Fic resides at the same username on AO3. This tumblr began as a place to flail around about Mad Max: Fury Road, expanded into a place to flail around about other things too. I tend to reblog Star Wars, Star Trek, Inception, Good Omens, Our Flag Means Death, and who knows what else. Occasional ruminations on life and reblogs of non-fandom things that made me smile.
Apparently the thing for writers to do these days is have a pinned post at the top of your blog, so people can find your work. Here's mine!
Somehow I have written several dozen stories in the worlds of Mad Max: Fury Road, Star Wars OT, Star Wars ST, The Mandalorian, Good Omens, Our Flag Means Death, and (wow, years ago now) Sherlock.
Everything's here on AO3. It's almost entirely SFW and you'll find lots of genfic, a little romance, and even a couple character/reader fics because why not. Some are silly, some heartfelt, some serious or sad. Many are gentle. A few are not.
I hope you'll find something you like there. Thanks for reading, if you do!
I’m going to level with you. I have listened to The Devil Went Down to Georgia for most of my life. We were a country music household, this was a staple of my childhood along with Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, and that one Chipmunks country album.
I have no idea what “Fire on the mountain run boys run/The Devil's in the house of the rising sun/Chicken in the bread pan picking out dough/Granny does your dog bite no child no” means and at this point I’m too scared to ask.
1397 words. After their mission on Shakari, Din and Grogu return home. Din contemplates taking a step back. Father-son musings. Spoilers for The Mandalorian and Grogu.
—
A raindrop slid down across his visor, right on schedule. Nevarro’s monsoon season wasn’t subtle, and the clouds rolling in as they had landed had heralded a mighty storm. Better get Grogu and the Anzellans inside.
Din grabbed his tools and left the work he was doing on the hull, then strode into the cargo hold. The new Crest didn’t feel fully like home yet, but it was getting there. His mouth quirked into a smile beneath his helmet. It did feel good to be back.
“Mando!” the lead Anzellan crowed, waving one small hand. Greef had given Din their names once, but he could never remember them. “We fix ship. Good bones. Good bones! Make fast.”
Grogu clapped, jumping down the ladder from the cockpit. His smock and his hands were covered in grease stains, but he was holding a spanner the right way and looked like he had made himself useful instead of turning himself into a menace. Good. His son wasn’t much for impulse control, but he’d been getting better - slightly - over the past year or so.
Din turned to the Anzellan, who had been joined by his crew. ”Well, we can ‘make fast’ tomorrow. Storm’s coming on, and you’re welcome to stay here for the night. It’s a long way back to town and I didn’t see a roof on your speeder,” Din offered.
The Anzellans briefly conferred amongst themselves. Grogu watched them eagerly, offering a helpful babble.
“What do you think, kid? You don’t mind sharing dinner?”
Grogu hesitated for a moment — clearly thinking of having to split his after-dinner cookies — then shook his head politely. The Anzellans chattered along with a murmur of “Stay with Mando,” “Baby good job,” and “Thanks thanks.”
By the time they’d set their tools aside the rain was coming down harder, splashing and churning the lava dust to a sticky mud that squelched beneath Din’s boots. The Anzellans scurried across the slippery yard while Grogu leapt into Din’s arms. Rain pelted them both and Grogu laughed, tilting his head up and opening his mouth as water beaded on his face.
“Ready for dinner?” He knew the answer before Grogu’s enthusiastic nod.
—
”You’re making friends,” Din said as he and Grogu prepared dinner. Grogu sorted the tableware, carefully setting out some of his smallest dishes, which made for large platters to the Anzellans. Din pulled out meat from the freezer, remnants of their last trip into town a week or so ago. Good thing he hadn’t left it for fresh, given how long their recent missions had taken. He tossed the meat on the glowing grill and Grogu smacked his lips at the sizzle.
Grogu pointed to the Anzellans, who were busy cleaning up from the mud. He gave Din a questioning look.
“Yeah, looks like they’re your buddies now. The droidsmiths, Rotta… good job, kid.” He reached down, patting Grogu on the back. Grogu babbled, saying something that almost sounded like “friend” if Din thought hard enough on it, and then returned to carefully setting up cups beside the plates for the Anzellans. They were using their entire stock of meager dishware. Not like they had a lot of visitors over for dinner, between their distance outside of town and the missions they’d been on lately. Maybe they’d take the blurrg in tomorrow once the weather cleared, stock up on more provisions, stop by Greef’s office.
Din winced as he pulled the meat off the grill and worked on rehydrating some grains from their little pantry. He was stiffening up. Bruises and aches from the recent fights were making themselves apparent, and he rethought his plans. Maybe that blurrg ride could wait a few more days. They were well-tamed, but the path back to town was still a bumpy one.
He dumped a good measure of salt and spices into the moistened grains, giving them a good stir. He snorted to himself. Salt on the ration. He didn’t keep a huge variety of seasonings around, but what he had would apparently have been worth a damn lot on Shakari. Now that was a job that had gotten messy.
Din knew his own skill, could weigh and measure it objectively. He’d thrown everything he had into the last mission. Muscle, speed, weaponry, the use of his armor, the ability to think on the fly. And there was a good chance it still wouldn’t have been enough. He’d been lucky Rotta hadn’t crushed him beneath his vast bulk; lucky that Rotta had taken out the security system; lucky it had gone down the way it did capturing Coin despite not having the Crest ready to go.
He was getting older, and he knew it. He took a long breath, let it hiss out between his teeth.
Grogu still needed him.
He saw the kid in a tiny cage again, Coin’s little plaything. Grogu had his powers and the training Din had given him, but it was clear he wasn’t able to figure out how to break out of the cage, or had been left too weak from the gas to attempt it. It was too much like what the Imps had done to him, what Gideon had done to him, and Din hadn’t been able to stop it. His chest ached with it, even though the kid was safe and sound beside him now.
He finished with the grains and worked on slicing the meat. Grogu lifted the first juicy slice with his powers and directed it into his open mouth, and instead of correcting him to wait for their guests, Din let him have it. Kid had earned it.
”Don’t worry, Grogu,” he said, half under his breath. “We’re taking a break for a while.” Grogu looked up at him and licked his lips, clearly pleased with how the meat had come out.
A break would do them good. Time to rest and recover, to double down on Grogu’s training, to get the Crest just how he wanted it. Time to look at his own weak points and do better. For his son.
Din set the ready food down on the table. He knew Grogu was perfectly capable of jumping to his own seat. But he couldn’t help from scooping the kid up into his arms to bring him to the table, holding him a little closer and a little longer than he needed, and Grogu, for his part, didn’t squirm away.
—
Din had offered the Anzellans his own bed — he could sleep anywhere — but they deferred, choosing the lumpy old pillow on the floor that Grogu kept rescuing every time Din tried to throw it out. Grogu, to Din’s bafflement, often preferred it over the small raised child’s bed Din had procured for him. The kid snuggled right up to the droidsmiths and managed to keep his hands to himself. The pile of them had fallen asleep together. It was an odd sight, but charming in its way.
The rain drummed on the roof in the quiet, a steady fierce rhythm that should have been comforting in its familiarity. Din considered stretching out and falling asleep, but a part of him still felt restless. Maybe it was knowing there was work undone on the Razor Crest. If they needed to get off planet in a hurry… if the Hutts decided to come after them…
Better not take the chance.
He finished clearing up after dinner and headed to the door. He paused at the threshold as the door slid open, the rain sluicing past him, the puddles growing larger by the moment. He glanced back at Grogu again.
Grogu’s chest rose and fell peacefully, his face calm and content, still a little sticky from dinner. He’d need a good bath in the morning between the engine grease and the meal. Something they’d been slacking on these past few missions. Not that either of them minded — Grogu could be a terror about baths, putting them both to the test.
Din smiled at the thought. That was his kid all right, stubborn through and through. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He sighed, the sound swallowed by the cacophony of the drumming rain. He stepped out into the dark and mud and wet, and the door slid closed behind him.
A little more work and they could take that break, just the two of them.
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
Rich swamp smells, loam and river-weed, moist tree bark, springy moss and shading fern. Sounds of the deep fens, droids on patrol, frogs chorusing, the swell of countless insects droning. The feel of earth beneath his palms, his toes squelching in the puddles.
The way his father’s chest rose up and down, up and down, fast and shallow. The rattle of his breathing.
What if it had come out different?
What if he never found the kind man across the river? What if he never got the medicine?
He pulled at his father’s shoulder, tapped his armor frantically, listened for his heartbeat under beskar.
All was silent — all was silent — and he was alone —
*
Grogu woke up in the dark on Nevarro. He would know the closeness of their little home no matter what, the little hum of their security defenses in the background, the smells of caf and cookies, the way the air hung just so within four prefab walls. It was secure now. He could feel it in the Force.
But the dream was still so scary and so fresh. He froze, then pulled his blanket over his head. He stayed like that a minute before peeping his head out, ears brushing against the soft fabric. He called out, shyly, just once.
No answer.
He told himself he would be okay if his father slept through without realizing. They had been through so much these past days. They both needed rest. Grogu sighed and turned within his blanket, shivering a little, determined to fall back asleep on his own.
A hand, warm and steady on his back in the dark. “Hey, kid. You okay?”
Grogu hesitated.
He’d been okay after the assault on the Imperial warlord in the snow. Chilly, excited, but fine.
He’d been okay after they locked him in a cage. His legs were tired and he was embarrassed and worried about his dad, but they’d both been all right.
He was okay after he got his dad home safe again. They’d both fought so much, so hard, and they had won!
He was getting stronger. Better at helping his dad. Better at saving his dad. He knew that he was brave and that he’d done good.
“Grogu?” his father asked quietly, his voice rough. He clicked on Grogu’s glow-lamp. In the dim light, Grogu could see he had taken off his helmet, something he did only very rarely, when it was just the two of them in their clan and the world was quiet. His father’s face was lined and tired and kind. “You all right?”
Grogu shook his head no, and he held out his arms.
“Hey, hey. I got you, kiddo.” His father held him close, his embrace gentle as anything. They stayed like that until the sun crept around the edges of the windows, until the blurrg crowed with the morning. And Grogu knew that they were safe once more.
people who don't use or spend time on tumblr don't really understand how solid this place is for creatives and how we could be living in artist utopia if they fully undid the nsfw ban. the tag system? the dashboard? the silly anons who will send you the most insane sentences known to mankind? having your very old, shitty art make the rounds again because somebody finds value from it and wants to show their friends? no other place even comes close
Din and Grogu always make time for a stop in the marketplace on their trips to Batuu. Grogu loves how many fascinating things there are to look at! Sketched on location.
I want to buy the action figure solely to figure out how the heck Grogu rides on his shoulder. Is he standing on something? Is it magnets? Is it Space Velcro? I need to know!!
STOP no more live-action remakes. We're going the other way now. Animated Casablanca. Animated The Godfather. Animated Oppenheimer. Animated Fight Club.
Takes place immediately at the end of The Mandalorian & Grogu. Spoilers ahead. Comfort and fluff and slice of life with Din and Grogu on Nevarro.
I've now watched the movie 3 times and it was exactly what I wanted it to be: a low stakes, standalone, self-contained fun adventure story focused on Din and Grogu. So of course I had to write some Clan of Two comfort fluff. Hope you enjoy, and be warned of spoilers from the film of course!
Read below or on ao3.
************
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived home on Nevarro. One of those grey, dull days that barely got any light. But no rain though, which was a good thing, since the cabin still lacked a big chunk of roof thanks to that surprise visit from the Kyuzo bounty hunter. The teen who came once a day to feed the blurrgs when he was offworld had been kind enough to push some of their furniture to the sides so that it wouldn’t get even more damaged if the weather took a bad turn. But it wasn’t like they owned anything truly valuable.
Still, that roof would need to be fixed. And soon. But just how soon was a decision he really wanted to postpone for the time being.
“Let’s find something to eat,” Din said instead, and he felt Grogu nod enthusiastically from his spot on his shoulder.
The generator hadn’t been damaged, and rummaging through the icy cooler proved that it thankfully wouldn’t need to be replaced either, but the rest of the kitchen was a different story. He mentally went through the list of things he would need to try to fix or buy again, and the familiar dread of worrying over credits gripped him for an instant before he remembered it was no longer such an issue these days, thanks to the New Republic and their much more frequent and reliable payments.
“How about some krill chowder then we’ll go check if the fresher made it?” he suggested.
“Ah!” Grogu agreed, jumping from his back to stand on the counter as he set about warming them a couple of bowls in the heating unit. It made a new, clanking, worrying sound, but it seemed to be working reasonably well still.
As they sat across from each over the counter – Grogu simply plonked himself down while he managed to rescue a sturdy metallic stool from under some rubble – it struck Din that it had been weeks since they had a quiet moment like that, just the two of them. Home and safe. He took off his helmet and inhaled deeply, the pungent smell of the chowder a welcome one.
Grogu looked up from his bowl and his ears perked up. He knew that they’d be staying home for a while if he’d decided to remove his helmet to drink his soup rather than inhaling it as quickly as possible from the corner of his mouth.
“Kind of a close one, huh?” he acknowledged.
Grogu stopped slurping his meal once more, waiting for him to elaborate. But those were not easy words to say. He hadn’t come this close to not making it for a long while. Not that he actually kept track of such things, but ever since the kid had become his apprentice he’d tried to be more careful. One thing was for certain though, he needed time to let his body heal properly. Time to let the child be a child again for a bit. Time to come to terms with the fact that his son had saved him from certain death. Twice.
“Let’s take a break, we have enough credits for a while and the Anzellans need to help me finish fixing a few things on the Crest before we hit up the Colonel for a new mission.”
The child nodded, pleased with that decision, then pointed at the missing roof.
“That, too,” Din agreed. “I’ll need to find a builder in town, I’m sure Greef can recommend one.”
Such luxury to have enough credits to actually be able to pay someone to handle that for him instead of having to figure out how to do it on his own. He was certain he’d be able to manage it somehow, but he’d rather focus on the Crest. Getting her just right was something he actually looked forward to. She would soon fly even better than the old one, and the prospect made him smile.
Grogu yawned loudly and dropped his empty bowl on the counter. His son needed some sleep, but he could tell he was still fighting it, his eyes resolutely open and his small hands jittery.
“I’ll go check if the boiler survived and draw you a bath, what do you say?”
The warm water would soothe the kid and he’d be down in no time. But his son made a face, because he knew it was his usual strategy and it meant bedtime.
“You can play in the water with your toys for as long as you like,” he added as an incentive, and it worked – it usually did.
“Bwah!” Grogu chirped, jumping down from the counter.
As the boy played noisily among his bath bubbles in a corner of the room still covered by some roof, Din found a large enough tarp to attach to the ceiling for the time being. It would do the trick unless it started raining hard, but the weather report he’d listened to on the transceiver seemed to be reasonably optimistic.
After making sure that Grogu was still busy enough in his washtub – he was – Din set about freshening up. Their clothes had survived the ordeal as they were packed in sturdy cases in the bedroom and it felt nice to put on something clean after his shower. He rubbed some healing salve over the wounds that required it and that he could easily reach in his bruised and stiff state, and decided the rest could be dealt with if it still hurt the next day.
The boy had started to play more quietly in his bath, and the splashing sounds had almost stopped – he knew he’d quickly ask to be picked up, and as soon as the thought entered Din’s mind he saw little arms reach up towards him. Grogu looked impossibly tiny and young as he slowly dried him and dressed him again in clean clothes. It amazed him anew that such a tiny being had rescued him. Travelling all across the Outer Rim with even tinier creatures and knowing exactly what to do. Choosing to stay behind once he’d been offered a safe escape despite his injunction to leave. And then taking care of him. Healing him. Making sure he didn’t die.
“That poison that infected me, you had to find an antidote for it, right?” Din asked as he slowly put each of his tiny arms into their respective holes.
Grogu nodded languidly.
“You healed the wound first, but it wasn’t enough,” he added, to another answering nod. The child had frequently healed some of his injuries – most times without his acknowledgment or approval. He had brief flashes of his comatose state on the forest floor. A feeling of warmth and reassurance that the close proximity of his son provided. Fresh water clearing his senses for a few stolen seconds. And then a weird taste in his mouth before he finally emerged from his oblivion.
“You found someone who could help,” he eventually surmised, and the boy looked up. As tired as he was he could still read worry in his eyes – he knew he wasn’t supposed to interact with strangers or show them his powers.
“You did good, kid,” he immediately reassured him, stroking his back. “I know you’re usually a good judge of character on who you can trust.” And this was true enough, as it had also been the case with Rotta, with whom he hoped to cross paths again, since anyone with such a long lifespan could be an invaluable presence in the child’s life one day. “And I know I can trust you with my life, just as you can trust me with yours.”
The child smiled, pleased to receive such high praise. He gripped a couple of his fingers tight and cooed, his ears slowly lowering as he yawned again.
They slept on the Razor Crest that night, as he’d deemed it safer once he’d engaged security ground protocols. It wasn’t just because he’d wanted to recapture the long but never lost memory of what had once been his home. Their home. As he eventually drifted off, the reassuring warm shape of his child in the crook of his arm, Din let himself revel in one last thought: maybe he wasn’t doing so bad at being a father and training his son.
PTERODACTYL SCREECH yessssssss new @azertyrobaz fic!!! Go read this right now people! It’s so warm and comforting like a big soft blanket and just what these two needed. So happy to see this! 🤩 Love that Din is slowly starting to feel more secure after the work they’ve been doing and how proud he is of Grogu 🥹
“They asked me to tell you what it was like to be twenty and pregnant in 1950 and when you tell your boyfriend you’re pregnant, he tells you about a friend of his in the army whose girl told him she was pregnant, so he got all his buddies to come and say, “We all fucked her, so who knows who the father is?” And he laughs at the good joke…. What was it like, if you were planning to go to graduate school and get a degree and earn a living so you could support yourself and do the work you loved—what it was like to be a senior at Radcliffe and pregnant and if you bore this child, this child which the law demanded you bear and would then call “unlawful,” “illegitimate,” this child whose father denied it … What was it like? […] It’s like this: if I had dropped out of college, thrown away my education, depended on my parents … if I had done all that, which is what the anti-abortion people want me to have done, I would have borne a child for them, … the authorities, the theorists, the fundamentalists; I would have born a child for them, their child. But I would not have born my own first child, or second child, or third child. My children. The life of that fetus would have prevented, would have aborted, three other fetuses … the three wanted children, the three I had with my husband—whom, if I had not aborted the unwanted one, I would never have met … I would have been an “unwed mother” of a three-year-old in California, without work, with half an education, living off her parents…. But it is the children I have to come back to, my children Elisabeth, Caroline, Theodore, my joy, my pride, my loves. If I had not broken the law and aborted that life nobody wanted, they would have been aborted by a cruel, bigoted, and senseless law. They would never have been born. This thought I cannot bear. What was it like, in the Dark Ages when abortion was a crime, for the girl whose dad couldn’t borrow cash, as my dad could? What was it like for the girl who couldn’t even tell her dad, because he would go crazy with shame and rage? Who couldn’t tell her mother? Who had to go alone to that filthy room and put herself body and soul into the hands of a professional criminal? – because that is what every doctor who did an abortion was, whether he was an extortionist or an idealist. You know what it was like for her. You know and I know; that is why we are here. We are not going back to the Dark Ages. We are not going to let anybody in this country have that kind of power over any girl or woman. There are great powers, outside the government and in it, trying to legislate the return of darkness. We are not great powers. But we are the light. Nobody can put us out. May all of you shine very bright and steady, today and always.”
