believed her to be, there was only so much he could do to edge her along and keep the Mandalorian from messing up his plans.

But, she had instantly fired up, even going as far as to defend him to the shiny bodyguard.

That’s why he sought the Marshal out afterwards, to ask Cara to pass along his comms code.

If she didn’t use it straight away, that was more than fine. He would wait. And so would Gideon.

All she needed was a little time, to process what he had told her.

And then, when it had cleared through her mind, maybe when she realised she would never be able to tell the Mandalorian the truth… then she would come back to him, seeking out the help he had promised.

And then he would have her…

Forever.

~~~~~

“So, how long?”

The Mandalorian looked at Cara as she sat back down at her desk, “How long what?” The frown of confusion he wore was evident in his voice.

Cara raised an eyebrow at him, as she leant back in her chair, “How long are you two going to keep dancing around each other?”

Mando scoffed, turning away and wandering across the room, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We are not dancing around each other.”

Cara laughed from behind him, “No? So that whole… whatever that was out there, that was nothing? If I hadn’t shown up, you’d probably still be going at it against a torn down building.”

Heat prickled along his skin, reminding him of the tightness of his trousers that hadn’t long since loosened. If he closed his eyes, he was back against that building with you, his hand over your mouth, to stop the utter filth you were spitting out at him. He’d wanted to deny it, but as always, you were right.

Of course, he was terrified for your life but… He had been jealous. Completely jealous.

And… maybe a small part of him did believe that Haran and you had… done those things.

The images your words created in his mind were so vivid, so crystal clear that he was nearly on his knees before you.

Only stubborn pride had kept him upright – pride and the urge to get you back, to see if you felt even an ounce of the same need that plagued him, that patrolled his sleeping and his waking hours.

Part of him was terrified you were all talk, all vicious teasing but then he’d pressed into you and you’d made that soft, earth-shatteringly beautiful moan, and he thought he might explode.

He saw it in the way your eyes clouded over and rolled back into your head.

Maybe you did want him just as much, maybe that tension between you was as electric and hypnotic as he thought.

If only you hadn’t been interrupted… What would have happened?

Would you have done anything?

Would he have taken off his gloves and felt your skin again but this time, facing you so he could see just what his touch did.

Maybe you would have shredded each other’s clothes off, and he would have lifted you up, wrapped your legs around his waist and sunk into you, like you had spoken about.

Would the heat of you have felt like home? Just like he imagined in his darkest, guiltiest dreams?

You would have ravaged each other against that wall, until you were clawing at his back and he was gripping you tightly as the galaxy crumbled around you, until you were the only two left. The beginning and the end of everything, joined together in both body and soul-

Ping!

Something bouncing off his helmet brought him out of his lusting thoughts, along with Cara’s amused voice. “Anyone in there? Do you want me to leave so you can continue with your little daydreams?”

Mando cleared his throat, turning back to Cara and he shook his head, even if his voice did come out a little husky, “There’s nothing between us, really. We drive each other insane half the time. She never listens to me. And she’s reckless.”

Cara crossed her arms, kicking her feet up onto her desk, “So are you.”

The Mandalorian rested a hand on his waist, “She runs headlong into danger before. Can even take one step and doesn’t think about the consequences, or the risk to her own life.”

Cara raised both eyebrows this time, looking pointedly at Grogu and then back at him, “Do carry on.”

He made a noise, “Look, I still don’t even know why she has such a high bounty on her head. I’ve never asked her, and she hasn’t ever brought it up.”

Cara examined her gloves, “Does it matter? Surely, if it did, you would have found out by now. You wouldn’t have let that one go so easily.”

She had him there.

“I… No. It doesn’t matter. Of course it doesn’t. If she doesn’t want to tell me then that’s understandable. And I wouldn’t force it out of her. She’s… She has a dark past. It troubles her… There were times when I would her hear her awake and screaming on the ship but…” He trailed off, thinking.

Cara looked up and tilted her head, “But what?”

The Mandalorian leant against the wall, “Despite all of that, the fear and the nightmares… it doesn’t consume her. She still blazes through life and see’s the good in everything. Even if its hard, she still tries. We were talking about our favourite planets once… she was telling me about Hoth being one of hers.”

Cara looked surprised and amused, “Hoth? Really?” She shook her head, something affectionate about the gesture, “Why does that not surprise me.”

Mando couldn’t help the soft laugh, “I know.. but she was describing the snow and the ice in a way I’ve never heard before and… I just thought… She just looks at the world so differently. She wants to absorb it all, every little thing, Whether it’s this new fruit in a market or flying a certain way past a cluster of stars…” He looked off into the corner, staring absently through the visor. “There’s a word for it in Mando’a… Shereshoy. It means a lust for life. I thought that about her for a while now…”

“Would you take off your helmet for her?”

Mando snapped his head back to look at her, his body going rigid with shock, “What?”

Cara was watching him with an unreadable expression, “Would you take off your helmet?” Her voice was soft as she repeated the question, as if she knew what his response would be.

He blinked at her, even though she couldn’t see it, “What kind of question is that? You know I can’t take this off, not for anyone. Mandalorian’s only take their helmets off after saying their vows to each other. You don’t just.. I can’t-“ He was flushed, his heart pounding uncomfortably even at the mere mention of removing his helmet.

Cara shook her head slightly, “I don’t mean like that… But…” She seemed to be phrasing her words carefully, “If.. there were things you wanted to do.. there are ways round the Creed… no?”

He said nothing.

Again, she had hit it right on the head without even trying. The words she was saying were ridiculous but…

He had already thought about it.

In those quiet moments, where he granted himself a reprieve and let the thoughts wash over him, he had stared into the darkness and worked all the ways in which he could remove his helmet without breaking the Creed.

You couldn’t see his true face… which was more than easy enough to work around.

A blindfold, the lights off in the ship so it was pitch black, your back to his chest…

All he would need to do is trust you. Trust that you wouldn’t turn around or reach for the lights.

Did he trust you?

The answer to that question had plagued him as much as the dreams.

Of course he trusted you. He left his life in your hands back in that alleyway.

But that was before. Before this… tension between you.

And now he was certain he could trust you, to an extent but… to give over a part of himself, even if it wasn’t fully him…

That opened him up to a lot of things.

A lot of danger and a level of vulnerability he had never shared with anyone.

Cara sat up slowly, perhaps somehow reading everything going on in his head, “Maybe you should think about how you feel about her. What she means to you…. And what your answer to that question might be.” She rose from her chair, looking at him with that same unreadable expression, “Don’t let it slip past, Mando… Don’t let her slip past.”

~~~

You spent the next couple days in Nevarro, before bidding farewell to Greef and Cara.

You promised to come back soon and that you’d all take care of yourselves.

As you had walked up the ramp, you’d noticed Cara give Mando a certain look and mutter something to him, something you couldn’t hear or place.

Upon seeing you eyeing her suspicious, she simply gave you an innocent smile and waved.

You had a pretty good idea what it was about, and you didn’t – couldn’t – unpack that right now. So, you mentally tucked it away in that same box that the moment with Mando resided in and hurried up the ramp.

That was a couple hours ago, and you spent that time mooching about the ship, avoiding the cockpit. You weren’t sure that a confined space was necessarily the best place to be after earlier.

Especially since Mando had sought you out before you took off, informing you that you could have his sleeping quarters back if you’d like them. You had tried to refuse, but he’d simply taken your bag, placed it on the cot, and left.

So that was another room to avoid, full of the scent of him – and the knowledge that he had laid in here and… thought about you at night?

Unfortunately, you could avoid it no longer.

Walking to the ladder, you told yourself to grow up. It was just a bit of sexual tension from an argument. That’s all. It’s nothing different to what hung around you both all the time.

Besides… you’d missed him and Grogu.

There was little noise in the cockpit as you ascended the ladder. There was the usual soft beeping of the instruments, the dim whir of the engines and Grogu’s occasional coo.

The familiar expanse of stars swept past lazily beyond the glass, a sight that you had been missing for weeks.

The sight bought a smile to your lips as you walked across and took your usual seat, scooping Grogu into your lap.

The seat creaked reassuringly under you as you settled, and you realised that these were all little things that had come to mean comfort to you.

A chuckle escaped your lips when you saw Duru asleep on the panel in front of the Mandalorian, her tail swooping down over the buttons and occasionally getting his way.

She was definitely the same as you – made her spot and stood her ground, no matter if it got in anyone’s way. She was comfy, and that was that.

Mando startled just slightly at your chuckle, not turning round but you almost felt his attention rest on you, “Hey, settled back in?”

Stars, you had missed that too. The soft, easy rasp of his voice in the gentle quietness. It danced along your bones, soothing them and any anxiety you had about the mood between the pair of you. “Yeah, I am, thanks… It’ll be like I was never gone soon.”

It was the Mandalorian’s turn to chuckle this time, “Oh believe me, I knew about it. Not just from how silent it was, but from the little womp rat’s temper tantrum for the entire afternoon after we dropped you off.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking down at the happy green bundle on your lap, “Really? He threw a tantrum?”

Mando nodded, flicking a few switches, “Yep. He kept throwing things at me for hours. I put him in his crib, but he kept crawling out of it. He was really sulking. He missed you.”

Something rose in your chest, warmth and joy, maybe. You hadn’t quite grasped how much you meant to the little creature, “Well, I missed him too. I kept looking around for him, to see if he was getting into trouble and eating frogs again.”

Grogu tilted his head backwards to look at you, innocence radiating from his glossy black eyes and he lifted his cheeks into a matching smile that had your heart melting.

You grinned, tilting your head down and you pressed a kiss to his wrinkly forehead, between his eyes, “I’m here now, you tiny troublemaker.”

He gurgled softly, holding your thumb in his three miniature fingers.

The Mandalorian had turned to watch you, and he was silent for a few moments before saying even softer, “I missed you as well...” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, “A lot, actually.”

You lifted your eyes to him, unaware that betrayed just how much those words meant to you, the way they made your heart melt and a wave of delight sweep through your belly.

You felt a different kind of smile curl your lips, gentler and almost shy, “I missed you too… It was too quiet at night. No screaming or tantrums, no running up and down the ship after escaping their bed and having to be sung back to sleep...” You blinked, “Oh, and I missed Grogu too.” You laughed, leaning back in your chair and hugging Grogu closer.

Mando shook his head, even if his breathing did turn a little funny at the way your eyes crinkled a little at the edges when you laughed, and joy burst in your eyes in such a way that was far more breath-taking than the stars that surrounded you. “Like we discussed before, I’m not the one who’s noisy in the middle of the night.” He remained looking at you, his head slightly tilted, and he sighed softly.

Without realising, you mimicked his head tilt, an action that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cara back on Nevarro, “What is it?”

He looked away and fiddled with the edge of his vambrace, the nervous gesture you had noticed when you first met. He seemed be toying with the words in his mind and for some reason, it made you a little nervous.

You swallowed, a smile still on your lips and humour still in your voice though, “Credit for your thoughts?”

It was still a few more seconds before he spoke again, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it through the helmet. “I shouldn’t have sent you away.”

You blinked. There was no way you heard that correctly. “What?”

He lifted his head to look at you, “I said, I shouldn’t have sent you away.” There was no mistaking it, his voice was stronger this time and full of conviction.

Well, shit. What do you say to that?

You gazed back at him, words fumbling through your mind but none of them seeming right – or rather, none of them words you should say. So, instead, you opted for sarcasm and humour.

A look of mock shock stretched your features and you gasped, “By the stars.” You looked down at Grogu with wide eyes, “Did you hear that?”

Grogu cooed in similar astonishment, his ears pricking up.

You nodded quickly, “I know! He just admitted he was wrong! I’m as shocked about it as you are.”

Mando sighed again softly, but it wasn’t his usual playful exasperated sigh, “I’m being serious.”

The laughter died in your throat, and you carefully lifted your gaze back to him. You bit your lip for a moment, just reading the emotion in his posture, “I know… But… like you said, it wasn’t safe for me here. You did the right thing.”

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head and he leaned closer to you, “No, please don’t. Please don’t repeat my words back to me. It was a mistake. I… I was running from my own problems.” His hand twitched, like he was going to reach for yours but then he hesitated.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, this conversation one of those deep ones that the pair of you only seemed to have after a near death experience, or whilst you were at each other’s throats. You let go of Grogu, letting your hand rest on the edge of the armrest, a silent encouragement, a plea. “What do you mean…?”

The Mandalorian took a soft breath, reaching out and he slid his hand under yours, enclosing his fingers around your own. “I thought I could keep you safer, if you weren’t with me. The price on mine and the kids head was as much a siren call for hunters as yours was.” He shook his head, “No, that sounds like I’m blaming you.” He blew out a breath, pausing to reassemble his words, “On your own, you might stand a better chance of hiding. I mean, look how well you did before I came along. It took me a month to find you. You were a ghost.” Something like pride lined his voice. “Throw me and the kid into the mix, and we were broadcasting you to the entire galaxy.”

You said nothing, holding your tongue for once. This was the most you’d ever heard him speak, topping the other day. This was… big. He was building up to something.

He began to gently massage your palm, almost an absent motion like he didn’t realise he was doing it, “That night in the kitchen…”

The delicious pressure of his hands and the friction of the leather simultaneously soothed you, even as your blood heated at the mere mention of that night.

“That night in the kitchen, I began to realise. How much… I had come to value you being here. And not just because you help with the kid but the other things. When we go on hunts, you watch my back. You see things that I miss. It feels.. not fun but… something more, with you. I don’t often have anyone to watch my back. A partner, someone to rely on. And that terrified me. That I had come to look forward to our evenings, the drag of being in hyperspace. Both of us liked having you here… I liked to have you here, princess. You’re the first true friend I’ve had in years. The others are my friends of course but… with you, it’s different.” He didn’t lift his head, focused on your hand but you had the feeling he wanted to.

“It terrified me because caring about something, about having a friend like that… it means it’ll get hurt. Or taken away. And I couldn’t beat the idea that I signed your death warrant. Not because of the guilt, but because you have such a joy, such a way of viewing the world that it would be devasting for that to be ripped away. So, I thought sending you to Nevarro, putting you under the protection of Greef and Cara… I thought it would make you safer. I thought… that I could handle it.” His hands stilled momentarily, before tracing over your knuckles. “And I couldn’t.”

He seemed to be finished for the moment, so you jumped in softly, “I couldn’t stand it either. I haven’t slept properly since the last time I was here. Everything is too quiet. The bed was too soft… I missed looking out of the window and seeing the stars go past, or hearing you talk to Grogu.” You watched him trace down your fingers, “I was scared too. And I still am. Every single friend or companion I’ve had ends up being murdered. And it’s my fault.” There was no anguish in your voice this time. It was fact, after all. “And I still wake up screaming, seeing you and the kid on the floor and your blood on my hands. I taste it. “ You took a slow breath, “But… I want to stay. I want to stay here with you both, and we can hunt down whoever is after all of us.”

Mando chuckled a little at something, merely a huff of breath, “You always know exactly what I’m thinking.” He straightened, gently letting go of your hand to rummage behind him for something. “Here…” He held out his hand, something resting in his palm.

Heart in your mouth, you looked down at his hand.

And nearly stopped breathing.

Nestled against the leather, lay a necklace. A small charm, attached to a thin leather cord. But the charm itself…

It was the sigil of Mythosaur, gleaming softly in dull metal.

Your breath was still caught in your throat, and your fingers trembled as you carefully reached out lifting the charm, “Lori…”

He watched you intently, drawing his hand back to his body. “It’s a Mythosaur… They are said to have run wild over the lands of Mandalore long ago… I was given one myself when I was a foundling..”

Grogu made a soft noise from your lap, and he clumsily tugged something from his tunic. It was a matching necklace, and you surmised that this was the one the Mandalorian had received.

You were at a loss for words.

Truly.

When the threads of your lives had entangled back on Sorgan, you never could have pictured this. You never would have pictured yourself now with… a family?

The Mandalorian seemed to know what you were thinking, because he slid from his seat, kneeling down in front of you. He gently took the necklace from your hands and drew it down over your head, letting it rest just between your collarbones, “I know we had a rocky start… I mean, I did knock you out and you did try to kill me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh, even it was a little choked, trembling a little as you beheld the sight of him kneeling before you.

His voice sounded like he was smiling, but it too, was full of emotion as he gently pulled your hair free of the cord, “Aliit ori'shya tal'din.” The rich baritone of his voice melted into honey as he spoke.

The sound of the language in his voice was so beautiful, so oddly comforting that you could have listened to it forever. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your own voice hoarse, “What does that mean?”

The Mandalorian reached for something behind him in a pouch, “It means… family is more than blood.” His hand trembled as he held it out once more in front of him and this time, resting between his fingers was a pin.

A pin representing the Mudhorn.

The very same sigil that was embossed onto his pauldron.

The symbol of his and Grogu’s clan.

Mando watched you, his voice tender, hand still trembling, “Will you stay with me and the kid?”

Tears shone in your eyes, blurring your vision slightly as you looked at the new pin in his hand, and everything it symbolised.

Friendship, hope, a place to call home. No, people to call home. Lori and Grogu.. they were your home. Your new clan. And maybe, in time, you would be able to tell him your secret. Tell him about your powers that called to you stronger and stronger every single day.

You reached out, carefully scooping up the pin, “Yes… It would be an honour.” A teary smile swept across your face, at the same time as Grogu’s happy cry.

The Mandalorian made a breathless noise, and if he had no helmet on, you would have seen the smile on his lips that made the edges of his eyes crinkle. You would have seen the tear that rolled down his cheek and the joy in his eyes, mixed with something else he hadn’t quite acknowledged yet.

“We’ll be a clan of three.”

Previous| Next

(Here is the necklace, and here is the pin)

#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #grogu #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #rogue #this is the way #clan of two

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writer-rochelle · 4 years

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Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours.

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4. She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch.

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief.

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

“She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls.

“ When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat.

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion.

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control.

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard.

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!”

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out.

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder.

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder.

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle #Statesman:Ablaze #statesman

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pazvizslaplasmathrower · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8 - Father of Hopes and Dreams

Chapter 8: Hand in Hand

Read here or on AO3

Summary: You and Paz Vizsla ready yourselves with the help of the Armorer for the long road ahead.

Work Count: 1570

“I thought you were gonna take me hunting!” You huffed, taking in deep breaths.

“Change of plans, little one.” Paz stated simply. “I will prepare something later, but for now I want to see the extent of your abilities.”

Exhausted from all the exercise your new guardian had put you through, you stayed laying on the ground.

“But I don't want to do anymore! I'm tired! And hungry!”

Those heavy footsteps drew closer until they were right by your head; string arms lifted you easily off the ground, setting you back upon your feet.

“Can you honestly not bear any more? He asked.

Stretching out your muscles, you could feel a second wave of energy coming. The fact that you had eaten the night prior most certainly helped.

“I can move...” You admitted.

With that Paz ordered you to do another run from the nearest docking station to where he stood a bit of a ways away. Your new armor added plenty of resistance to your usually light cadence, but even still, you were plenty fast. Upon your return, the Mandalorian Paz Vizsla guided you back to his hideout, still making sure to cover your eyes on the way in. Perhaps he was just overly cautious of bringing someone new into his home, though on the almost certain chance the two of you were separated, you would have no idea how to find this new safe haven.

“Oh. Excellent, the both of you have returned. Paz, I have prepared what you asked of me.”

Tearing away the fabric that covered your eyes, you found yourself again the in the forge, the Armorer handing you a common blaster, offering you a stiff nod. She gestured to the opposite end of the room, where three hastily made targets were set up.

“They are made of durasteel, so you need not worry of the shots deflecting off of the targets.”

The weapon was quite heavy in your young hands, the weight could have dragged one of your arms down on its lonesome.

“So...you want me to...”

Both Mandalorians nodded, nearly in sync.

“If we are going to search the galaxy, I want to know how capable you are. Surely you have skill to have survived thus far.”

While you were certainly flattered by this slight praise, you credited your survival to pure luck more than skill. Nevertheless, you held the blaster with both hands, raising your shoulders far too much than needed. Your focus was squarely on the first target, and slipping your finger down to the trigger, you fired. Surprisingly the recoil wasn't terrible, only jerking your body slightly. However, your first shot simply grazed the outside of the first target. Frustrated, you were quick to retake your shoddy stance and fire once more, this time the shot actually knocked the target over, but it was still, for the most part, intact. Feeling heat rise in your face, one hand gripped the blaster tighter and fired, grazing the last of the durasteel targets.

“KRIFFING HELL!” You yelled, very close to throwing the blaster across the forge.

With tired eyes, you looked over to Paz Vizsla who was seemingly looking to the Armorer for an opinion. When he found none, the man walked over, taking the blaster out of your hands.

“...It could have been much worse, A'dika. At least you managed to hit the target. One cannot say the same for the damn Imperials.”

“Thanks...”

“Come, little one. Let us get something to eat. Tomorrow we start our journey.”

***___***___***

That night, you could hardly find even a shred of exhaustion to help you fall into a deep slumber. Well, your body did indeed ache from all that physical testing and conditioning Paz Vizsla had you do during the day. But still, you mind raced with countless thoughts about the sojourn to come. Would you actually find you old master? If they were still out there then why hadn't they come looking for you? Perhaps they were incapable of coming to look for you, making it the duty of the apprentice to seek out the master.

That night, you had the small room to yourself, Paz and the Armorer having time to themselves elsewhere. Laying completely flat on the floor, you tried to find focus among the torrent of thoughts still keeping your mind occupied. It took a long while for you to expel unwanted thoughts from the recesses of your mind, but once that was taken care of your tried desperately to search for the connection you once had with your young master. Initially, the connection had been weak, frayed from the very beginning, but there had been something. Now, while you reached out into the living Force, you found nothing, just a void where the fractured connection had once been.

Relaxing back into the present moment, you plopped your head back onto the pillow Paz Vizsla gave to you. There had been tales, stories of Jedi who would have contact with their masters posthumously. Some seemingly transcending death and appearing before their living apprentices. Why couldn't your master come and see you? On the off chance they had gone and become a part of the Force, wouldn't they at least try and come see you one last time?

The following morning you could feel the lack of sleep as it weighed heavily upon your eyelids, threatening to shut them against your will. The Mandalorian Paz Vizsla led you back into the forge where the Armorer hunched over her work.

“Ah, you are awake. Good.”

She quelled the wild flames of the fire setting aside her metalwork for the time being. The luminous woman gathered up a few carefully wrapped bundles before approaching you and your new guardian.

“Inside these are all you could need for a good while. I urge both of you to be careful in your ventures. Little one.”

The Armorer shifted to meet your questioning gaze, her hands resting heavily on your shoulders. Of course her face was completely covered with her helmet, voice just slightly distorted. But even still, the strong sincerity in her tone was palpable.

“Remain steadfast by his side, little one. Do you understand? Paz is a good man, and though you have not known him for very long-”

“I know.” You stated, glancing back at the enormous Mandalorian. “I trust him.”

“Good.” She reached into the folds of her cloak revealing something shining. “Here this is for you.”

Your eyes were immediately captivated by the object's bright sheen. Though you wanted nothing more than to snatch it immediately, you waited until the Armorer nodded, allowing you to take it form her gloved hand. It was a curious item, several thin twists of metal, bound together in a curious fashion by design and small bolts.

“I can guarantee it will take you some time to take this apart. But no cheating.” She chided.

Nodding you started to fumble with the puzzle, wandering aimlessly while the adults spoke.

***___***___***

“That was very kind of you.” Paz mused.

“You will find keeping young one entertained or at the very least occupied is quite a feat.” The Armorer sighed. “Here. These are for the child.” Paz Vizsla was handed a small kit, full of vials and such. “They still have a ways to go before they are to be completely healthy. You are to administer one of these everyday. I recommend before they are to rest for the night.”

“What are these?” He asked, his jaw clenching.

“Some are common vaccinations, and others are medications for a host of ailments, but overall they are in good condition. Paz? Are you alright? Don't grip the kit like that or you shall break everything!”

“S-Sorry.” Loosening his hold, he took a deep breath. “But are you truly expecting me to give that child a shot?”

“I know children are not very fond of them, but it must be done.”

“I know they are not kriffing fond of them, but you need to understand, the child, without lifting a finger, nearly eviscerated a storm trooper!”

Paz could feel the Armorer's annoyance. “Need I remind your that they are a child and you are the adult? Steel yourself, Paz Vizsla. You have faced things far worse. Now, Are you prepared for departure?”

He nodded, having stowed the bundles into a rather large pack, everything was indeed ready, the supplies as well as the young one, dressed properly in Mandalorian style clothing and scant armor. Nothing too heavy and not much of it, but just enough to condition the child for further

additions.

“Y/N!” Paz Vizsla called, the kid looking up from their new toy. “Are you ready?”

Giving an odd toothy smile, they rushed to his side. “Yeah! Where are we going first? I'm not sure where to go actually. Do you think we'll see any dragons? I'm not sure. I hope so! I've always wanted to see a dragon!”

Initially the Mandalorian found Y/N's bouts of chatter a bit too much, but very slowly it was becoming endearing. Catching him by surprise, Y/N slipped their hand in his as they navigated the busy streets of Nevarro, feeling almost natural. When a wandering Imperial eye would wander their way, he found Y/N would

#sw #star wars #the mandolarian #the mandalorian #sw fic #fic #fiction #fanfic #sw fanfic #parental relationship #paz #paz vizla #paz visla #paz vizsla #the armorer

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cienie-isengardu · 6 years

Text

Satine Kryze and Pre Vizsla: political & social position

Puttings aside for now morality of characters, I would like to talk about similarities and difference between Satine Kryze and Pre Vizsla and how they could be seen by New Mandalorian society at the climax of their respective arcs.

First thing though: I want to clarify something: as much as TCW may never outright said anything about Dral'Han (Annihilation) / Mandalorian Excision that happened ~700 years prior to Clone Wars era, this event played a major role in shaping current mandalorian society - or more precisely: two societies: the pacifist and warlike. The Republic occupation and influence still held power over Mandalore, to the point that when Duchess cemented neutrality for her people, soon after that trade routes were closed around Mandalore system - even though the war did not come there yet(?) - what was mentioned in “Corruption” [s03e05]: “Desperate times on Mandalore! Having won neutrality for the Mandalorian system, Duchess Satine now finds herself an outsider with little aid to her people. Supplies are impossible to come by, except on the black market. As a result, the Duchess faces a world consumed by greed.” So, TCW may not discuss in direct way how Republic screwed up Mandalore in the past nor how it mixed into matters of “independent” government now, but it doesn’t make Republic occupation and its effect on characters any less real.

Saying that, there is the first detail about Satine and Pre I want to talk: political & social position.

The Legends Mandalorian had visible social groups including: Mandalore(s), veterans, warriors, blacksmiths, farmers [and in the case of ancient Taungs, shamans], yet the division between “classes” was not rigid. Mandalorian could be both farmer and great warrior. The title Mandalore was reserved for the best, most skilled, most charismatic and/or the most supported by society person. The status of Mandalorian was either given by birth or by adoption, person could be disavow and/or became dar’manda (no longer Mandalorian) and reclaim the right to mandalorian culture later. People could belong to one of the oldest clans (Vizsla, Ordo, Fett) or be not associated with any family and there wasn’t social class difference between them because all have the same rights (f.e. challenging Mandalore/leader if they did not agree with their decisions) & duties (Resol’nare). In reality, how great of Mandalorian someone was never depended on birth rights or personal connection, but what kind of person he/she/them are.

In other words, Legends Mandalorian did not have aristocracy similar to the ones of Core Worlds (as in: the highest class in society, especially those holding hereditary titles or offices).

The New Mandalorians apparently are closer to Core Worlders / Republic than to the old traditions since Satine is titled the Duchess, Tal Merrik is called Prince [s02e13] and both were born on Kalevala (according to TCW Character Encyclopedia). The animated series made it pretty clear that Satine’s power is similar to the king/queen-like:

on Sundari - the capital city of Mandalore - Duchess has palace that was presented to some extent on the screen and mentioned in the show (“I told senator Amidala that Mandalore was not part of the War, yet here I find a battle in my own palace” [s03e05])

in said palace there is Throne Room where she occupies a central place (throne) even in the present of close allies & friends

she is constantly called “Lady”, “your Grace” and “your Highness” which emphasizes her aristocratic connection/roots and

has power over Ruling Council (“Corruption” episode showed Satine on her throne above seats of Ministers, including Almec, silencing them for good and calling the meeting adjourned.)

There is of course Prime Minister (that according to “The Academy” episode is one of “two people in charge” of Mandalore albeit I’m not sure if we saw Almec making any important political decision without Duchess’ contest - beside the whole illegal business & coup, of course and ignoring Satine’s angry rant about corruption) and mentioned Ruling Council to support Duchess with their advices. Unfortunately, during the Clone Wars, there is little use of Council due to corruption, apathy and bickering between Ministers / leaders of Mandalore. The only real decision / action that Ruling Council did worth to mention was asking Obi-Wan Kenobi (Republic) to provide protection for Duchess during “Voyage of Temptation”.

The Death Watch Manifesto (from Bounty Hunter Code ) - a pro-DW propaganda source, mind you - claims that Mandalorian clans became divided after Mandalorian Excision to the point that even the oldest clans had their members on both sides of cultural conflict. That concerns Kryze family as well Vizsla clan.

The politically / culturally conflict overlaps with clan rivalry that has been going on for a long time. In short, the situation of Mandalorians is complicated and far from reconciliation, even in the face of threat from the Republic & Jedi.

The source did not explain in much details how the power was passed down through the generations but since the “Faithless” rulers of New Mandalorians are accused of being a puppet government headed by Republic, there is a chance that those families who are now treated as nobility may got the aristocratic titles (and wealth) from Republic itself - as a reward for joining “the right” political system. Then again, the same source claims that Satine’s father was a warlord who actually sent her off-world:

According to TCW Character Encyclopedia, Satine was born on Kalevala, a planet known for expensive wines, ships and rich cloth and so far a place the most related to New Mandalorian’s nobility. We may only guess if the union (possible marriage) between warlord and Satine’s mother was a political move to connect two influential and wealthy clans or was that dictated by purely romantic motives. Nevertheless, only Satine’s father is described as mighty mandalorian warrior - and that rises some questions. We aren’t told why he sent his child offword… or what offword we are talking here, really. Satine’s homeworld was Kalevala, but she was on Mandalore while being protected by Jedi, does that means her father sent her there? Was he somehow forced to do so? And if yes, by whom? Satine’s mother? Republic? Other mandalorian warlords who wanted more power for themselves? And if Satine’s father, as one of Faithful Mandalorian maybe, wanted independence for Mandalore system - thus became a threat to Republic - Jedi arrival on Mandalore to protect (take away) Satine may not be motivated by her own safety but to secure A) the submission of the current ruler (with daughter as “hostage” in Game of Thrones style, similar to how Eddard Stark took young Theon Greyjoy as his ward) and B) loyalty of the successor to the throne. I know that sound awful but to be fair, Jedi rarely integrate into internal government matters if there is no profit for the Republic.

I’m not sure if Satine talked in more detailed way about the year on the run under Jedi protection (beside mention of venom-mites on Draboon that seems to be a whole different planet in Mandalore sector). So let’s see what Obi-Wan told us about their time together:

An extended mission when i was younger. Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore protecting the Duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world. They sent Bounty Hunters after us. We were always on the run, living hand-to-mouth, never sure what the next day would bring [...] A civil war killed most of Satine's people, hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took rebuilding her world alone.

Satine was born on Kalevala, so…by “her world” does Obi-Wan meant a whole Mandalore system or Kalevala or Mandalore on which they were at that time? Also, since BHC confirmed that there was Civil War in which Faithful warriors (DW) wanted to take control over Mandalore, I don’t really understand why insurgents - the warriors - would hire bounty hunters? I mean, I know they were outnumbered and all, but frankly, we aren’t even told if the bounty hunters were to kill Satine or just to take her away from Jedi (the oppressors).

Nevertheless, we learn that Civil War killed most of Satine's people - what once again is pretty ambiguous, because did Obi-Wan mean Satine’s family and/or people from homeworld or did he mean Mandalorians as a whole? Because if the letter, that presents Satine as a hereditary ruler. Especially with the line “When she returned, she took rebuilding her world alone”. BHC mentioned that her father died during Civil War and if she was the oldest child, should inherit the throne. Since there is no info if she needed to fight for the title of Duchess of Mandalore (she returned and started rebuilding her world without asking anyone about opinion apparently), for me it seems Satine was born not only in aristocratic (wealthy) family but was designed to rule Mandalore sometime in future. Frankly, the same can be said for her nephew, Korkie, who is already in Royal Academy that is to educate future government leaders.

We may not know much about Satine Kryze’s past, but The Clone Wars animated series and tie-in sources present her as wealthy nobility with royal-like power over Mandalore (and maybe Kalevala). She wears rich clothes that emphasize her high status, has own palace with Throne Room and uses luxury spaceliner. She is the person that made decision to turn New Mandalorians into extreme(?) pacifists due to her personal childhood trauma & aversion to violence. Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t see her as someone who was democratically elected leader.

In short, Satine Kryze had a high social rank and political position for majority of TCW storyline.

Pre Vizsla’s history is no less covered by mystery.

We know he held the office of governor on Concordia while some members of the Vizsla clan were known to be part of Death Watch. Including Tor Vizsla, a previous leader of said group who spent some years fighting against Mereel’s (and later, Jango Fett’s) True Mandalorians. For all we know, Tor and Pre may actively working at the same time for a few years (albeit not for too long, since Tor died two years after Battle of Galidraan / Mandalore Civil War and +/- two decades before Clone Wars)

Satine have seen Pre as a close ally and maybe even a friend, who the same as her choose pacifistic ideology over violent past. Who was supposed to help her hunt down the remnants of Death Watch / the opposition of her reign. We know it never was a case.

But there is more questionable matters to talk. The Mandalore’s Moon was described as “Province with its own governor” and starwars.com added that Concordia is independent of Mandalore’s government:

In other words, Pre as governor of Concordia was NOT under the authority of the Duchess. What makes them more or less equal on political ground. BUT! TCW Character Encyclopedia and Visual Guide: New Battlefronts both stated that Pre was born on Mandalore. Which raises a question, how he ended as a leader of independent from Mandalore province? Duchess Satine couldn’t nominate him as her representative nor force Concordian people to vote for / accept Pre, could she? I’m not be specialist of such matters, but shouldn’t governor actually have a citizenship to be even elected to office?

Of course, Pre may simple moved to Concordia at some point, but frankly, wouldn’t be that a bit suspicious? Almec said once “All of our warriors were exiled to our moon, Concordia. They died out years ago” and with that statement it’s easy to imagine that from the perspective of the pacifist society, the Mandalore’s Moon is marked as a bad place (natural prison and/or graveyard full of angry, bitter “barbarians”) and with Pre’s family connection to Tor & Death Watch, I think a sudden desire to move there could arouse unwanted interest in him and thus undermine the whole infiltration mission.

There is a different option:

BHC too mentioned that “some of [DW] warriors were exiled to the moon Concordia”. Some slipped away, but I don’t think that happened to Pre, per se. Basing on Legends sources, Mandalore Civil War started in the same year as Battle of Galidraan (44 BBY). From my calculation it seems Obi-Wan would be 13 years old at that time. There is no information about age of Satine & Pre, but we know Duchess couldn’t be that older than Kenobi. Similar, Pre as the successor of Tor most likely is around the same age as Satine & Obi-Wan. Maybe a bit older, maybe a bit younger, but enough close to be seen as ‘innocent” in the conflict.

If young Pre took part in the fight and were imprisoned, it’s easy to blame Vizsla clan for forcing a child into war zone. If Pre was exiled on Concordia, he could pass later as converted man who after years understood the error of his youth & madness of Death Watch’s ideology.

If Pre did not participate in war (due to young age), but his family did and get caught, he most likely was exiled to Concordia with them. Because what else New Mandalorians could do in such situation? Keep a child from parents (clan) and try reeducated him into pacifist society? Put in orphanage for difficult youth? How many of other kids could be in similar situation? How much more Death Watch / exiled warriors would fight harder to get back their children, to tear them out of New Mandalorian hands? The society under Satine’s new rule may not mean any harm to the children forcibly taken away from their family, but if there is one thing that mandalorian warriors hate, really hate, is when someone dare to threaten their kids. This is like asking for absolute war like nothing else.

There is also one more major factor why I think this scenario is plausible, regardless of whether Pre was exiled for a fight or not. It gives him a good “tragic story” that create a common ground between him and Satine and explain why a man born on Mandalore ended as governor of independent province (though I still not sure how New Mandalorians could exile warriors from Mandalore to Concordia, if they seem to not have jurisdiction over the Moon. Unless Concordia is a really new province, built by exiled there people?)

The “tragic story” most likely include things that Satine can relate to, like childhood trauma, growing up in dangerous times (uncertainty of tomorrow), the loss of family & the pressure to rebuild things anew. The similar experiences of how senseless violence destroyed life, how much one suffered because of war for sure could bring Satine & Pre closer to each other. Or more precisely: makes Satine to trust a “converted man” like Pre Vizsla whose ambition was to clean the name of his clan - just not in the way Satine’s imagined.

There is also one more aspect to think about exiled Mandalorians. If only warriors were sent there, I think Satine’s government could have worse relationship with Concordia. The anger at taking away their children would last for long. But if after Civil War the population sent there also included children (and disabled and elderly people), for their own sake alone some family members would be forced to change their lifestyle. After all, children need to be fed, provide with medical care, access to education and safety to grown up. Maybe at some point exiled people managed to either build their own city and establish commercial and political relations with Mandalore or get involved with indigenous people (farmers and miners?) and adopted to their (less violent) customs.

Of course, this is just one of possible explanations. We aren’t told how and when Satine met Pre or why she had him in so high esteem for so long - beside that he was helping her in catching remnants of Death Watch (the opposition of her rule). We only know that both were leaders of their respectively governments that worked independently, albeit thanks to their (supposed) friendship, Mandalore and Concordia seemed to cooperate with each other over the years.

At the same time, only Satine holds aristocratic title and most likely inherited the right to rule of Mandalore either from father or mother; what may explain why Jedi were sent to protect her in the first place. While according to TCW Visual Guide: New Battlefronts, Pre somehow earned his position.

Frankly, as a member of Vizsla clan, Pre probably met with some resistance or suspicion from both sides. From pacifists due to what Tor Vizsla did over the years and from Mandalorians adhering to the old rules (who at the earliest stages of rebuilding DW could not know what Pre’s true intention really is) for betraying them. Thinking about it, one of Jango Fett’s (in-universe) commentary written on DW Manifesto actually makes clear that Jango not only was aware of Pre Vizsla’s existence but also knew or maybe even heard some of his (political?) speeches:

From picture: I wonder if Vizsla really wrote this. He was a thug. Sounds more like Priest or Reau. Maybe the younger Vizsla. That one likes speeches. [Jango]

(In all fairness, I agree with Jango, the Death Watch Manifesto doesn’t sound like something Tor Vizsla would write. It fits more Pre, really. But it is interesting that Jango had access at some point of time to DW secret book yet did not act against Pre as far as we know. And Jango had a long list of reasons to hate Death Watch. Then again, Priest and Reau were recruited by Fett to train clone troopers yet they share similar ideology to DW… so maybe Jango just get to the point he didn’t care anymore about Mandalore and its politics?)

Sorry, I digress.

Backing to the main topic, Satine and Pre both have high position in Mandalorian society. Both are burdened with responsibilities for their people (and ideology). The main difference is that, Pre most likely was forced to earn his leader position - the political and in Death Watch while Satine presumably was meant from the birth to be either ruler of Mandalore (or Kalevala) or one of its influential leaders (similar like Korkie is destined to grow up as one of future leaders by Royal Academy teaching program). The other more visible difference is that Duchess’ politics affect hundreds of worlds that also want to remain neutral in current military conflict while Pre’s political activities are focused primarily on internal affairs of Mandalore system (“hunting down Satine’s opposition / DW”, bringing Mandalorian back to their warrior roots). Also, I dare to say Satine’s political position was more certain due to having powerful allies & friends in Republic Senate (Padme Amidala, most likely Bail Organa) and Jedi Order (Obi-Wan Kenobi who actually is one of Council members), while the current leader of Death Watch by long time couldn’t openly act, and later his cooperation with Dooku/Separatist turned out to be one big fiasco.

And yet, the more time passed, Satine’s political & social position was undermined by widespread corruption on Mandalore while society’s perception of Pre and his Death Watch changed for better at the same time.

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