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the-kittylorian-writes · 1 year

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"Dinui (Gift)"

This fic was originally posted on AO3 in December 2021. I’ve decided to share it here, so at least my Tumblr has more fic content. ^^; This fic is the first story of an “anthology,” and this anthology is part of a longfic series, but this fic can be read as a standalone. Note that I have given a headcanon name and traits to Din's adoptive father. Thank you and enjoy. :)

Support this fic with original author’s notes - AO3 Links to the next fic of this anthology - AO3 || Tumblr Link to the main WIP of this ficverse - AO3 Link to the main longfic series - AO3

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warnings: None Word Count: 5k

Anthology Summary:

Dinui means “gift” in Mandoa.

Din was christened with this nickname by his peers in the Tribe since they were children. It was a name used on him sarcastically, to get him to be a “blessing to everyone” even when he felt far from it. If only Din knew what a blessing he truly was, he would not have struggled too hard to find his place as a Mandalorian foundling, caught between an old life and the new.

This is a series of "Life Day" one-shots that explore the nature of Din’s heart as he grows older into the Creed, between what is real and what is a facade.

Story Summary: Growing up among the Tribe, happy in the company among new family and friends, Din Djarin has always felt that the Tribe was a gift to him. However, as the years go by, Din means more to the Tribe than he’ll ever know. And not just because it’s in his name. In this fic, Din is thirteen years old.

Dinui ("Gift")

“Kill him, Paz!! KILL HIM!!”

“I’m trying my best here!”

“Get him!!!”

Din Djarin, thirteen years old, was tumbling forward like a rocket in flight, clearly a good pace ahead of three more boys his age. They roared and growled as Paz Vizsla, Caelan Shar, and Saoul Elku hurled snowballs larger than the size of their growing fists straight at their target.

Din dodged two of their icy attacks easily, and barely missed the third one—the one hurled by none other than Paz, of course.

“You’re NEVER GOING TO CATCH UP!” Din yelled over the frustrated cries of the three boys as his breath fogged in thick milky mist as he screamed defiance and near-triumph. “Last one to Vhaasti’s is a dead tooka!!”

“YOU’RE the dead one, Djarin!” Paz’s yell rumbled through the frozen air like a lurching volcano.

It was two days until Life Day, but the pre-winter snows of the planet Abelor had already filled the Tribe’s world in pristine and shimmering white. Trees bent at the weight of the snowfall the night before, and the morning saw the foundlings and the rest of the Tribe’s children frolicking like colts on mounds upon mounds of fresh snow.

Din and the rest had been set with weaving their makeshift sleds into working order, slinging them onto their backs, ready to climb one of the highest hill peaks surrounding their settlement and noisily whoosh their way down the slopes, when a thick, fragrant pillar of smoke spiraled out of Vhaasti’s hut’s smokestack.

She was busy at work with her wonderful curry buns, which the kids loved.

The day before, Vhaasti had christened Din and his motley crew of gangly friends taste testers of her new recipe, and had pronounced that the first one to the foot of her door would get twice the servings. And her servings usually came in huge bundles. Who wouldn’t want to traverse back home to their respective huts, cradling about ten or more buns in well-deserved bliss?

The tantalizing aroma of baking bread and spicy meats had filled the air, and the race to Vhaasti’s hut had at once commenced. The four boys cleanly dropped their sleds, held on to their winter gear (despite winter not really settling in earnest yet), and scrambled across the expanse from foothill, across a wide clearing of untouched snow, and another ten meters or so until Vhaasti’s open doorway loomed overhead.

Din had the mind to put on his best snowshoes so off he went; the other three struggled and bounded in painful slowness over the crystalline dunes like aging Wampas nursing their brittle backs.

Paz’s plan to slow the little pipsqueak down was to throw snowballs at him, to which Saoul and Caelan agreed at once. Once Din was down, they further schemed, that’s when the real race would begin as all three would be finally able to drag Din along with them to a proper starting line.

However, Din had other plans, and that “proper staring line” never really did happen.

Also, Paz and the rest continued to slow down as they took precious split-seconds to pick huge spheres of snow from the ground and hurl them out in desired trajectories. None of which met their target, anyway, as Din was quite doing the zigzagging run trick cleverly.

It was just the four boys’ bloodcurdling shrieks and muffled laughter which dominated the settlement. They had always been the rambunctious bunch, thanks to Paz. They rotated leadership as suggested by the grown-ups, but it was Paz who always ended up ringleader for the most boisterous of games.

“HE’S GETTING AWAY!!” Caelan pointed out superfluously, his voice breaking. All their voices cracked and sputtered occasionally as adolescence began to hit them like a ton of grav charges.

Paz and Saoul didn’t reply, nor verbally react. Instead, they chose their remaining seconds to pick up speed and kick up a monstrous flurry of snow, leaving poor Caelan behind in their wake. They could hear his betrayed “HEY!” as they swiftly placed a good distance between him and their destination.

Din, in turn, finally realized that the hale attacks from his opponents had ceased, so he began to rush forth—but Din, to his current dismay, still had the shortest legs. Paz and Saoul had been towering over him for a while now, and Paz had always been the biggest kid among the boys.

Pretty soon, Paz was almost neck-on-neck and Din could hear the boy’s determined wheezing behind him.

Din pulled his own personal “last resort” move he nicknamed “the afterburner.” Din has seen those neat starfighters blast out huge molten rounds from their boosters and further speed up, thrusting higher and higher into the atmosphere—and that’s what Din wanted. Boost his efforts to the maximum to rightfully claim those much-coveted curry buns.

“SO LONG, SUCKERS!” Din laid out his meanest name-call yet (his buir discouraged too much swearing, especially in front of the elders), and proceeded to unleash “the afterburner.”

Well, Din hadn’t exactly mastered it yet. While he poured most of his energy to propel himself forward, he had little control of where his steps went. He tottered a little before he zoomed away, enough for Paz to catch up and gain a foot or three ahead of him.

The two boys barreled forward, and finally, in about thirty seconds, they both dramatically leapt into the air like bolo-ball athletes to lay their hands upon the endzone.

Din felt the snow-filled ground crash onto his bare face. None of them had worn their helmets—it was still optional at their age, even as they were heavily encouraged the wearing of their buy’ce in preparation of their Verd’goten. “Optional” had their attention that day.

“I WON!” Paz cried, and Din immediately looked up, sputtering snow.

The tips of his fingers and Paz’s own were touching the small wooden step leading to Vhaasti’s doorway at exactly the same position, with Din’s to the right of the step, while Paz’s to the left of the step.

“No way,” remarked Saoul, who was huffing and puffing, his voice jangling with his steps. His tone held one of amazement. “You bozos landed on the same spot at the same kriffin’ time!”

Paz’s stark blue eyes met with Din’s dark ones, both pairs on faces scowling in disbelief. They clambered to their feet at the same time as well, and were now squaring each other off for another argument—

“I got here first,” justified Din, soothing his pride, as his final trick had failed… in a way.

“Hey, easy, pal—It’s my hand that hit that step first!” Paz countered, his pale face turning crimson.

“Hey Saoul—spit it out! Don’t bluff. You know I made it here first!”

“HEY CAELAN! Can you please be on my side and say you saw me reach the step first?”

Caelan, who had naturally caught up last, trailed in lazy steps through the snow, sporting a dark doom-cloud of an expression. He was still sore from being duped into falling behind. “I don’t care, you idiots,” he said sourly, and also in half-jest.

Din was about to spout out another of his protests when someone very noisily cleared their throat, enhanced via modulator, by the doorway.

The boys’ stopped dead in their shrieking, and all grew silent as their heads turned to the source of the sound.

It was Vhaasti herself, in her polished ivory-white and muted red helmet. The boys didn’t know how old exactly Vhaasti was, but she couldn’t be no older than thirty, it seemed. She had a young voice and a young disposition, but oftentimes would act maternal towards the foundlings as she smothered them with her lovingly cooked meals.

She leaned comfortably by the door frame of her stone hut, plastered by frost which made her seem as if she were standing by a pile of glimmering sugar.

“Saoul’s right, I’m afraid. It’s a tie,” she drawled sweetly.

“Ma’am!” the boys croaked immediately, bashfully, setting themselves to rights like young soldiers standing to attention before their commander.

Vhaasti gushed forth in amused laughter. Just because one was a trained warrior, didn’t mean they couldn’t act like “normal people” once in a while. But what was “normal people” these days?

“Tell you what,” Vhaasti said as she met the boys’ sudden reverence with a proposal. “The first one to show kindness to the other will get thrice the serving of curry buns today.”

“Huh?” Caelan outright voiced everyone’s confusion and concerns. Like jittery clay sculptures, they moved their heads ever so slightly to meet each others’ eyes in lost consultation.

Din seemed to have gotten the idea when he proclaimed, “It’s okay, ma’am. Paz can have my share. He’s the winner, after all.”

Paz turned to Din, looking rather exultant and pleased, but Din’s grin was so false and wide that Paz had at once turned suspicious. He realized where Din was getting at. “Does fake kindness count, ma’am?” Paz inquired, irritably.

Din looked surprised and a little hurt. “It’s not fake.”

“Hey, ner vode,” called Saoul in sing-song as he strut up to his two warring friends and swung an arm each over their shoulders. “Why don’t we just all get along? I’m willing to give my share to you guys!”

Caelan was shaking his head. “I gave up chores this morning for this tomfoolery,” he was whispering to himself. “I wash my hands of you all,” he grumbled dejectedly.

“None of you get curry buns today,” asserted a strong, familiar voice from deep within the hut.

Din’s face perked up right away, as the boy recognized the voice.

From the recesses of Vhaasti’s hut emerged Raald Movan—who was also Din’s adoptive father. The tall Mandalorian in his once-blue armor now painted over with white bounded down, his two feet now standing on the very step which Din and Paz had fought over.

Din blinked and his ears turned hot. His buir had been visiting Vhaasti more and more often. He still wasn’t sure how to take in the possibility of his father holding courtship with another, and adding to their already content clan of two—

…But if it were Vhaasti… Din swallowed hard. His dad may have hit the jackpot. He fought to hide a giddy, albeit reluctant smile.

“Wipe that grin off your face, ad’ika,” Raald was firmly saying, which snapped Din back to the matter at hand, while the rest giggled spitefully at him being called little one in front of everyone. “I’m not letting you off the hook.”

Din scuffed an ice-crusted shoe. His buir had always been within reason—so what did he mean when he said that no one gets curry buns today? Are they being punished—?

“Caelan’s right, boys. You forsook chores for tomfoolery. And our lovely Vhaasti’s just messing with you—“

Oh yeah. The chores.

Here, Vhaasti seemed about to jokingly knock Raald lightly on the helmet to refute it.

Oh my Maker, they’re doing the googly eyes at each other, Din choked in his thoughts, biting his lip to hold back a feral squeal of mixed emotion. His thirteen-year-old mind could understand as much that sort of body language between two Mandalorian grown-ups.

“—so it’s best to please return to shoveling, and making sure the salt is on places where they ought to be. We do not want anyone slipping off to their deaths, do we?”

“Sir, no, sir,” responded the boys in unison, respectful but crestfallen.

As the boys all turned, shoulders hunched to face the morning routine they’d neglected in hopes of being excused as Life Day drew near, Din heard Raald and Vhaasti converse softly in Mando’a. Din was learning the language quickly.

They’re good kids, remarked Vhaasti, which warmed Din’s cheeks even further. Yeah. Even Paz was a good kid. Paz’s buir, Lir Vizsla, practically martyred himself over childrearing for this brute of a boy as an unlikely father. He recalled Raald sharing in the misery of sleepless nights, drummed by instances of “Vizsla waking up the damn neighborhood just because his kid’s got a cough.” Lir had the histrionics when it came to Paz and often sought advice in unholy hours of the night.

All insults were dealt fondly, of course. Paz was Lir’s foundling just as Din was Raald’s. The Tribe knew that Lir was doing his best for Paz, and Paz, while too headstrong for his own good, would intermittently take special pains so that Lir, at least, was “not pissed” at him.

I know they’re good kids, replied Raald in Mando’a to Vhaasti’s very lenient and generous statement. They also need more discipline. Their Verd’goten is only a month away.

Let kids be kids, offered Vhaasti in reply. They won’t be kids forever.

That’s true, Din agreed in his head, his father’s and Vhaasti’s voices fading out of earshot as he and the rest of the gang dutifully trudged their way back to the shed for their snow-clearing tools. They’d all become adults, so to speak, after the Mandalorian coming-of-age ritual called the Verd’goten. This was probably the last winter where he, Paz, and the rest of the thirteen-year-olds would truly enjoy freely. These sort of chores was a good transition, he hoped, for the more mature years ahead.

****

“Get out of the way, Rula’an,” Caelan said, admonishing a small boy of eight standard years as the child stood just in the path of the older boy’s shoveling. Remembering his manners, Caelan added, “Please and thank you.”

“I need help,” deadpanned the red-haired child, his wide eyes of the strangest purple hue blinking at Caelan.

“Purple-eyed freak needs help,” Paz magnified as he observed Caelan’s struggle in keeping his cool as Rula’an held his ground.

Din smacked the butt of his shovel lightly below Paz’s knee, and the older boy yelped. “You’re the freak, freak.”

“How da—“

“My kite got stuck on the trees back there,” elaborated little Rula’an, expressively turning his head to point at a distance yonder.

Saoul squinted to measure their probable adventure. “Nah. Sorry, Ru. We’re not allowed beyond a certain point at our age. Maybe in a month after we all pass the Verd’goten.” The boy smiled toothily, and not unkindly.

“Why don’t you ask the grown-ups?” Din asked of the younger child, bending to a knee so that his gaze met Rula’an’s more comfortably. It was something he kept seeing Raald and the other grown-ups do when speaking candidly with small children.

Rula’an was quiet.

“OH!” quipped Paz loudly. “We got ourselves here a fellow deviant. Skipped a chore or three to play, Ruru? Grown-ups will get mad if they find out you’ve lost your kite while skipping chores?’

Rula’an mutely nodded. The child added after a while, “I know I did bad. But I was hoping you’d help me but if you can’t, I’ll tell my mom that—“

“Hold on a minute there,” Paz interrupted, his bare face forming a splendidly scheming smile. “Don’t tell your mom just yet. Come on, guys. Let’s get this salt chore over with stat, and let’s all help Ruru…”

“You go ahead, fellas,” Saoul cut in, a little nervously. “After salt duty, I got clean-the-flamethowers duty. My buir’s gonna tan my hide if I don’t get those finished by afternoon.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m stuck with same situation of helping the old lady with the speeders. She’s on maintenance shift and she’d like me to tag along. It’s a no go for me, guys,” supplied Caelan, trying not to meet Paz’s, Din’s, and little Rula’an’s glances.

“You’re both being sus,” spat Paz presently, sounding disappointed. “Anyway, Din and I are done here, so we’re gonna help Ru. Are we, Dinui?”

“Stop calling me that, Spazzy Paz,” Din retaliated.

Paz snorted with utter exaggeration.

Whenever Paz called him by that monicker, it was meant with a bit of sarcasm. While all the kids had provided the most infantile of nicknames when they picked on each other, Din’s was by far the most ambiguous. “Dinui” meant “gift” in Mando’a. Loosely, it also meant some sort of blessing. To call Din a “blessing” had been weaponized against him, Din thought glumly. It was a form of guilt-tripping. If Din refused, then he’d be effectively no one’s blessing at that particular point. He could always refuse, but… Paz knew Din’s weakness. Din just loved to help that it was almost pathetic—at least, to the mean-spirited eyes of Paz.

The bigger boy shrugged. “Fine by me if you’re all wusses.” There was an edge to his tone as Paz, with surprising gentleness, held Rula’an by the shoulder to have the child lead him to where he needed to be. “Sally forth, my liege!”

“Hey, wait,” Din called out, jogging to Paz and Rula’an, so that he flanked the smaller boy on one side as Paz did on the other. “Our dads aren’t gonna allow any of us to go alone. Let’s just take their advice and do the battle buddies thing at all times necessary.”

“Battle buddies” was, as the name suggested, a buddy system where soldiers went in pairs so they could both watch each other’s backs. It was an exercise of undivided trust between two comrades-in-arms, and this sort of system prepared the kids for training in the Fighting Corps.

Paz let out another snort. “Of course we’d do that,” he said, as if it had been obvious the entire time. “Now let’s get this over with so they wouldn’t miss us for lunch.”

****

“Tell me how we ended up like this?!” Din cried, feeling the undesirable pop of his veins in suppressed rage. He, Paz, and even little Rula’an had climbed the highest tree of the forest surrounding the settlement, and were now stuck like loth-kittens on the branches. They had retrieved the kite, but as they were about to make their way down…

“Do those ice wolves eat people, Paz?” Rula’an asked softly, very terrified and clinging to the older boy like a leech.

Paz was fumbling for words to sound not too devastatingly alarmed as much as he really was. “Well, when they’re hungry… they’ll eat about anything.”

“Anything? Do ‘people’ fall under anything?” Rula’an seemed to know the truth in any case, but had just wanted some delusion before a disastrous end befell all three of them.

“YES! Yes, Ruru, they do eat people when they’re hungry. Sorry to break it to you, but lying’s not gonna make it any easier,” Din huffed, keeping his feet firmly latched on the snowy bark. The tree thankfully held, but the two ice wolves at the foot of the trunk, about sixty feet below them, had begun circling them with their glowing, wild eyes and low, guttural growls.

“Ain’t lying!” argued Paz. “It’s a euphemism, you dolt! Have you heard of it?”

“Did you at least bring a com-link?”

“Umm…”

“We’re kriffed. Uh, sorry, Rula’an. Don’t tell your parents you heard bad words from us.”

“Thanks a lot, battle buddy,” Paz muttered unhelpfully at Din. Din grimaced.

“Do we scream at the top of our lungs for help?” Rula’an suggested, his purple eyes turning watery with tears. Din’s heart fell. He doubted their deaths would fall to the hands (or jaws) of a couple of juvenile ice wolves, but they could still get mauled if worse came to worst. Paz would be strong enough to take on one, maybe.

Din sighed. “I’ll try to get help.”

Paz shot him a look. “You’ll scream it out?”

Din shook his head. “No way. We might end up calling those ice cubs’ parents instead, and we’d truly be kriffed. I’ll get to the tree nearest the settlement, try to get down. If I can’t, then I’ll scream for help.”

“You’re gonna get there by swinging, monkey man?” Paz asked, voice quivering. Din wanted to kick Paz in any manner possible, yet the fear had become palpable in Paz’s voice. They all had been trained to climb up and climb back down, but informally so, and not on trees deep within a snowy wilderness with no adult supervision. Din had always known how to get from tree to tree. He’ll try his luck with this one.

“Stop being a wuss,” Din said gruffly, earning a half-enraged and half-petrified look from the silver-blue-eyed boy. “I’ll be back with help. Rula’an, make sure Spazzy Paz doesn’t wet his underpants.”

Rula’an giggled at Paz’s expense. The said boy’s face was a vibrant shade of beet-red. Paz knew that he’d be too cumbersome for the task. His way up the tree in the first place was none too graceful and he had already skinned a hand.

Din began gingerly scrambling from branch to bark to branch, testing his weight on them before clambering over, pulling his weight again and again until his arms began to ache. Despite the freezing cold wind that blew incrementally, Din had begun to sweat profusely. He fell to sulking at their fates. Why was it that every time they had tried to disobey, one way or another, things went awry? It was too annoyingly cliche.

At that moment, Din didn’t care if Raald tanned his hide, or if Lir ended up, for certain, doling out disciplinary action for Paz. Same for poor Rula’an. They all had it coming. Might as well face the music.

But first, they needed rescuing. The only factor that helped them save face was that they were not Verd’goten initiates yet. They were still small, irresponsible kids capable of and forgivable from all spectrum of stupid mistakes until that day came.

They’d probably be grounded for Life Day.

Oh well.

Din had finally made it to the last tree, and about a mighty stone’s throw away, Din was comforted by the warm sight of Vhaasti’s smokestack churning out another batch of deliciously scented spirals.

He was close enough to hear the rattle of baking within Vhaasti’s hut, and many worried voices of grown-ups to go with it.

Uh-oh. Did they already have a clue that three kids were missing?

With a huge intake of breath, Din braced himself and screamed for help with all his might like a tortured banshee.

It was Vhaasti herself who heard first, then a swarm of other Mandalorians heeded his call and came to his direction.

Din couldn’t exactly remember the rest—except that he and Paz were indeed grounded for Life Day, but not before Raald had shoved a warm curry bun in his hands. There was a relieved smile in Raald’s voice, underneath that gleaming helmet of his. His voice, moreover, was almost sad but without regrets, when he told Din: “Ad’ika, you’re insufferable. I swear, you and Paz are trying to get each other killed, and the other kids killed. Anyway, sit this over. I’m sorry, but Life Day’s not in the picture for you this year.”

Din nodded wordlessly, understanding, and relenting. He cradled the curry bun.

“And oh—don’t you worry. Vhaasti and I…”

“You’re getting married?” Din burst forth, unsure of how to take the news now just as he hadn’t been certain how to absorb the first possibility of it.

Raald seemed a little too shocked at first, taken aback by Din’s perceptiveness. Then his father slowly shook his head, but held nothing heavy nor hateful with that gesture.

“Not anytime soon, kiddo. Happy Life Day, ner Dinui.”

Raald must have caught Din’s own profound shock of realizing that he had knowledge of the nickname, and had taken the liberty to use it as it was: unadulterated and genuine.

Din smiled, shrugged, and took a bite from his curry bun, knowing the answer to this dilemma of his father marrying off all this time.

“Happy Life Day, Pa.”

****

That was twenty-four years ago.

Gone were the days when the Tribe’s foundlings grew up under the open sky, feeling the sun and wind on their skin. The harrowing years that followed the Great Purge had the Tribe burrowed underground among the lava flats of the planet Nevarro. They had been reduced to a Covert, huddling in alarmingly fewer numbers.

Rula’an, long since grown and covered from head to toe in helmet and armor, stood in front of Din’s alcove, which served as his private quarters where he rested after a tiresome series of bounty hunting missions.

It was only Din who had been granted the sacred burden of being their sole provider, as exposure of Mandalorians in bigger numbers had become too disgustingly perilous.

This would also be the fourth time over the years when Din would be missing Life Day.

Din would try his best to make it a point to return to the sanctuary of the Covert in time for Life Day. He’d only done it successfully the first time, but he had been so exhausted, and was recuperating from injury that he had simply slept through the holiday itself.

No one dared disturb Din when he was gaining his strength back, when he was getting his all-too-valuable sleep.

He missed last year’s Life Day. He had been hampered by a delayed mission and only returned over a month after. Still, when Din returned, he was spent—hardly had any time to socialize and talk. And when he did, it was with the Armorer for repairs. Then he disappeared to the alcove in his bunk.

There was a tiny light overhanging the wall atop his section of the alcove which indicated whether anyone from the Covert may seek his company or not. When it was turned on, it meant that his helmet was in place, and Covert members can come knocking in without accidentally violating the Creed.

That rarely happened—the light turning on. It was usually off, and the alcove would be blanketed in semi-darkness. Tendrils of light only fell on the walls when there was daylight streaming from the sewer vents.

It would be Life Day in a few hours, and in vain, childish hope, Rula’an had patiently waited by Din’s alcove “door,” which was really an archway sealed by very thin durasteel. One can open and close it by sliding it sideways.

The light remained off, and Din had been home for ten hours already. Surely, he’s been rested. He had reported no injuries, so Rula’an had hoped that Din would be well enough to emerge.

Rula’an held something tightly between his hands. It was the last box of curry buns which Saoul had managed to bake despite missing an arm from fighting in the Purge. It all had been horrible since then—Caelan was gone, and so was Rula’an’s big family—and so many others.

Din and Paz had lost their dads.

But to their smallest of comforts, Saoul hadn’t forgotten Vhaasti’s curry bun recipe, and he, in turn, had tried to make it every year for Life Day.

Rula’an was hoping he could hand it over to Din himself. It’s been ages since he’d spoken to Din.

“Leave him be,” came a gruff, jaded voice. Rula’an turned to see Paz Vizsla, still mountainous and as stubborn as he can be, make his way towards him. “Din ain’t coming out of that. We’ll just pester him with questions. He can’t be bothered—especially on Life Day. Everyone’s gonna be on his nerves.”

Rula’an kept his helmeted gaze down.

“You’ve always been cold to him after the Purge, Paz…”

Paz growled dismissively. “None of your business, Ruru. Now, let’s both get out of here, leave Dinui alone, and go get ourselves some uj-cake, eh?”

Rula’an knew Paz himself was struggling with Din, more so than the rest of everyone in the Covert. It only made Rula’an balk into forlorn smog when he noted how defeated Paz had become, how stooped and sunken, despite his best efforts to remain proud of their Mandalorian legacy in spite of the shadows.

Paz was about to gently drag Rula’an out of his stupor when he took a step forward and tenderly laid the box of curry buns at the foot of Din’s flimsy durasteel door.

“Dinui,” Rula’an bravely proclaimed while Paz looked on, somewhat amused. “I know you can hear me, and I know that you kinda hate that nickname, but I’m holding you to it. We all miss you, buddy.” He paused, masking the crack in his voice. He held fast. “The kids were asking for you back at the main hall. Dinui, don’t be a stranger. Okay, I’m done with my speech. Happy Life Day.”

Paz was shaking his helmeted head, fueling Rula’an’s dull sense of dismay. The older man seemed to be telling him that there was no hope anymore for Din. Wherever Din was, while he’s physically here, he’ll always be far away.

Just as he and Paz turned around to make their way back to the main hall for Life Day preparations—they were only doing this for the foundlings’ sake at this point, to offer them vibrant memories of tradition and home in these utterly bleak times—when the alcove lit up a little.

Rula’an held his breath when his gaze met the tiny bulb on the high alcove wall, now turned on in its beautiful icy hue. Its light filled the space with memories of winter back at Abelor, twenty-four years ago. The day they all got into trouble because of some silly kite. Despite all that, it was still his favorite childhood plaything.

Perhaps he’ll never get to play it anymore, out in the open ever again, with the foundling children.

He sought joy, however, with the fact that Din’s light was on. But Paz had bumbled off the alcove grounds.

Rula’an didn’t care. If Paz hated Din, that was Paz’s problem.

However, whether Paz admitted it or not, and Rula’an was more than willing to admit it himself, they came to an agreement that Din was their gift. He had always been, and he always will be.

“Happy Life Day too, Ruru,” came Din’s soft and sad voice, modulator on, from behind the durasteel door.

******

Next fic in this series - AO3 or Tumblr

*****

Author's Notes: *buir - parent (plural - buire) *buy’ce - helmet *Verd’goten - Mandalorian coming-of-age ceremony taken when a child usually turns thirteen. Literal: warrior-birth *ner vode - my brothers/sisters/comrades (singular - vod) *ad’ika - child, term of endearment for children 3-13 years old *ner dinui - my gift

1. In this ficverse and one of my headcanons, the Tribe was nomadic and lived in the open before the Purge. After the Purge, the Tribe sought refuge away from the surface and became covert, hence their name.

2. The planet I’ve used here, planet Abelor, is an EU/Legends planet but I’ve found so little details of it so far that I felt I can get away with using it for this fic. xD

3. Mild spoiler for my main longfic (on hiatus atm): there are characters here which are further introduced and fleshed out in “For Only The Strongest Shall Rule.” Yep, the unfamiliar names are all OCs. ^^;; Feel free to check the longfic out, but as I mentioned, this can be a stand-alone. Happy Holidays once again! ^_^

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin-centric fanfic #kid!din djarin #kid!paz vizsla #original mandalorian characters #part of a series #but can be standalone #mando fanfic #life day fic #ficmas #star wars fanfiction #canon characters with headcanon details #din djarin's adoptive dad #flash forward to the present #my fics #my writing #the mandalorian covert #the children of the watch #the mandalorian tribe

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Always You

gif by the incredibly talented @bestintheparsec

Pairing: Din Djarin x Mandalorian F!Reader (Paz’s sister)

Rating/Word Count: M / 4.3k

Warnings: some fighting, tiny bit of sexual references/language

Summary: The Covert is ransacked and you and Paz are looking for other Mandos who might have made it off world. You don't expect to find him.

A/N: What’s this? Another fic when I should be working on the other two? Yep because my brain said “I want Din to have a Mando lady & she’s Paz’s sister” and wouldn’t let go. See end of chapter for some additional notes. Reader has no name other than her last name and is petite - otherwise there are no other physical markers for her.

Series Masterlist + Next Chapter

Part 1

It's dim in your chosen corner of the cantina. Most don't even notice you tucked away in the back booth and those who do avert their eyes quickly. It's better that way and despite the fact that most have never seen a Mandalorian, it's clear that the stories of your people's abilities have not been forgotten.

There's no food or drink on the table before you, but the droid bartender won't be kicking you out anytime soon. They know you'll leave when you're good and ready, taking some food and drink to go. If you're feeling generous you'll even grab some for your ori’vod, providing him with something more than ration bars as fuel for his oversized body.

Not today though. Today you're in the cantina doing your very best to hide from him. Paz has been driving you up a wall, insistent on leaving Tatooine and going to a different outer rim planet to try and locate other Mandalorians. You don’t want to leave. All things considered, Tatooine isn’t bad. Well it is, but that’s what makes it great for the two of you.

Tatooine is home to all kinds in addition to being a popular waypoint for those with less than legal interests. That means most people keep to themselves and keep their mouths shut. It’s an ideal situation for two Mandos running from unknowable enemies. Not to mention that if other Mandalorians come through this area, you’ll be sure to know about it. A few well-made connections have left you in a position to be informed if a situation arises.

Why Paz can't see that Tatooine is the perfect place to be is beyond you. You have the feeling he just doesn't like the heat and grit of sand between his beskar'gam and kute. Despite appearances, he can be a real baby when it comes to things that make him uncomfortable. It's part of what makes the cantina an ideal location to hide from him. Paz hates the cantina, not seeing the point of it since he's unable to eat or drink inside its cool stucco walls. You're pretty sure when it comes down to it though, he just gets bored.

You're enjoying yourself, noting the regulars that make a daily appearance in the little watering hole and the ever rotating cast of newcomers. No one looks particularly dangerous and you find yourself fairly relaxed all things considered. The sensors on your helmet are continually scanning the enclosed space, so if something starts to happen, you’ll notice.

Another half and hour floats past, nothing of real note occurring other than a shouting match over a lost game of Sabacc. The sore loser had left before anything close to a shootout happened. A pity, as it could have been entertaining to watch.

That’s where you are, feeling calm and as close to tranquil as you can get when you hear it. A single name that no one else should know. Spoken in a hushed tone and picked up by your helmet’s audio sensors. Djarin.

You feel your blood run cold, pounding loudly in your ears. You look around the room for who said it when you hear something else that makes the panic in your chest rise. Laser sword. In context to one another that can only mean one thing. The Darksaber.

You’ve grown up hearing whispered stories about the Darksaber. The near mythical weapon first forged by one of your ancestors, destined to one day fall back into the hands of Clan Vizsla. The weapon that marks the wielder as the Mand’alor. It hasn’t been seen in years, not since The Great Purge when you were all forced to scatter or be killed. You shudder thinking back to that time, how you and Paz had barely made it out with your lives and all of those who hadn’t. The broad stripe of dark red paint on your left pauldron acts as a constant memorial for them.

You shake your head free from those dark echoes of the past and tune back into the conversation. Scanning the room, you discover the speaker to be a loose-lipped Duros chatting with two of his friends.

“I got out of there, I’ve never seen one Mandalorian let alone two and I know better to get caught up in that mess.”

Two Mandalorians? Who was with Din? Last you knew it had just been him and his foundling. You try to ignore the pain in your heart, thinking of the possibilities of who a second Mando could be. After all, he has a foundling now. Maybe he came across another Mando while he traveled and decided to make it a larger family unit. Frustrated but wanting to know more, you push yourself out of your booth and make your way over to where the Duros is sitting.

You know it won’t take much to intimidate the group of them, but your temper already flared at the thought of another Mandalorian being with Din. It’s difficult to resist putting on a little show. The cantina had been too quiet today anyway.

Striding over to the table, you watch his friend’s mouths run dry and eyes widen with fear, unable to voice your appearance to the Duros you’re about to demand answers from. You grab the back of his shirt roughly, spinning him around to face you. His red eyes widen impossibly larger once he registers the sight of your expressionless visor looking back at him.

“How do you know that name?” you grit out, slamming your hand on the table next to him.

His voice is shaky when he replies, barely able to get his words out. “It- it’s what the-the oth-other one called him. I d-don’t k-know anything else I sw-swear.”

“And the sword he had?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It was b-black, had some fancy handle it came out of. I’ve never-never s-seen anything like it.”

It has to be the Darksaber. There’s no other explanation. You’ve never known Din to wield a sword anyway, always preferring his guns, hands, and flamethrower to anything else. As far as the other Mando knowing Din’s name, well, there’s probably an explanation for that too. You push down the way your gut churns, clenching your fists to keep from taking your anger out on this blameless alien. “Where did you see them?”

“Jab- Jabba’s old palace. I took off when they attacked. I didn’t want to end up d-d-dead like the others.”

You don’t bother to thank him, not having the patience for it. Sure he probably didn’t deserve that treatment from you, but the white hot heat of emotion had overruled your decision making. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to bolster the reputation of Mandalorians as a fierce and dangerous people.

Storming out of the cantina, you don’t even bother with the low profile you and Paz have been trying to keep, soaring into the air towards the ship with your sen’tra. You know Paz will try to ream you out for using it but this can’t wait.

Paz wants to find other Mandos? Two just fell into your lap and despite your own personal feelings about it, there is something to be said about strength in numbers. Not to mention the sudden reappearance of the Darksaber. Osik. Why did it have to be Din?

15 years ago

“Come on Djarin, you can hit harder than that!” you yell across the training mat. You’d barely even felt his last punch, glancing off of your side where the beskar doesn’t cover.

Din mimics your movement, walking in a wide circle, waiting for another opportunity to throw out an attack. “I don’t know an’edee, you sure you can take it?” You can hear his smile from under the helmet.

You watch the way his feet move. He’s quick and you know it, but if you can just get him to misstep once you’ll have the opening you need. “Please, one of the initiates could hit harder than you, mir’sheb,” you tease back.

“Remember you asked for this,” Din says before lunging towards you. He expects you to dart to the side, or maybe charge back against him, both options that would allow him to use his heavier weight against you. Instead you roll, easily diving underneath his outstretched arms and quickly kick out at one of his legs. The beskar covering your shin connects against his leg hard, causing him to stumble and misstep as you hoped.

Taking advantage of his momentary loss of balance, you quickly push up from the floor and tackle him to the ground. Beskar clangs together loudly at the impact and as you both fall to the floor you’re thankful for the soft mats that cover it. A fall like that on solid ground would have hurt the both of you.

Din is pulling out of the sudden daze you’ve put him in faster than you would like, but you manage to grab hold of one of his arms, tossing your legs around it, and pull him into a tight arm bar.

“Tap out, cyar’ika?” you taunt. His helmet turns to look at you and you can tell he's weighing his options, trying to figure out how to get out of the hold. You pull on his arm a little harder - not enough to cause real damage but enough to send a message. You watch him deflate, the fight leaving his body as he accepts the position you’ve trapped him in.

He taps the floor twice with his free hand and you immediately release him from your hold. You get up from the mat and look down over Din, who is preoccupied with the slight twinge you left behind in his elbow. Offering a hand, you assist him in getting up from the sweat streaked mat.

"That shouldn't have worked. You're getting slow old man."

Din scoffs but doesn't say anything more. He doesn’t need to see your face to know how pleased you are. It radiates off of you, a lightness to your movements that makes the heavy beskar on you seem weightless. You tap his pauldron and walk away, leaving him helpless to watch the sway of your hips. It’s not right that a flight suit should hug your curves so perfectly.

He’s thankful for the protection his helmet grants, eyes snapping away from your ass when he sees who you’re approaching on the side of the training room. Paz. It’s probably best to not let your older brother see him very obviously checking you out.

“So? What did you think?” you ask Paz, still riding the high of endorphins from your victory. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest in a posture that would probably intimidate anyone but you. You know your brother. He’s not angry, he’s probably just bored. Or possibly hungry. Those often coincide for him.

“You still need to tighten up your form vod’ika. He got in a few hits he shouldn’t have because you were too open.”

You nod, genuinely listening to what it is he has to say. His criticism isn’t an insult, it’s notes. You can’t improve yourself without the honest feedback and you know he’ll give it to you, even if sometimes it isn’t what you want to hear. “Remember what I taught you, use your size to your advantage. The roll was a good move.”

You can’t help but preen under his praise. Despite being full-blood siblings, you and Paz couldn’t be more different physically. The two of you like to joke that he took all the big and tall genes with him when he was born, dooming you to a life lived at a considerably lower perspective. Paz utilizes his massive size in fights, dominating opponents before they even step into the ring with him. You’ve been working on improving your own technique, trying to use your seemingly disadvantageous size to your benefit. If Paz noticed, it meant you were doing something right.

Din finally makes his way over to join the two of you and stares right at Paz. He knows the older Mando will have notes for him too. Paz has stepped into his role as a teacher in the Covert fully, constantly analyzing to help others improve. “Say it already,” Din sighs.

Paz shakes his head slightly and gives Din a friendly shove to the shoulder. “You need to stop getting distracted by a pretty face, di’kut.”

You'd like to punch Paz. Maybe go a round on the mat and finally manage to lay him out on the floor. He knows full well about your feelings for Din, having pointed it out before you realized it for yourself. He knows and he's purposely trying to embarrass you with them. It’s the worst kind of sibling move and you very much regret stealing half of his muffin this morning. This is not equal payback, but you should have expected this. Paz doesn’t always play fair.

You expect Din to laugh, make some comment back that you're already trying to tell yourself won't crush your heart. Instead he replies with a simple shut up in Mando'a, looking as embarrassed as you feel. It feels like the air has been knocked from your lungs. Surely you're reading too far into things.

Unsure of what to do with yourself and feeling uncharacteristically timid, you mumble something about the showers and walk away from the two men. Your mind is racing, trying to figure out what Din's response means – if it means anything at all. You're well aware of the pain you could end up in if you're wrong, and yet you can't fight that small, inescapable hope.

After showering, you head towards your bunk, looking forward to resting up more after your spar with Din. The water was soothing on your muscles, but they're still sore. Taunts aside, Din can hit hard and has a talent for finding the spaces between your beskar. Paz was right – you do need to tighten your form.

Looking down the hall, you're surprised to see Din leaning outside your bunk door. It's impossible to tell whether he hit the showers too or has been waiting here since you left the Training Room. Either way, you can feel your heart begin to pound under your chest plate. It reminds you of a mallet striking against a gong. You do your best to tamper down your excitement, trying to seem unaffected, and you continue down the hall.

"Need me to teach you another lesson, Djarin?" you ask. If you tease him maybe you can maintain an effective facade. You know your shield of beskar won’t give you away, but your mannerisms will. He knows you too well for them to go unnoticed.

He pushes himself away from the wall as you approach, drawing himself to his full height, and you feel yourself go weak in the knees. Maker, he’s big. His shoulders are broad, taking up more space than you think any man ought to be able to. The dirty red of his chestplate fills your vision, making you wonder about the wide expanse of soft flesh underneath it all. The taper of the plate only draws further attention to the way his waist cinches in, dragging your eyes further down than you should be letting them travel. Thank the Maker you hadn’t given yourself away by dipping your helmet down to look too.

“If that’s your idea of a lesson, I think you need some tips from your vod on how to teach.”

You laugh, opening the door to your bunk and gesturing Din to follow. It’s not the first time he’s been in here, but something definitely feels different about him entering this time. For one, he hesitates for a moment, a slight action that you’d miss if you weren’t already hyper aware of his movements. Clearly whatever’s on his mind is important and you’d rather the whole Covert not overhear what you can only imagine will be his gentle rejection of you. It’s an embarrassment you’d rather not have publicized.

The bunk is small - designed for single occupancy unlike the larger rooms suited for couples and families. You’re thankful you at least had the forethought to clean up this morning. The prospect of Din rejecting you and seeing your underwear is a bit more than you can handle.

Normally when you return to your bunk you would strip yourself of your beskar’gam, relaxing into your bed with a holovid or a book stored on your datapad. There are also the nights where you would ignore those activities in favor of relieving your tension in a different way, but you’re trying not to focus on that when the man who often makes an appearance in those daydreams is standing right before you.

You’re not sure of what to do with yourself. The table only has one chair and you could offer it to him, but then where would that leave you? The bed? Not an option. Simply standing will have to do.

It’s only been a few seconds since Din entered the bunk but it feels like minutes and you’d like to die with how awkward this has become. You curse Paz for opening his stupid mouth. He just had to say something and now your friendship with Din was ruined forever. Lovely.

“Listen, about what Paz said earlier...”

You can already feel your heart sinking. This is it. This is the moment where Din casts you aside and you lose your crush and best friend all in one go. You brace yourself for impact, knowing that it will hurt but hoping you can keep a strong enough face until you can get him back out of the room.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I never meant for you to find out like that.” You’re pretty sure you heard him wrong. Or maybe you had spoken and heard it in his voice for some reason. Whatever the explanation, you’re pretty sure Din didn’t say that because why would he? Paz had been picking on you, not him.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

He shifts on his feet before answering. “You rushed off to the showers before I could say anything. I get it if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine and I’ll still gladly be your friend, but I thought I should at least explain myself.”

At this point, you’re pretty sure this is all just a dream. A really vivid, tangible dream. You can’t even form words anymore, in Basic or Mando’a, for fear that nothing but foolish nonsense will tumble out. Unfortunately, your prolonged silence also sends Din into a full blown panic, unsure of anything going on inside your head. He plunges forward in desperation, determined to explain things even if it costs him his heart.

“I like you, Vizsla. I have for a long time and I never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have as friends.”

You could kiss him. The thought rips through your mind and your fingers itch to reach up and tear your helmet off your head just so you can put your mouth on his. You don’t though. That’s a choice for the both of you to make together, not one you can thrust upon him so instead you do the next best thing.

Carefully, you step towards him, reaching up to pull his head down to meet yours. There’s the small tap of metal on metal once your foreheads gently meet. “I like you too, Din. I think I have from the moment we met.”

Your confession is easy after his. He’d basically stolen the words from you, voicing the exact same concern you would have cited. You had decided long ago that having Din in your life but not knowing the full extent of your feelings was far better than not having him at all.

It’s surprising how quickly he can act despite the shock running through him. In a flash, his arms wrap around you tightly, pressing your body flush against his. The only other time you’ve ever been this close to Din is while training, but the two are like comparing meiloorun to jogan fruit. This is something tender and raw and you’re not quite sure either of you are built for such a fragile thing, but you know that you never want to let Din or this feeling to leave you now that you have it.

“Din?” you ask.

“Lek, ner karta?"

“Can I show you just how much I’ve wanted you?”

“Only if I can show you too.”

From there the two of you are inseparable. Not that you weren’t before – you used to look for any excuse to be near one another, but now there’s a certain quality to it that wasn’t there before. It’s the lingering touches and stares, not needing any reason to seek the other out except for the need to be close, the intimacy of it all. You try to keep it relatively low-key, but it’s the Covert and after a few less than discrete instances, everyone knows.

Most nights are spent in each other’s bunks. It doesn’t matter that you have to spend the night sleeping in your helmet. Any excuse to feel the wide expanse of Din’s body pressed up against yours is well worth the mild discomfort. Your faces remain a mystery to each other, but it doesn’t matter, not when his fingers are pressed deep inside you or your hand is wrapped firmly around his cock. It doesn’t matter when he palms your chest or teases your nipple while splitting you in half. It doesn’t matter when you hold him tight against your body, feeling him spilling out from between your thighs as you drift off into a satiated sleep. You don’t need to see his face to know that you love him.

Time slips by and then finally, on the day that you decide to repaint a piece of your armor, to show your love as well as speak it aloud to him – he’s gone. Slipped away from you like some phantom. Gone not only from the Covert but the entire planet and the only thing that the alor will tell you is that Din chose to leave on his own, working as a beroya now for the Tribe. Alone.

It’s a pain unlike any other. It’s one that cuts deep, cleaving you in two and leaves you broken on the floor of the Forge, unable to anything but cry out in your suffering. Paz is the one who comes for you. There to help you pick up the pieces the same way he did when you were kids during the Purge. After all, what is family for?

That decision, made without your input or knowledge, changes you irrevocably. You’re not sure you’ve ever truly come to peace with it. What you do know is that despite it all, despite the pain and sorrow, your heart still skipped at the mere mention of his name. Soaring through the skies of Tatooine, you curse the Duros that spoke the name Djarin within your earshot.

You land hard on the sand outside of the Guardian, the ship you and Paz managed to commandeer. The grains shift below your feet, forcing your one knee to give out and drop into the dune, nearly causing you to tumble over completely. Before you can even try to get up on your own a firm hand wraps around your bicep and pulls you to your feet.

“Di’kut! What did you fly here for? Do you want our enemies to find us?” Paz shouts at you. His temper is predictable and rolls off of you. You ignore him, walking up into the ship and making a beeline for the cockpit. There are more important things to attend to than your hot-headed brother's attitude.

He follows close behind, ready to continue the argument about whether or not you’ll be staying on Tatooine. You cut him off before he can start up again. “We’re not staying here.”

Your sudden agreeableness gives Paz pause, but he’s not going to push it any further. Your risky flight makes him think that something happened while you were in town making a quick departure necessary. The two of you fall into your preflight rhythm, each going through your own checklists.

“Finally decided to see things my way?” Paz asks as he checks the fuel levels.

“No,” you reply, pressing a few buttons to your left to warm the engines. You can feel his hackles raise. “We’re going to a place called Jabba’s Palace on world. Din is there.”

The tension in the cockpit is thick, heavy in the air, but it’s no longer directed between the two of you. It evaporates Paz's anger towards you, catching on quickly to the gravity of the situation. It's been months since Paz has seen Din and years for you. You only know of Din’s foundling through the whispers of the Covert and weeks of irritating Paz until he broke down and told you himself.

You stare resolutely out the cockpit window, waiting for Paz to take his co-pilot seat. You’ve already decided not to tell him about the Darksaber. You don’t want him freaking out if you’re wrong and if you’re right, well, he can deal with the shock of it then. The other information you can’t hold out on though, despite how badly you don’t want to hear it in your own voice.

Paz sits and you keep your eyes facing forward, unable to deal with his reaction to the next piece. “He’s with another Mandalorian.”

You punch the engines, blasting the Guardian into the dusty skies of Tatooine. There’s no guarantee of what you’ll find at Jabba’s beyond Din and you only hope Paz doesn’t take his head off before you can get your answers.

Additional notes: We are playing fast and loose here with the Mando rules because this is my fic and I can play with the not fully fleshed out rules if I want to lmao - basically it comes down to this - immediate blood family (parents, siblings) can see you without your helmet, otherwise you need to be married. Others can see any other part of you (wink wink) but the helmet stays on until you enter Riddurok (marriage) with another. There may be some other little changes and things but.... work with me here 😅

Also, this will be a three part series, but I am all for chatting about these two/writing some drabbles or headcanons for them. So if there’s anything you’re curious about drop me an ask and I’d love to talk about them! Also thank you to @escapades-to-rivendell for the beta and to @honestly-shite and @castleamc for listening to me ramble about these two

Everything Taglist: @librariantothejedi @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @danidrabbles @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @hdghty @salome-c @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @missminkylove @niki_xie @tothejedi @readsalot73 @castleamc @nakhudanyx @quietpainter @spanishmossmagnolia @kirsteng42 @dihra-vesa @sergeantbannerbarnes

Din babes: @dodgerandevans @5pectre @jinxxy-bby @anastasiyax @escapades-to-rivendell @hmarsattacks @luthien-t @thisshipwillsail316 @lellowberry @adriiibell @max--phillips @quietpainter @kotemorons @fanficmybeloved @andiesturgss @djarinsimp @let-the-imaginationflow @girlofchaos @eclipseminjiu @perksofbeingivyy @seventhskycorps

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #always you #crasis writes

318 notes · View notes

fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Text

Greek Tragedies- Ancient Greece AU

AN: Alright! Here is the first of my fics im posting for @maybege 's, May's Birthday Bash! If you ask where I got the idea for this I will tell you I don't remember....because I really don't lol. This is actually the last idea I came up with for the fics I'm posting for this bash, and I wrote it first because I thought I'd be the shortest....well I don't think thats gonna be true. Anyway I hope you all enjoy! Please consider LIKING AND/OR REBLOGGING because it helps me out a ton! Love you all!!

Pairing: Hunter!Paz Vizsla x Goddess!f!Reader

Words: ~4.5k :)

Rating: Teen?

Summary: Living alone in a forgotten temple never bothered you, you liked the quiet that came with it. But that doesn't mean that when a kind and gentle hunter stumbles upon you home you're not going to fall for him.

Warnings: death, lots of death im sorry, bow and arrow being used as a weapon, descriptions if panic and dying, blood, description of arrow chest injury, loneliness, ANGST because I cant write a happy Paz fic apparently sorry not sorry, food eating (let me know if I missed something, I usually do)

Masterlist

The hunter was back. This time you watched as warmth bloomed in your chest as he stood in the overgrown temple and filled the small wooden bowl he had brought on a previous visit with wine. Gently he looked up to the face of the marble statue, now hanging with vines and crumbling, as he whispered out your name before looking back down and pulling out a loaf of bread and cheese. The bread he tore in half and laid next to the bowl, while the cheese he gently cut through before placing it on the other side of the bowl. The entire time, his deep whisper flowed throughout the room.

“Goddess divine, goddess of bounty, please accept my humble offerings and forgive me for not being able to bring you the best. These were all I was able to obtain this week. Next week the woman next door should have ripe olives, and I will bring you what I can. Goddess divine, goddess of bounty, please bless my hunt again this week.”

He finished with his head down, paying respect to the once shining altar. You ached watching as he gathered his bag and bow from where he had set them at his feet. You watched as his eyes danced around the overgrown pillars and dulled carvings. How you wanted to reach out to the hunter, to assure him that he had been heard, but years of solace and loneliness have left you timid and unsure. So you just stayed hidden from the hunter’s gaze and watched as he left the temple, and smiled softly when he stopped and looked back, looking where you stood hidden almost as if he could see you and said, “Until next week my goddess.”

---

You did not know much of the hunter, and his appearances at your temple were fairly new. You knew he had stumbled upon the ruins you called home only about a month or so prior, and even though the temple was in disarray, he stepped and treated everything with great respect and softness as he explored through the small building. You had been curious, he was the first person to come to your temple in decades, and with the gentleness he used to clear the altar you couldn’t help yourself from being slightly taken with him.

That first visit he did not pray, but he did leave behind half of his loaf of bread. He continued to come with each passing week, and each time he appeared he would leave a new offering, most of the time breads and cheeses but the occasional fruit or portion of meat being added to the mix. The prayers didn’t start until his third visit when he took his knife to the foliage covering the carvings on the altar room’s walls. You had watched as his fingertips traced over the stories depicted in the carvings, your stories, your life from birth until the point of the temple being built. Your breathing stopped though when his fingertip stopped and traced along the cheek of your depiction on the wall, you swore the ghost of his fingertip could be felt on your own cheek and jaw as you heard him whisper your name. It was then at that moment, that you assumed the hunter finally figured out whom the temple was built in honor of. Before he had left that day, he had knelt infront of the altar and asked for your forgiveness for his ignorance of whose home he was in, but you knew he did not need to be forgiven, because his touch had done more for your home, and for you, than any others’ had in a very long time.

You would not say you were a forgotten goddess. You had other places of worship, none of them large by any means, but you did have a handful of priestesses who maintained your goddesshood, but you were never a big goddess, never one that the people sought out specifically, most turning to the goddesses Demeter or Persephone, though that didn’t bother you, it only meant you had to deal with fewer mortals, and you were always one to prefer solitude.

Once you had had your own gleaming temple that brought forth many visitors and offerings and prayers. You’d loved that temple, your priestesses gowned in deep greens and blues, each caring for the small community that surrounded the temple and the woods that covered the land. The place was full of life and you made sure that this place, your home, would never want or need. You were happy, and you watched over them lovingly. But as everything goes, that could not last.

You never much cared to converse with your fellow gods or goddesses, not that you disliked them, well not all of them, but you just never cared for their antics. So having one of them show up in your village, to make a show of walking into your temple, you could not say you were happy about it.

As it was, Apollo had always been a pain in your side even as you got along with his twin sister, and so having him show up in your little haven was less than ideal, but you came from where you stayed hidden most days and greeted him with a terse smile. Your people were wary of him, and they were smart to be, especially after noticing how tense his appearance had made you. Apollo was always easy smiles and hidden truths behind twisting words. As you tried to lead him away from your people, away from the temple, you did not expect him to stop you in front of the building, and cheerfully announce that the people should hold a feast and dedicate it to the two of you.

Angered by his unannounced visit and then demands of a feast, you turned to him and told him that your people would not throw a feast because it was unnecessary and demanded as to why he had shown up and disturbed your peace. Emotions flickered across Apollo’s face for only a moment, before his charming smile had come back, and with ease he grabbed your hands and turned to face you, saying, “I have come for your hand in marriage, I want you beside me up on Mt. Olympus. I think our union would be fruitful and bear many strong children.”

The disgust must have shown on your face when you pulled away from him. Your only thought being, he came here to my home to make a statement like that and demand your people create a feast with their food for him? Aloud though, you only told him to leave, glaring at him and crossing your arms. Apollo, though, was not happy with your answer, having never been good with rejection, he pulled his bow from where he had been keeping it and sneered, “If you will not go with me then you shall be alone. I will make sure of it.”

You couldn’t stop him, you were only a smaller goddess with lesser powers, and you were forced to watch as he brought your home and its people into ruin. No one survived, and in your grief, your powers seeped into the ground making the plants grow and cover everything you had once loved, covering your happiness from view. The temple became overgrown with vines, and the marble cracked under the pressure of heavy tree limbs extending. Over time, these plants and broken pieces only grew in number, the marble lost its shine, and the bronze accents turned dull. But you never left, you stayed in solitude and mourned the people you cared for and avoided interactions with anyone but the few creatures that would stumble upon your crumbling temple.

Then came your hunter, and slowly you found that smiles were more common than frowns. You found yourself looking forward to his next visit, looking forward to hearing his voice whisper out prayers to you. You should have known you were going to fall for him, being alone for so many years, so to only to be met with praise and kindness was bound to make you stumble.

---

He was back, your hunter was back, and like he had promised the week before he had brought a small cloth full of ripe olives and laid them on your altar next to the newly filled wooden bowl. Like every other visit, he whispered out a prayer. This visit though, you had grown impatient, you were tired of watching and not talking to the man your heart yearned for, so carefully, you disguised yourself as a priestess before slowly approaching the hunter.

“Why do you come here each week,” you spoke quietly, no malice in your voice, only curiosity, but your sudden appearance startled your hunter, as he jolted a little and turned to face you.

“I...I am sorry, I was under the impression that the temple was abandoned, priestess.”

His voice was smooth and deep, and hearing him speak freely without whispering had your heart fluttering, but you simply smiled at him and cleared your throat, “I did not mean to startle you, and you really need not apologize. Your offerings are welcome, as are your prayers, the goddess is welcoming to all who seek her.”

Your hunter eyed you for a moment, before leaning down to grab his things, holding his bow nervously almost he looked you in the eyes. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but eventually, he sighed and spoke, “Next...next week I will come earlier. I have questions about this temple, but unfortunately, I don’t have the time today. I am sorry to rush off, but I wish you and your goddess well.”

You nodded, somewhat disappointed in the quick end to your first meeting, but warmth bubble inside you at the prospect of him coming earlier next week just to talk. So you smiled and stepped to the side to allow him to pass back out of the temple. Before he could disappear though, you called out to him, “Wait! Hunter, what is your name? I wish to put a name to a face.”

He smiled fully, and replied, “Paz, my name is Paz Vizsla.”

---

The week could not have passed any slower. You paced about and fretted over little things, wondered over the things that you said, if you should have stayed hidden and not approached the hunter, approached Paz. But you couldn’t find yourself regretting what you had done for a second. You worried over it, but you also cherished how for the first time your hunter had actually spoken to you, looked at you, and with all the same softness that he used with his prayers and careful touches of your temple.

Finally, true to his word, Paz did show up at your temple, and much earlier than his past visitations. The sun had barely kissed the sky when you heard his footsteps approaching, and with a smile you jumped from where you were sat on the front steps of the temple and greeted the hunter.

“Vizsla, you came back.”

He laughed, and nodded before motioning for you to sit back down, as he opened his bag and started to dig through it. “Of course, my lady. I said I would come back, and I have been coming here for at least the past month. I hope it is not too early for a visit? I am just curious about this place, this temple.”

Your smile brightened, when he pulled out some grapes and goat cheese from his bag and chuckled quietly, before saying, “I thought I might bribe you with some fresh grapes and cheese that come from my village.”

Stunned you took the grapes he passed you into your hands, rolling one between your fingers, before turning back to him with a small glint of teasing, “Well, since you have brought such a tempting bribe, I think I will answer your questions.”

Pleased, Paz settled next you, cutting off a small bite sized piece of cheese with his hunting knife, passing it to you before speaking again, “This temple, it is for the goddess of bounty correct,” he glanced at you, and you replied with a small nod, “I get the feeling that this temple was once beautiful. That it was held in great regard, but something happened to result in it being left to ruin, and to be forgotten.”

“You are not far from the truth, hunter. This temple was among our goddess’ favorites at one point. In fact many say she called it her home, I believe she still might,” you bit your lip and paused, twirling a small fruit between your fingers. You wanted to tell the hunter everything, but the fear of his rejection should he find out who you were was too strong, so you knew you must spin a truth that would answer his curiosities, but not reveal the whole picture, so you continued, “Our goddess, she is the one that hid this temple from view, these vines, trees, and bushes are all her handiwork. I find that this temple is still beautiful, especially since it has been touched by the woman that it praises.”

Paz nods, and looks around at the tall grasses and sprinkling of wildflowers, passing you another piece of the goat cheese, which you gladly take after having the first piece delightfully melt in your mouth. “That answers one of my other questions, I guess. I was going to ask, if you were still here, taking care of the temple, why you had never thought to clear the foliage or remove the climbing vines, but if they themselves were placed by the goddess they are sacred and should not be removed. I apologize for harming the plants that had overtaken the altar room...I...I thought I was being respectful, that the goddess may appreciate the care, but it seems I have been wrong.”

Gently, you laid your hand on his forearm, only taking a second to take in how his muscle there greatly dwarfed the size of your palm, before you looked up catching his gaze, “Do not apologize, please. The goddess, she has been happier… in better spirits since you have started to visit. Your care for this temple, your gentleness in prayers have made her feel… better than I have seen in decades. She likes you Paz Vizsla, you carry her blessings,” with a smile growing on your face you ask, “Have your hunts been more fruitful since coming here?”

He laughed, the deep baritone catching on the trees and echoing through the temple rooms. With a smile, he turned back to you and said, “Yes, the first time I had thought I had just had luck on my side, but with each week’s visit the pattern has continued. I thank the goddess gratefully, now the children and elders of my village are fed well, and I have yet to come back from a hunt empty-handed in weeks.”

“Good, our goddess has always cherished being able to provide, and hearing that your village is happily fed will bring her great joy.”

The two of you were quiet for a spiel, sharing cheese and grapes, before Paz spoke once more, breaking the silence, “You said the goddess favored me. How do you know this? And why, me?”

You sighed, and stayed quiet for a minute, thinking over your response before you turned on the step and looked at him. “You ask how I know, but is it not obvious? Your hunts have been more successful because she has willed them to be for you. The goddess preens with joy whenever you visit, as her priestess, I can feel her happiness seep into my chest when you visit. As for why you, well there really isn’t a good answer for that. The gods and goddesses are fickle beings, much like we are ourselves. I think the closest thing to answer I can give you is that you visit her here, at her favorite temple. You take great care of how you treat her home, and you leave her gifts and offerings, which are what you can give. She never cared for those who went out of their way to gift her the best things, she always preferred that her people keep the best and just gave her what they could spare. And you never ask for outlandish things in your prayers, only for her to bless you hunts, never anything selfish.”

Paz stared at you for a long moment, ruminating over your words as you just smiled at him and took in his emotions passing over his face. Then he met your eyes, a look of curiosity in them, but he only said, “I beg your pardon, priestess, but the sun is getting high and I must be on my way. First I need to visit the altar room and pay my respects.”

You nod, and give a small disappointed smile, “Go on then, I would hate to keep you.”

With that, Paz stood and nodded to you before making his way into the temple. Instead of following him to watch, this time you stayed seated on the steps, smiling when his prayer echoed through your mind. Not long after you stood from the steps, and started to make your way into the temple, only you were stopped, as Paz was leaving he reached out and grabbed your hand, kissing the back of it, before saying, “I will come early again next week. I look forward to speaking again with you.”

Then he started to leave, only at the entrance of the temple, much like you had done the week before, you heard him turn and ask, “Priestess, I have forgotten to ask your name.”

You smiled and shook your head, saying quietly, “My name has not mattered in years, Vizsla, priestess will do,” and with that, you turned into the altar room, and hid yourself from view as Paz stood for a second before leaving.

---

Your meetings early in the morning continued for weeks, and softly you found yourself falling more and more for your hunter. Every visit he brought food enough to share a small meal with you and to leave back on the altar as an offering. Some mornings he would ask you about the temple or about the goddess and you would share stories with wistful smiles and the occasional faraway look in your eyes. He had tried asking about you and your past, but you had managed to dance around those questions, instead of shooting them back at himself. You much preferred the mornings when your hunter would sit next to you on the crumbling and cracked white steps and tell you stories or myths about his small village. You learned that he and his adopted brother, Din, were the main hunters for the village, and the two were a bit competitive, and having your favor on his hunts had put him in the lead on their little contests, much to Paz’s pride and Din’s frustration. He told you of their matriarch, the armorer of his village, who in his words could take the dullest of bronze and spin it into gold. He also said that it was rumored that with her skill set they all believed her to be a daughter of the great Hephaestus, to which you only laughed and agreed.

The two of you seemed to get closer, both physically, often sitting close enough that your arms and legs would brush together, and emotionally, goodbyes always ending with Paz leaving a lingering kiss on your hand or most recently your cheek. Each meeting and discussion seemed to last longer and longer, both of you not wanting to end your talks, and to the point that Paz was not leaving the temple until the sun had fully risen high in the sky. You were happy again, and your heart once again was full of joy, unlike it had been in a very long time. It showed too, the lands nearest to your temple bloomed and produced life like it had done before you had hidden it away. Birds and animals were now commonplace, and they even started making their homes along with the temple. Hearing the chirps and singing made you feel less lonely, and you felt at peace, the aching heartbreak hidden and now healing.

---

You were out front of the temple when Paz came to visit again, having decided to pick some of the flowers blooming around making a colorful bouquet by the time the hunter crept up beside you and kissed your cheek in greeting. Feeling heat rise in your chest you turned to look at him. Paz’s happiness seemed to seep out into the world around you, not unlike your own has, and you felt the ease of safety that followed your hunter spread through you once more.

Gently, you let Paz lead you over to the steps, to the spots you both had claimed for sitting during your talks. He cheekily took one of the smaller blue flowers from your bundle and placed it behind your ear making sure it would stay before he pulled back and opened his bag.

“I have a treat for you today, cyare. A merchant came through the village, and I must admit I splurged a little on these, but I thought we must try them. The man said they were called Strawberries,” gently, Paz untied the string wrapped around a cloth to reveal little red fruits dotted in little seeds. Carefully, Paz took one and removed the stem and leaves at the top, before holding it out in front of your lips. “You try it first.”

You laughed, and said, “Want to test if they are poisonous on me before you eat one?”

Paz laughed, and you gently took the fruit from his fingers into your mouth, gently kissing his fingers before your bit into the berry and hummed at the gentle sweetness. “These are good. You must try some.”

Grinning at your approval of his trade, Paz removed the stem and leaves from another berry before trying it himself. You looked up at his face as he tasted the flavor and he nodded, smiling down at you, “I think they were worth the trade….especially if you liked them.”

You felt heat rising in your chest once more and you looked down. Only to hear Paz kneel in front of you and reach out and cup your cheek to look at him. When your eyes met again, you felt the care he felt for you in the softness of his gaze, the care that you returned so much that your chest ached. You should have known at that moment that your happiness was too great, you should not have forgotten the anger that was directed to you decades prior, but at that moment all that matter was your hunter kneeling before you with a soft smile, and yearning in his eyes as you both leaned closer to the other. As Paz whispered against your lips, “I think I would like to taste something sweeter than those berries, cyare.” And in the next second, you found yourself melting into your hunter’s embrace, his lips dancing with your as your heart filled completely with love and happiness, moaning slightly as he parted your lips and pressed his tongue into your mouth with a rumbling groan.

But happiness was not meant for you, even if you craved it more than anything. As your hunter’s kiss deepened, and the two of you were caught up in your love for one another, another being watched in hatred and disgust as he pulled back an arrow before letting it fly with a whisper of, “I told you I would make sure you were alone forever.”

You felt as Paz’s breath was forced from his body as the arrow pierced his heart from behind. You felt as he tensed, before pulling back, panic in his eyes, before you both looked down and you screamed out in horror as you saw the head of the arrow sticking out through his chest. Slowly, Paz seemed to slump forward as you repeatedly said his name and pulled him tight against yourself, cradling his head in your neck, feeling as his breathing became labored and slowed. You could feel the heat of tears streaming down your cheeks, and the heat of your hunter’s blood soaking your once blue dress. There was no mistaking the arrow, or who it had come from, and your heart only screamed at you for allowing yourself to let this happen, but then breathlessly Paz was whispering to you, and you moved him to lay on the ground. You looked down at him apologizing over and over, not realizing in your grief your priestess disguise was slipping, and instead, you were showing your true form. Paz smiled at you, and weakly reached a hand up, cupping your cheek as your own hand held his in place, and he whispered your name and said, “I had a small suspicion that it was you, my goddess….my cyare.”

“Please don’t leave, Paz, please. I have been alone too long. I need you!”

“You will be fine, I know you will. Look at how long you survived without me?”

You shook your head, and pressed your forehead against his own, closing your eyes, whispering, “No, I can’t do that again. I can’t. Not after knowing what it was to love you.”

But Paz only smiled, pulling you down for a soft gentle, chaste kiss, barely whispering, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” before letting out a final soft breath and going limp in your arms as you cried out his name.

It is said in myths and retellings of your story, that you let out a scream so loud people of other cultures heard its sorrow and felt your pain. It is also said that the king of the gods also was rocked by your sorrow, and took pity on you by taking your fallen lover and changing him to take the form of a large brown bear, as a companion to follow you. Now, as people pray to you, symbols of bears are included in your depictions in statues and paintings, each knowing that you go nowhere without the man you once loved. Offerings and gifts, now include strawberries, as they are known to be the last meal of the doomed lovers, and in front of that decrypted temple, still overrun by plant life and crawling with vines, the ground has become a large patch of strawberries, which are said to be the ones from that fateful day to which the goddess of bounty herself blessed to grow and thrive as a reminder, and they are often seen being eaten by a large bear, who, if you watch carefully enough, will carry a mouthful into the temple, before disappearing as if he’d never been there.

Mando'a Translations:

Cyare- beloved, loved

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - “I love you,” but the literal translation is “I will know you forever.”

Everything Tags: @mysticalgalaxysalad @phoenixhalliwell @moodsare @perpetual-fangirl900 @night-snows00 @dumbass-simp-for-fredweasley @stargazingthenightaway @meabravo @just-here-for-the-moment @masteracewindu @litakino

Paz Tags: @bunny-fair @elinedjarin @shellyc9 @blackmarketmummy @djarin-junk

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djxrxn · 4 years

Text

the mediator

part one

reader x din djarin, paz vizsla, boba fett

part one, part two, part three, epilogue

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of criminal activity, maybe a crude reference or two

wordcount: 4.4k

summary: A friend on Nevarro offers you a well-paying job, but you realize you might have bitten off more than you can chew when a Mandalorian you wronged is on planet - and in between you and your next paycheck.

a/n: okay Uh hi so welcome to the mediator lol. i’ve started school for the fall semester, everything for me is online, and i’m an art major, so Everything Is On Fire. in terms of the blog, i’m working on quite a few things so if there’s something you were looking forwards to seeing, or like a request you submitted, i have seen it don’t worry, it will be written i promise!! i can’t prioritize it all rn because classes are pretty demanding, but in the spare time i have, a Lot is in the works so !! exciting!! this fic has three parts and an epilogue, which i’m working on now!! also i absolutely have to thank @jangofctts who has let me bother her about this fic for a Hot minute she’s pretty much the reason it’s written she was very extremely helpful and was the best set of second eyes i could ask for thank u so much i love you!!!! okay enjoy!!

Maker, you hated Nevarro.

The terrain was rocky and… empty. There were no settlements or major cities - you were so used to the bustle of planets in the Inner Rim. Wealthy elites with deep pockets, neon and electricity carving a place into the long nights - it was more home than anything else had ever been. But here? It was a volcanic wasteland, the hot and sticky air wavering around you as you trudged through the gravel, making your way slowly to the only inhabited area on this shithole of a backwater planet. This was not home, it wasn’t even familiar territory.

Arrey was lucky you were friends with her.

You weren’t even sure what Ives had wanted - all you had received was a vague transmission about a job that was sure to pay well, as long as you stayed calm, conducted yourself in a civil and calm manner, that sort of thing.

“But,” the transmission had crackled, the soft baritone of Ives’ voice echoing around your cockpit, “You are the best with this sort of thing, Coins. I have no doubts.”

You scoffed when you heard the nickname. You thought you had finally left it behind, but here was Ives, bringing up that stupid nickname she gave you. She only used it when she had a job for you that would require some... finessing. It was concerning, but the last good job you had was a few bond skippers. You were low on fuel, and you were starting to dip into emergency resources. Ives’ high risk jobs usually set you up for a few months at a time, as opposed to the normal pocket change you got on a bounty.

Whatever she had in store, you could handle for a few credits.

The sun was setting behind you as you laid eyes on the poor excuse for civilization ahead of you, the vibrant oranges and pinks you were used to being represented by a growing dark haze. The small settlement - a town, a territory, a place to rest your feet for a bit - was just as dry as the rest of the planet. There were no buildings that were taller than three stories, and only a handful of ships were docked in the outskirts of town.

It would be easier to enter through a small side entrance. The front of the town would be crowded, even so late in the evening, and if you were on Mandalorian business, it was best to be subtle. You were annoyed at how familiar you were with the layout of the small town, annoyed that you knew the best way to approach the job already - even an Inner City scam job would have to be more interesting than whatever shit Ives was about to have you up to.

You slipped between the space between the two buildings, worming your way through the alley. Not much activity on the streets - you were sure that this whole planet closed up shop at soon as the sun threatened to set.

A noise of disgust left your throat as you laid eyes on the small market ahead of you. It was so… quaint. Only a few jawas and merchants were loitering around still. Even if you wanted a quick coin, you were sure that they would be much smarter than to fall for any of your schemes. However many credits it would take to get back to the Inner Rim would all have to come from Ives.

The fob gave a soft pip as you passed a stand selling spare droid bits. Metal screws and circuit boards all strewn about, a tan R2 unit beeping and chirping behind the table - the Chagrian repairing the droid gave you a glare when you passed him, but you hadn’t even noticed.

You were staring down at your wrist - a small bounty fob had been stitched to an old bracer. Wires poked out of the side, and you hadn’t been sure that it still worked. But it gave another small pip, and you couldn’t help but smile.

How many years ago had Ives Arrey given you that bracer, telling you to stick close to her on your first job together? She was much more prepared for a dangerous situation - she was quick on her trigger, ready to start firing at the drop of a pin. You’re sure that the only reason you made it out alive on that heist was how fast she was able to dispose of the other members of your team.

The fob’s beeps grew quicker and quicker as you walked through the settlement. Its little shrieks bounced off the walls and buildings. You turned a corner, following the beeps, and two gloved hands stopped you from crashing into the person in front of you. A gasp tore its way out from your throat - your hand flew to your blaster on your thigh, ripping it out of the holster and -

“Hey,” a soft baritone echoed through a voice vocoder. It was smooth and calming, and it carried a heaviness to it, like an old dark lullaby. “Relax, relax, it’s just me.”

You blinked. It was your friend but this… this was not the Ives you remembered. Her armor was dark, and had color to it - it was hard to see it in the night, but it looked like a bright green accent around the pitch black of her owl-like visor. The longer you looked at her, the more you saw the deep green that covered all of her beskar.

“You look… different,” you smiled.

“So do you,” she responded with a chuckle. “You changed your hair.”

After a shrug, you respond, “I was getting bored, but you look incredible - what, did they let you finally paint your armor?”

“Yeah, actually. I earned my signet,” she said. Ives gestured to her pauldron where a serpent was coiled up, baring its fangs.

“Wicked cool worm,” you teased, clicking off the fob around your wrist.

She punched your shoulder lightly. “Vexis,” Ives corrected. “It’s a Vexis, from Pasaana. Remember the job I took on Pasaana?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” You rolled your eyes, but Ives huffed. Her visor tipped down in a Mandalorian glare.

“Hey,” she warned. Ives let out a little huff as you flashed a cheesy grin at her. “Maker help me, Coins ”

“Okay, okay.” You held your hands in surrender. “It’s a Vexus.”

“Remember that,” she said, turning on her heels and walking down the alleyway. It didn’t take much for you to keep up with her, her legs making smaller strides than yours did. Her cape fluttered around her ankles as she walked, and you couldn’t help but notice how Mandalorian she looked. She was…

She was intimidating.

“It’s a lot to take in, right?”

You nodded. She sighed and tugged on the edge of her glove. “Yeah, it’s still a lot for me too.”

“When did you get the upgrade?” The sun was completely gone, nothing but a small moon to show you how intricate the patterns on her armor was. Small leaves and vines had been engraved on her chest plate, a streak of yellow ran amongst every piece of beskar, and a small smear of red had been painted on under her signet.

“Actually, very recently,” she said. “A few days before, well, before you were needed.”

“Right, ” you hummed, “And that is...?”

Ives glanced over her shoulder “A very sensitive matter,” she whispered.

You huffed. Before you could even get out a comment, she continued, “That I will get to. I want to get a little bit closer.”

“Closer to?”

You were almost positive you could see her roll her eyes in the way her helmet tilted back and forth. “I’m going to need you to be a little more patient, please.”

“Ives, come on.” Your brow furrowed. You knew Ives to be careful, but this was being conservative with the details of your next paycheck. “And you’re being vague on purpose - just tell me-”

“I don’t want the wrong person overhearing,” she hissed.“ That’s all-”

“Well, well, well-” A Middle Rim accent sounded behind you, gentle and smooth. A long, armored arm crashed down onto your shoulders, and you were jerked back. “I thought I heard my favorite little criminal. I wasn’t aware that Coins stepped foot on planets that, what did you say again, ‘smelled like on fire ass’?”

You let out a small sigh of relief - you wrapped an arm around the willow torso you had been smushed up against. “Aw, Aeris, you know I couldn’t stay away from you for long.”

“Wow, I’m so honored you came all the way to see me.” You could hear the wicked smile coming through his vocal modulator. “But I know you don’t come to the Outer Rim unless you leave with heavier pockets.”

“You’re right.” It’s your turn to give a wicked smile. “I don’t.”

“So, who are you scamming this time?” He pinched your cheeks with his spare hand. “Stealing from children or widows?”

“Technically, Aeris she’s stealing from us,” Ives interjected. You gently punched his unarmored side, and he sagged on top of you with a dramatic groan.

“Mortally wounded,” he groaned. “And confused - how is she stealing from us?”

Ives paused, coming to a stand still - you almost tripped over Aeris’ feet as he mirrored her movements.

After a moment of silence, the only noise was the quiet night slowly coming to life around you, Aeris mumbled something in Mando’a under his breath after a moment, almost trying to fill the silence himself. When you looked up at his dark visor, he just shook his head.

You looked at Ives - her visor was pointed towards the ground, and she was picking at her glove again, tugging at the leather around her hands. You were familiar with these habits - you had seen Ives look at the ground and fidget with her hands hundreds of times before. She was carefully planning her next actions, quickly considering her options before she chose the best one.

She let out a low hum, and looked back at you.

“The leader of our Covert has given me authority to find a mediator to sort out a complication that arose on a job,” Ives said. “I’ve chosen you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

She gave a single nod.

“Sh-shouldn’t you find, I don’t know, maybe a Mandalorian mediator?”

“Our leader has explicitly forbidden any other Mandalorians interfering,” she explained calmly. “She wants unbiased and impartial help.”

“Even in negotiations?” You choked out.

“Oh, please,” Aeris chimed in, “Especially in negotiations. An outside perspective is supposed to be helpful.”

“Unbiased and extremely helpful, yes.” Ives added. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“Okay, so I’m negotiating between a few Mando’s, what’s the catch?” You said, being tugged along by Aeris. Ives and Aeris both glanced at you for a moment before looking back to , neither bothering to voice what they were thinking until you continued.

“Why did you ask for me specifically?” You sighed. “And what’s the catch - if it were an easy negotiation, you could have contracted anybody in the Outer Rims.”

“Well, we do like a mediator with a sense of style,” Aeris said, nudging at Ives.

“Because I know you. I know what you’re capable of, and I know your specialties. You’re good with money, you’re good at finding a way to split it up-”

“Is this what this is about? You want me to split shares?” You groaned. “Maker, Ives, I could have done that anywhere, why did I have to come here-”

“It’s not as clean and simple as that,” she interjected. “There are three Mandalorians who need three even shares of a profit. The amount doesn’t split evenly, and all three are trying to argue that they deserve a larger portion of the credits that the others.”

You let out a short breath. “I still don’t see-”

“These Mandalorians are hostile, especially when there’s money involved.” She pointed at her signet, the Venus on her shoulder. “The Way mandates a base level of respect, but I’m afraid it’s not going to last for much longer - if someone doesn’t work this out, there’s a good chance it could get violent.”

“Let them fight it out, then. Whoever wins the fight, they get the credits - simple?” You suggested.

“Our leader has instructed us to further this out peacefully,” Ives shook her head, “As not to draw attention to us.”

“With those three di’kut, they’d start a whole galactic war over this shit, so it’d be best to keep things slightly subtle.”

“Don’t be an ass, Fenn,” Ives chided. She let out a sigh and didn’t speak for a moment, carefully chewing her next words slowly. “But Aeris has a point, they can be difficult-”

“See, there, I do have a point,” you didn’t have to see his face to know he had a smirk plastered across his face - you could practically see every emotion he felt through his arms, and his voice, and through the way he let little phrases of Mando’a out when he didn’t want anyone to know he was insulting them.

“Thank you, Aeris, it’s greatly appreciated.”

“These Mando’s really care this much about a job?” You mumbled. You apparently had a lot in common with them - you couldn’t say that you wouldn’t feel the same, but something wasn’t adding up.

Aeris shrugged. “Money goes a long way in the Outer Rim.”

“Maybe so, but how exactly did this job go down?” You asked. “I’m not really seeing an issue yet.

“I don’t know everything, but I know that Vizla and Djarin sort of bumped into each other on a quarry, which means they have to cute the profit in parts already,” he said, “But I have no idea where Fett came from, or how he got involved on the job-”

You let out a small choking noise, but Aeris continued on. “-So Djarin is pissed, naturally, because he’s out on cash, but if he thinks he can get away will all of the credits, he hasn’t met Vizsla.”

“Or Fett,” Ives added. “Which... Fett isn’t exactly known for letting money walk away.”

Aeris snorted. “Maker, Coins, you’re in for it.”

You felt like you’d been punched - the air in your lungs was stolen from you so quickly that it took you a moment to remember how to breathe in the first place. Your blood turned to ice. You felt fucking sick.

Fuck.

Fuck - fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I don't-”

Your mouth moved before you could fully think out the consequences of bowing out from the job. You would be out money, and time, and Maker, you were in the middle of fucking nowhere.

But if you took this job, you were pretty sure that the only thing you’d be walking away with was a hole in your chest from one of Fett’s rifles.

Or head. Or, fuck, probably both.

You cleared your throat. “I, uh, I don’t want this job.”

Ives snorted. “Alright, sure.”

You nudged Aeris off of you, and you planted your feet. You weren’t doing this, you couldn’t do this job.

“Ives, no. I- I can’t do this job- I won’t negotiate the shares, you’re on your own!”

Ives stopped. You hadn’t been aware that you were shouting, not until both Mandalorians turned to look at you. You swallowed - you could almost see the shock on their face through their helmets.

“We both know that you wasted too much money on fuel to turn around without something,” Ives said, her voice calm and steady. You wouldn’t expect Ives to actually shout back at you, but you couldn’t help the slightly guilt that tugged at you as she turned back around. “You need to work on your bluffing skills - quickly. They’re not gonna take any shit.”

“She’s right.” Aeris shook his head. “Since when are you bad at lying?”

They started walking again, boots stomping out a quick pattern, Aeris tugging you along by your arm, almost dragging you behind him, and you couldn’t fucking breath.

Boba Fett was cold and calculated. He was a fucking murderer - there was hardly job he didn’t follow through on, rarely a job he didn’t see finished. He took up a contract with the Empire, last official thing you heard, and then he disappeared for a few years.

Then, he reappeared, almost twice as ruthless.

You knew Fett - you only worked with him once, but you were close enough to hear the rumors that he had a personal vendetta against you. You knew that he was looking for blood, and you knew that if he was here on Nevarro, and if he knew you were here, you fucking knew you wouldn’t be leaving here alive.

“How often do you work with bounty hunters as notorious as our own Fett?” Aeris chimed, almost reading your mind.

“I- I think it's been a while,” you choked out. Your voice was trembling, they must have heard it. Aeris just cocked his head to the side, a sliver of moonlight catching on his black helmet. “But I guess it depends.”

“Depends?” He asked. “Oh, oh, of course. The money.”

His long arm curled around your neck, bringing your head closer to his torso. Aeris was limber and thin, but he was still capable of being dangerous. He was just as lethal as any other Mandalorian you were going to meet tonight.

“I almost forgot that you don’t do anything unless there’s a credit for you,” he said, his voice dripping with malice, the jab feeling like a threat. “Which, Arrey, why don’t you tell our friends here how much is at stake.”

Your stomach felt like it was twisting up into a knot. For the first time ever on a job, you didn’t even want to know about the credits - how much you were about to make, how much was being argued over it, none of it. You just wanted out.

Not that Ives would let you out, you supposed, but the less you knew-

“The bounty was for fifty-two million credits,” Ives answered. “Djarin said it was a high profile bond skipper - they had racked up thousands of millions of dollars-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Ive’s explanation. The only thing you could focus on was the rush of your blood. Your heartbeat was so loud in your own ears. The whole world faded away, slinking around you in a confusing sludge. The hot air was stifling you. It was too heavy, too thick. Your lungs couldn’t work with it, couldn’t filter through it - your chest felt light it might explode.

Fifty-two million credits.

You wanted to sleep. You wanted to close your eyes and let everything wash away. You could wake up on your ship, somewhere nice, somewhere you could get a nice breakfast. Maybe you could even find a good cup of caf. You could have a great day, and this whole shitty situation would be a distant nightmare.

Maker, you would kill to just wake up from all of this. If you fucked this up, forget Fett, you would have three Mandalorians on your ass. And if they were anything like Fett…

This was so far out of your realm of expertise. Even the job you worked with Fett was only for a couple of hundred-thousand credits. The most money you had ever worked for - acquired, earned, stolen, it didn’t matter. It was for one million credits. It was the job you met Ives on, the one where she saved your life, taught you how to rob a bank.

It was a pretty large heists for you - all you had known was petty theft and maybe a break-in, and even that was extremely rare. An old contact reached out to you, said he was trying to build up a team that wouldn’t mind cutting a few corners, and you certainly could look the other way for a few credits.

And so could Ives. You met her on Daxan IV - all grey beskar with chunks and bits missing. Old scraps of other armor had been fused into her chest plate, and her cuisses over her thigh was scraped and dented. The only pop of color was a dark green cowl that hung over her helmet, and even that was dark.

You remember making a snide comment about her bowcaster, and you remember her quietly throwing back something just as crude about how many layers you were wearing. At the end of the day, when the guns were pointed at you, that bowcaster had saved your life - Ives had saved you.

She was calm and collected in a firefight, but couldn’t handle the finessing and haggling that came with bounty hunting. You were a smooth talker, you were proud of that, but staying cool in a firefight…

You just had different priorities. Ives and you became a team, reaching out when the other needed a right hand woman for a job.

And you were grateful - Ives’ jobs were always well paying, but they normally came with a catch. One job she brought you along for was connected to the Rebellion, so the Imps were on your ass for months, one job was screwing up the numbers on a Hutt accountant’s book, one job was literally just fucking arson. There was always something - you didn’t think that there’d be something on this job, that maybe this would be the most straightforward job Ives gave you.

Well, here was the fucking catch - here were multiple fucking catches.

“Any other way you can raise the stakes, Arrey?” You snarked. Your voice sounded strained and high pitched. Maker, you wanted to at least appear like you knew what you were doing.

Ives cocked her head to the side. “Not that I can think of… Unless you have something to add, Aeris?”

You felt as he shrugged. “That’s more than I even knew.” He laughed - something short and dry, more out of cruelty than of pure humor. “Can’t wait to hear the deats when I get back.”

“Back?” You asked a little too quickly. You hadn’t seen either of them in quite a long while, and it would make you feel a lot better if they were right behind you for this entire mediation.

You could feel the little breath he let out, the small huff that made his chest expand. “Job off planet, Coins.”

You poked his unarmored sides, and leaned your head against him. “Try not to be a dumbass and get yourself killed, Fenn.”

He poked your cheek. “Only for you, chakaar.”

Ives gave him a nod as he removed his arm from you - his hand grazed your shoulder for a moment before he gave a nod back. Aeris tugged his hood over himself, the red streaks of his helmet disappearing beneath the dark wool. He turned the corner, and-

He was gone, and it was just Ives and you.

You waited a minute. Two, three, the minutes slugged along as you just waited.

“What did you do to Fett?” Ives asked quietly.

You blinked. “I- I’m sorry?”

“Aeris was too busy looking down your shirt to notice - or, maybe he didn’t even care, but you look…”

She studied you for a second, then shrugged. “You look scared as shit.”

Boba Fett had reached out to you - he needed an expendable worm who could steal, who could handle cutting corners, yadda yadda, what else was new? It was the same job description and employer type. The only thing that was different was that your boss was covered in beskar.

Job went south almost immediately. Another one of Boba’s associates sold him out to a New Republic squadron - Boba was busy handling that, but you had found the credits stashed in the lower haul, and you dipped.

Only one escape pod on the small vessel - you did feel a little bad, but it was Fett. He would probably be fine.

It was only a few days before you heard that he was looking for you.

He apparently wasn’t that serious about finding you. If he really was serious about it, you would’ve been hunted down and killed already. You head on a stake, your body on a pyre, that sort of thing. Maybe you weren’t Fett’s top priority, but you weren’t going to give him easy access to…

Well, you.

“We, uh, met on a job - like you and me, but, um,” you paused. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell her that you ratted out a member of her Covert - the last thing you needed, or wanted, was to cause an issue with Ives. “It didn’t go very well…”

Ives let out a low hum. “I assume you’re the reason for that?”

“Wh- me?” You let out a dramatic gasp. “I’m hurt - for your information, I am not the reason the job didn’t go as planned.”

“Oh? So what’s the reason for you being terrified at the mention of Boba?” Ives put a hand on her hip. When all you did was shrug, she clicked her tongue.

“Well, hopefully he’s forgotten what you’ve done to him by now.”

“Does he- is Fett the forgetful type?” You asked, a glimmer of hope appearing in this ridiculously shitty situation.

She shrugged and gestured to the door to your side - it was rather simple and weathered. “For your sake, I hope so.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Ives, I don’t know-”

“Coins, listen-”

She took a step towards you and gripped your shoulder. She rested her head against yours, and as you peered into the inky visor, you almost felt calm. Like maybe, you weren’t quite alone.

“Hit the fob if there’s trouble, just like always,” she said softly. “I’ll be right outside this door if you need anything, but Djarin and Vizsla should be a buffer between Fett and, uh… you.”

You placed your hand on top of hers and gave a small smile. “Thank you, Ives.”

“You’ll be fine,” she nodded. “Now, go in there, and get your paycheck.”

You nodded and you stepped towards the door. Ives tapped in a short string of numbers on the keypad. The door slid up, the cool air from inside seeping out to meet you - it was tempting, but you couldn’t forget what else was in the room besides air conditioning.

You peered into the room - and inside were three Mandalorians, whose helmets all turned to look at you.

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kopykunoichi · 4 years

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The Legacy of Star Wars: An Open Letter to the Writers and Creators of A Galaxy Far, Far Away

“Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old!” ~ Cassian Andor

I saw a great meme once that played off that quote, meant to depict an older fan describing to a newer fan how they had been invested in the story of Star Wars from childhood. I could relate. Though I am not old enough to have seen the original Star Wars movies in theater, they were a significant part of my childhood. I remember renting the original theatrical VHS from our local video store all the time when I was little. Then we bought the digitally remastered Special Edition VHS Box Set and I spent the next decade wearing them out! We would have popcorn and Star Wars marathons all the time. My friends and I would always pretend we were in the story. My swingset was the Millennium Falcon. I was that 11-year-old girl who would argue with my friends over who was hotter - Luke or Han. (The correct answer is Han, of course!) My mother would read the Expanded Universe novels to me in the afternoons and we would talk about the characters. All my spending money went to Jedi Apprentice books and 6 inch action figures. In short, I loved Star Wars.

I was 13 when The Phantom Menace hit theaters, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to get to see new stories from my favorite fictional universe play out on the big screen. Though I struggled a bit with some of the acting, the story was absolutely amazing to me. Star Wars felt all the more real to me with the amazing graphics and intense action sequences - not to mention the layers of politics and the complexity of the story. I watched Revenge of the Sith several times in theaters, and though it broke my heart to see Anakin’s fall, I never considered it to be a sad ending overall, when taken as a whole with the original trilogy.

When the Clone Wars aired in 2008, I was ecstatic. Here was an Anakin I could actually get into (sorry, Hayden). I loved him. I adored Ahsoka. I wanted to marry Rex. The character development and the plot deepened my attachment to that era, and made me question everything I had previously taken for granted as good and bad. The whole system was flawed - the Republic and the Jedi. It wasn’t just a matter of mistakes being made and the wool being pulled over their eyes, there was deep rooted corruption in the side that I once felt was “good”. The light side and the dark side were not as black and white as I thought. I found myself strongly disliking some of the “good guys” and deeply sympathizing with some downright detestable people (I don’t know how you got me to care for Maul, Filoni - but well done). While the series had not yet ended, we knew where it was going. But still, we had already lived through the pain of Order 66, and we knew that the story would eventually culminate in a victory at the end of Return of the Jedi.

I couldn’t believe our luck when the first installment of the sequel trilogy hit the theaters in 2015. It had some of the feelings of a reboot, but I was beyond thrilled to have a series of Star Wars movies that I could now share with my children, as my parents had shared them with me. Though it was hard to say goodbye to the first love of my life, Han Solo - I just knew that Ben would be redeemed and Han’s sacrifice would be worth it...

2016 brought us Rogue One. We knew how that one was going to end too, but we still ate it up. I fell in love with a whole new set of characters, only to see each and every one of them die in the end. Talk about tragedy. But Leia’s line about hope reminded us that five minutes later, a whiny little farm boy was about to have his whole life upended in the best sort of way...so it was okay. Sort of.

Four years of Rebels ended in 2018, and it was so, so lovely - but it hurt so, so much. My perfect, beautiful space family had been torn apart with Kanan’s death. Ezra was missing. Rex was a 29-year-old man who should have been in his prime, but was instead struggling with the wear and tear of a 60-year-old body. Ahsoka was separated from him - AGAIN - and then she left with Sabine to look for Ezra. The ending still held the promise of the fight to come with the Empire, but the majority of our characters were left in a place of grief and brokenness.

2019 brought an end to the sequel trilogy. Once again, we had characters who pulled at our heartstrings, and an interesting struggle between “light” and “dark” that reminded me of the complexities introduced in The Clone Wars. It became more apparent than ever that balance in the Force did not mean the light triumphing over the dark, but instead a harmony between the two. At least, that’s what I thought. Until I watched every person I loved from the original trilogy die, Palpatine come back (and die) again, and the same exact ending of Return of the Jedi played out before me - except not as happy. Why? Because Anakin’s legacy had been reduced to ashes - his rise, fall, redemption, and sacrifice rendered null and void. The last Skywalker was redeemed and promptly killed, just like his grandfather. But because Rey Palpatine decided that she identified as Rey Skywalker, it was supposed to be okay. She then went to go hang out (or live?) alone on Tatooine because that’s where it all started. I was dumbfounded. This was the satisfying, hopeful, ending we were promised? How?

Believe it or not, I’m not here to trash the sequels - I enjoyed them very much - right up until the last 20 minutes. But in that space of time, the entire legacy of the Skywalker family went up in smoke, and the legacy of Star Wars along with it. Since Return of the Jedi, there have been no happy endings to a Star Wars movie trilogy or TV show. And with the ending of The Rise of Skywalker, that one happy ending we did have was ripped from us as well. Star Wars is now a never ending series of tragic endings. The lessons we are left with: Don’t fall in love in Star Wars, it will end badly. Your actions ultimately result in failure. As soon as you turn good, you die. There is no balance in the Force, just a pendulum swinging back and forth for all time.

Then The Clone Wars finally got her last season. I didn’t think Order 66 could have hurt worse, but Filoni set out to prove us all wrong...and succeeded. I’m still not over it. And once more, the bitterness I felt over the ending to the sequels (which had begun to subside) flared up all over again. What was it all for? All that pain. All that sacrifice. No happy endings.

I still love Star Wars. Nothing can take that away from me. No amount of bad writing can change that. And there are still plenty of good writers and creators working on Star Wars content. But good writers spinning tales of tragedy and endless pain negates the power of good writing. The Star Wars of my childhood is not the Star Wars of today. We wore out those VHS tapes because we loved the stories and the people. But my kids are not going to wear out DVDs where everyone they love dies or ends up alone. They aren’t going to queue up those digital movies and series over and over - because who wants to subject themselves to that kind of torture?

Just about the only safe space for Star Wars fans right now is fanfiction archives where the people who love the characters are busy writing fix-it fics to squeeze some sort of satisfying ending out of the canon content. The Mandalorian is literally our last hope for a Star Wars story that has the potential to end well. I swear, if Din Djarin ends up dead or alone at the end of this series, I’m going to lose it. The overwhelming sentiment of the Star Wars fanbase - from original trilogy fanboys to Tumblr blogging Reylos, and everyone in between - is that of dissatisfaction with canon content (with the exception of The Mandalorian). So much so, that many fans are just saying “screw it” and churning out a myriad of fanfiction AUs because there is no way to salvage what has been written. Half of Tumblr is in therapy after The Rise of Skywalker ending and the last episode of Clone Wars - but they weren’t exactly stable to begin with. The other forums and social media platforms are not much better, though.

It’s not just about the quality of writing - because Filoni and co. have done exceptional work with The Clone Wars, Rebels, and The Mandalorian. It’s the tragedy, guys. We can’t take it anymore. Is this really what we want the Star Wars legacy to be? Sadness? Despair? It’s a story about war - people are going to die. I get that. Victory comes at a price, but the cost can’t be worse than the victory. I want to sit down with my kids and watch Star Wars over and over again. The Mandalorian has given us a taste of that - but I’m almost afraid of where it will go. We’ve been burned so many times, I’m beginning to know what Anakin felt like on Mustafar - writhing in agony and screaming “I hate you” to someone he once loved.

I remember happier days when Luke and Leia and Han were laughing and smiling with their friends while Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Anakin looked on. I want that back. Filoni. Favreau. Creators. Writers. Producers. Directors. You are our only hope for canon content. Use The Mandalorian wisely. Use Din’s story to bless other characters. Here’s some ideas:

Let Din have a happy ending! Preferably with someone he loves and respects at his side (like Cara).

Let Cara become a Mandalorian - and put Paz Vizsla in charge of her training (we need to see them spar).

Let what’s left of the Tribe establish a new Mandalorian colony - and let Sabine Wren lead it. And give her that Darksaber back - she earned it.

Let Ezra come back from regions unknown with a deeper understanding of the Force, and have him train the child in the new colony.

Forget the Jedi and Sith, let’s start a medical training center/hospital run by Force users who can help heal people when modern medicine fails!

Ahsoka can use her talents for that too.

Find the rest of the child’s race and bring any of their Force sensitives onboard.

Let Boba Fett and Din have their epic showdown, but then use a sample of Boba’s unaltered DNA and some mystical Force healing to restore Rex’s body to what a 43-year-old should be (and then he can marry Ahsoka so we can have the Clone/Jedi couple we always wanted...thanks to you, Filoni).

Let the Mandalorians partner with the New Republic in the Outer Rim as law enforcement instead of bounty hunters, so they can get their reputation back.

They can train new recruits and pilots, just like Fenn Rau trained clones.

Let them keep their autonomy and traditions, while helping keep the New Republic honest.

Let them be a force for good in the galaxy, for once.

The Mandalorian could serve as the vessel to give a lot of characters with unresolved or tragic storylines some closure and better endings. If not The Mandalorian, then other new shows. My 6-year-old daughter wants nothing more than to be Ahsoka Tano. My 3-year-old son asks me to watch The Mandalorian every day. My 18-month-old daughter walks around in her brother’s Mandalorian helmet babbling “Way”. Please let me share the Star Wars legacy that I grew up loving with them. Let me show them the happy endings I enjoyed. Let me show them that even in the midst of conflict, not every life has to be ruined. Let me show them a Star Wars story with a satisfying ending. Hope. Redemption. Love. That’s what Star Wars means to me.

May the Force be With You (and your pens),

Rebekah, A Star Wars Fan

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

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I'll See You in my Dreams- Soulmate AU

AN: First off, sorry I didn't have this up earlier, I went through so tough writer's block that is kicking my ass and my school year has begun so I had to focus on that for a bit. Second, I wanted to say, the next thing I write is probably going to be the next part for Merman!Din because I hit 100 kudos on the fic over on Ao3. Third, starting probably towards the end of this week, maybe Thursday or Friday, I am going to start character takeovers. I will make a post about who it will be and how long it will be around during the morning and reblog it throughout the day along with any disclaimers/rules. I am thinking this is something I can do during the weekends when I don't have classes and Im not writing. Love you all and I hope you enjoy this fic!

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Reader

Words: 1K (sorry its short....)

Summary: What if you, someone from Earth, miraculously were soulmates to someone in a galaxy far, far away?

Warnings: descriptions of pains, sadness, yearning, soft love confessions and promises, unedited bc I am tired and just wanted to post this

The dreams, oh, the dreams….

They come and they never stop, always leaving wondering and wanting, aching.

You do not understand them, what they meant, if anything other than a manifestation of desires, but when he appears you feel like you are in another world, another galaxy all your own, made for you and him alone. He tells you you are his one, his only, and your heart soars with every small touch and smile. His whisper of your name, and promises sworn in a language so foreign, yet familiar after years of their whispered softness, cause you to feel like you're floating, like you are where you are meant to be, in this loving man's arms.

Only...each day as you wake, you come crashing down into the same disappointing reality, reminding yourself that he is not there, and he is only a cruel trick your mind plays upon you heart and soul each night, laughing as you wake to the same cold loneliness of day, ripped from the warmth of his arms that hold you each night. It had been like this since you could remember, even as you were a child he would appear in your dreams and ask if you wanted to play with him. He told you stories that his family, his culture taught him, the things that were even at that age obviously very important to him.nYou parents would praise you for your creativity when you repeated the stories to them. They never understood.

Your parents didn't understand why you never let go of this imaginary figure in your dreams. They couldn't comprehend why even after you grew away from the imaginary friend stage you still talked about the boy that simply did not exist to them.

The older you got, the more you realized that you wanted no one else but him. No one else could make you smile or laugh the way he could. No one else made you feel safe the way he did. No one could come close to making you feel cherished or content the way he did. No one could touch just how loved you felt each night when he gave you that shining smile, followed by an endearment in his sacred language- he had attempted to teach you a few basics at one point, but he only kept chuckling and teasing you softly as you tripped over the words he said so effortlessly.

It wasn’t until you were graduating high school and looking into colleges when it dawned on you how much you loved the man in your dreams. How you would never be happy with another, not knowing he was there, even if he was not real. You would never find anyone better than the boy you had watched grow into a man, than the person who listened to you talk endlessly about your life, the one you told all your secrets to never holding any information back because you knew he would never judge you. But this, this realization you kept to yourself, not wanting to share and find heartbreak from the one person you knew you would never be able to recover from.

So you pulled back slowly, never fully distancing yourself how could you, but you tried to never come too close, fearing the pain that would follow if you did. And you hated every second of it.

As you progressed through college, you both lamented your stresses to the other seeking comfort in just venting or just listening to the other’s voice. You were busy with school, stressing over finals and papers, while he was worried about his people, his covert who he was now lead and teach, he worried about the future generations as his people’s numbers kept diminishing.

Life and stresses seemed to take over and pass in rhythms. Soon you both found yourselves in a comfortable dance, but one that had each side aching for more but unable to ask for it.

By the time you graduated from school, on track already to work your dream job, you found yourself suddenly feeling hollow. A feeling that started showing up in dreams, a feeling that was only suppressed when you brushed against his hand, or he reached out and hugged you before you both woke. But it did not take long for the feeling to spread into your waking hours. Life became numb at best, painful at most. The feeling only getting worse as you were with him. Some nights it felt like your entire body was screaming for the man you could not have.

But it changed one night suddenly. You had not even got to say hello or hi to him before he pulled you into his embrace, whispering words of defeat, whispering how he could no longer hold back, being apart from you for so long hurt him. He said that his very soul was hurting and he just needed to hold you for the night. And you caved. You caved and held him as tightly as he held you, hot tears slipping down your cheeks as you hiccupped the words you never wanted to tell him. You stuttered through devotions and dozens and dozens of ‘i love yous’, and you were overjoyed, bursting at the seams when he returned each with his own love confession, with his own devotions for you. And you only cried harder, finding yourself slowly being soothed by his rumbling voice in his chest and his calm words.

You both stayed like that. The night ticking by but moving slower than normal, or it could just be the quiet nothing of the world as you held tight to each other. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, hopes to freeze in time and never wake again if it meant staying here wrapped in the other’s soft love and body.

But….like each night come to pass, you found yourself being lulled and pulled away from the man you loved so forcefully. He could feel it too, you knew he could by the way his arms tightened, and as his final words were whispered into your ear before you were ripped apart.

“Mesh’la, my fierce love, I swear on the name of my ancestors, that I, Paz Viszla, will find away to reach you in daylight. I will come for you, cyare, I promise with all my being I will come to you.”

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#700 followers fic #700 followers #soulmate au #paz vizsla x reader #paz x reader

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

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Okay you have no idea how excited I was to see that you're open for requests! I love your Mando stories so could I please request my big boi Paz? I'd love to witness you do magic with prompts : 14 (bodyguard AU) and either 49 (fake marriage)/63 (mistaken for couple)/80 (green-eyed epiphany) *can you tell I couldn't decide* *I'm a Libra* *I do apologize*

Im honored that you love my mando fics and that you got excited about me opening requests 🥺💕Also, as a Sagittarius sun and moon, I relate on not being able to make decisions 😔, but I have a great idea for:

14. Bodyguard AU

63. Mistaken for Couple

80. Green-Eyed Epiphany

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x GN!Reader

Words: roughly 2k, woops

Send me some AUs/Tropes??

Note: So I just wanted to start this off with what I'm thinking about this mash-up, like whats going on and the situation. A little backstory/world building, if you will. So, im seeing this as after the tribe on Nervarro scatters after the fight with Grogu, Din, and the Stormtroopers. Paz is by himself and in need of work for credits, to both support himself and save up for when/if he is reunited with his tribe he can help rebuild and contribute. That leads him to a small midrim planet that is pretty divided. You are the head of the government, but there is a group of people who keep trying to kill you and harm your supporters because they want the "true ruler" to be in your place. Said "ruler" is part of a bloodline of radical tyrants that had been controlling the planet until around the same time the empire fell, their downfall resulting from being too involved with the empire. SO, the head of your defense team brings in Paz to protect you, because not only is he a big scary dude covered in big weaponry and armor, but also because you keep insisting that all the soldiers and guards should be protecting the people not you, so bringing in Paz was his little loophole. Now on to the story!

You were not happy with this arrangement, and you had told the head of your guard just as much. You didn't need a protector, it only showed your rivals that you were scared of what they were capable of, that they had the possibility to win this war they were waging. The man- the mandalorian that had been hired was unfazed by your indifference towards him, always just trailing silently behind you look just as menacing as mandalorians were said to be. It was easy to tell that he knew his way around a variety of weapons, it was easy to tell that he had been through battles and suffered their consequences. And it was easy to tell that this job seemed to be a bit boring for him. He didn't have any excitement, most days the mandalorian was stuck following you throughout the capital building, attending meetings that he could care less about, standing guard to your study as you paced around in thought. Nothing much happened, but as time went on and the war worsened and the threat of your rivals loomed over your head you started to notice that the mandalorian would do little things that shaved a little of your stress away, or would brighten you day if only a little. Little treats would show up on your desk, or cups of teas or caf just the way you liked them, walks through the garden would result in a vase of flowers- handpicked and cut with a sharp knife at an angle, delicately- placed in your room. The first time you broke down in front of him, the stress of loosing nearly an entire village not far from where you were to the grievous ways of your enemies broke you to the point of sobbing hysterically and the mandalorian surprised you with his gentleness, as he softly grabbed your arms and made you look up at him, his blue helmet staring down at you as he said, "You will get past this...you...you are a good leader, you care for your people more than yourself, and in the end, that is what will have you coming out on top."

After that night, something changed between the two of you. Instead of following behind you silently, you started walking beside the mandalorian, in meetings instead of letting him stand silently behind you, you started asking his opinions on the battles or if he had any suggestions to help combat. The two of you got closer, and you weren't sure when, but eventually you found yourself calling the mandalorian a friend, and you liked to believe he thought of you as one as well, he at least trusted you enough that he told you his name, which you only used in the private of your quarters or study during your late night talks. When you started to show signs of the stress becoming too much, or that you were nearing another breakdown, he would gently lead you away from whatever you had been doing. More times than not he lead you to the gardens and sat you down as he would tell you stories of his childhood or of his people and culture. One evening, he went as far as to set up a little spot for you to relax and eat a little snack with tea, to give you time away from everything, to give you a break from holding your home on your shoulders. It had been nice, and it helped you clear your thoughts, the gesture had you smiling fully for the first time in months, and it was one that was not quick to fade. As thanks, you had asked Paz what you could do, to which he only replied, "Seeing you smile is enough." So you did, you smiled at him and gently reached out and placed a kiss on the cheek of his helmet.

The smile Paz had gifted you stayed for a few days, your people noticed the happiness and it it seemed to affect all of them, each person growing their own little smiles. Melancholy still hung in the air, but you felt like you had the energy and will power to deal with it now. But as all good things must end, this happiness was ripped from you, when the head of your guard rushed into a meeting with the delegates of the planet, his face was crumpled in worry and he whispered apologies as he reluctantly handed over a letter addressed to you. Your heart pounding, you opened the letter only to freeze at the sight of a photo taken of the moment that had only radiated happiness until now, staring down you only saw yourself pressed close to Paz’s form with lips pressed against his helmet. The moment now felt tainted, and you felt sick to your stomach, the happiness that was shown in the picture gone, only replaced with pure terror. Glancing at the man stood before you, he took the picture and flipped it before handing it back with a somber look. On the back, in deep red ink and scratchy handwriting read:

Now, do you really think courting a mandalorian is going to protect you from your death by my hands? Ill make sure to kill him in front of you so you have to watch as he falls.

Yours loving,

The True King

You hadn't even realized you were shaking, nor breathing heavily, until a gloved had reached into very and took the note away from you. You watched as Paz looked the note over before passing it back to your head guard. He told him something, but you could not hear as your eyes started ringing. Gently Paz helped you stand, before leading you away from the meeting. You didn't care where he was taking you, at that moment you couldn't think straight, couldn't get past the thought of, how did they get so close to take a photo without anyone noticing?

After the letter had been delivered Paz took care to never leave your side, he became more overbearing and involved with planning your schedule. No longer were you allowed in the gardens, or outside for that matter, for the time being, Paz only really allowed you to go to your quarters, your study, and the meeting room. You didn't fight him, too tired from the lasting conflicts and worry over what would happen next. A month went by, and everything quieted, the attacks stopped, and it almost felt like your enemy had gone into hiding. You didn't relax though, the note still whispering in the back of your head. Paz found himself often sleeping in the chair beside your bed, after too many nights of having been awoken to you yelling out his name and finding you rushing to his room to reassure yourself that he was safe.

Then it happened. You knew the quiet was only leading to something, but you weren't prepared to be a woke in the middle of the night to Paz scream to you. It had been the first night you had been able to fall asleep and stay asleep without nightmares of Paz’s death, but you were only thrown into a different nightmare as your eyes few open and you saw Paz fighting off an attacker. You yelled for you to run, and as you hesitated he only growled your name and told you to go, so with a heavy heart you did, you ran. All around the capital you could seem fires burning and hear your guards fighting with silhouettes your tired eyes could not make out in the low light of night. You did not know where to go, only letting your feet carry you, only stopping when you were out of breath. Looking around, you found yourself in the garden, feet from where you gave Paz the soft kiss, the memory still churning out a small amount of happiness, but quickly turned sour once more when the grinning face of the man you loathed most in the world stood from the bench hidden in the shadows.

"My dear, I was hoping you'd come here. I know you are especially fond of the gardens, most certainly this area."

"What do you want Alun? Why wouldn't you stop this fighting? People, my people, our people are suffering!"

He scoffed and turned to look at the city burning around you both. "The people deserve what they are getting for forgetting their true leaders. And you for forgetting what you once were."

"Stop this. You are doing nothing but destroying the planet!"

Alun turned to look at you, small smile curling onto his hate filled face. Slowly he reached out and placed the rose he had picked behind your ear, the thorns pricking your skin, one digging in enough to make a drop of blood run down your ear.

"When I have control again, and we are again together, things will go back to the way they were. I promise you, love. You just need to stop fighting me."

Disgust formed on your face as you stepped back, "We may have been engaged before you fell, but I never loved you. I was forced into that position by you and your father, and I do not regret being apart of how he and you fell from grace. I will never stop fighting you."

"Oh, but I love you, and I will have you, my love."

"Not if I have any say," a voice growled from behind you. Whipping around, relief flooded you at the sight of Paz marching towards where you stood. He was covered in blood from fighting, but seemed like he was uninjured himself much to your relief. But he seemed angry, livid almost as he pushed you behind him, standing toe-to-toe with Alun. "If you want them, you will have to get through me, and I will not stop fighting until my dying breath for them," Paz’s words settled into your chest, warmth flowing through you as the next few second moved in slow motion. Paz reached out, before Alun even had a chance to grab for his weapon. Paz lifted him like a rag doll to his height, making direct eye contact, before growling out, "because I love them, and you will never have them."

And with that said, Paz simply slammed his forehead into Alun's forcefully knocking him unconscious, then carelessly dropping him to the ground where he laid unmoving buise already forming on his forehead. Paz then turned to you and reached for you, but you simply flung yourself onto him. "You're okay, i was so worried, I didn't want to leave you, I was so scared that something would happen and that Id...."

"That you'd, what cyare," Paz whispered as he held you close, arms wrapped around you as if he'd let go and you'd disappear. Looking up and into his helmet's visor you were quiet for a moment, before speaking up softly, "I love you too... I thought I'd never get to tell you that I loved you."

Gently, Paz pressed his forehead against your own, before whispering, "You don't have to worry. I'll always be around to protect you. And," a teasing note coming out in his voice making you smile, "You can tell me how much you love me anytime you want. As long as you don't have anymore previous fiancés out there professing their love to you. I don't think I could hold back from ripping off their heads like I did just now."

Giggling you shook your head, "No more love professions, I promise. Only yours matter."

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#anon thots #au tropes asks #paz vizsla x reader #paz x reader #paz x gn!reader #14. Bodyguard AU #63. Mistaken for Couple #80. Green-Eyed Epiphany #i hope you liked this!!#i liked the idea but i feel like i kind of just threw it together hap hazardly :/

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