41, she/her, veteran fanfemme, follows/likes from @veterinaryrambles. Art account is @doodlingfoolishness. Fic on AO3 as LoonyLupin/fanfoolishness. Currently nuts for the Mandalorian and Grogu. Other fandoms include Bad Batch, JFO/Jedi: Survivor, Dragon Age, Severance, Steven Universe, Mass Effect, and Bioshock Infinite. Check the menu for fic links and tags :)
Hey folks! I’ve suddenly found myself writing enough Mandalorian fic that it makes sense to do a masterpost. All of my stories are also on AO3 under fanfoolishness / LoonyLupin, if you prefer to read there, but if you’d rather stay in tumblr, here we are.
My stories tend to be angsty to bittersweet, with a strong focus on Din and Grogu’s familial bond, with some additional focus on Din’s own trauma. Occasional appearances by other characters include the Armorer, Peli Motto, Greef Karga, Cara Dune, Kuiil, IG-11, and Boba Fett. No plans for writing any romance, but if I do it will be clearly labeled as such.
Tag: My Mando fic. All fics listed in chronological order, with the first story starting just before episode 1x01, but are written randomly as they occur to me. They do loosely link but can always be read as stand-alones.
Stories are also tagged #noromo Mando for stories that contain no romance. If you are interested in joining the NoRomo Mando Discord server for non-shippy discussion of The Mandalorian, let me know and I'll send you a link!
Current as of 7/19/2026!
Season 1
duty: 500 words. A Nikto pirate does their best to take care of a strange prize on Arvala-7. Set during episode 1x01.
Holding Space: 1000 words. Kuiil POV. An Ugnaught’s lifespan is twice that of a human’s, but even a being who holds the long view can still find space to hope.
as the dust gathers, 400 words. The Armorer reflects on Nevarro.
the hollow man: 580 words, Din & the Armorer set during The Sin.
what is true: ~600 words. Din knew the truth once, until it was forgotten.
In It Together: 1152 words. Din and the Child get patched up after their escape from Nevarro.
focus: ~400 words. Din finds a safe haven.
Birdsong: 700 words. The Child sneaks out on Sorgan.
To Stay a Little While: 2800 words. Cara Dune doesn’t know why she lingers on Sorgan.
Somewhere Safe: 1100 words. Din and the Child leave Sorgan. More than a little sad.
A Goodnight Song: 671 words. After a hasty departure from Sorgan, Grogu is inconsolable.
Stories: 500 words. Peli Motto rocks the Child to sleep.
Nightmares: 600 words. Din confronts a world in which he was too late to help the child.
the naming of things: 1795 words. Din names the injuries he received in The Prisoner, and reflects upon the hunter becoming the hunted.
The Confession: 1000 words. Kuiil and Din discuss the Child on the way to Nevarro. Kuiil thinks the Mandalorian has changed.
Primary Directives: 2020 words. IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian. Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption. Whump.
A Warrior’s Death: 1700 words. Din tends to his wounds and armor after the events of the Redemption.
For the Darkness Always Passes: 800 words. Din struggles with guilt after The Redemption.
Season 2
something borrowed, 400 words. Din cherishes the Rising Phoenix and the gift of beskar.
Contact: 800 words. Din is a touch-starved man, but he’s getting better.
jewelry: 300 words. Din marvels at how much the child loves the pendant.
Waves in Moonlight: 1100 words. Din Djarin and the Child share a meal together under moonlight.
Noctis: 508 words. Din and the Child both struggle with dark dreams.
The Lullaby: 1900 words. Din and the Child are exhausted and try to get some sleep.
The Dove-Gray Sky: 950 words. The Child sees snow with Din for the first time.
The Scent of Whiteleaf: 4800 words. Grogu and his protector visit a calm and peaceful world, searching for those who could help them find a Jedi. They find something else instead. Grogu POV. Grogu & Din, some of Din's backstory, and several gentle family bonding moments.
The Outpost: 2000 words. Din and the kid visit Batuu, hoping to find a Jedi.
Vaii Mhi’Yaim (Where We Are Home): 6800 words. Whump. Din nearly dies bringing in a bounty to Nevarro; it’s up to Cara, Greef and Grogu to save him.
going under: 800 words. Din Djarin nearly drowns. Whump.
Fulminating: 5000 words. Din suffers complications after nearly drowning on Trask. He and the Child recover together. Maybe it’s enough. Even more whump, hurt/comfort.
The Clan Now Safe: 1500 words. Din struggles with feelings of isolation from his kind.
if things were different: 800 words. Greef Karga and Din Djarin discuss the Child before they make plans for the Siege.
The Connection: 195 words. Ahsoka learns what Grogu finds most important.
The Weight: 450 words. The Armorer grieves the past, and prepares for the future.
A Knock at the Door, ~1000 words. Din’s sick and Grogu tries to be helpful.
the hand outstretched: 1400 words. The quiet finds its way in after the Tragedy.
Orphans: Din and Boba Fett discuss their next move in the search for the child. Fett asks a question, or two.
Amputechture: 1300 words. Din returns for his armor after attacking the Imperial base, injured. Boba Fett lends perspective.
Translation: 2400 words. Din Djarin was a man of few words but many languages. Some thought the Child spoke no language at all. They learn to understand each other.
The Sacrifice: 600 words. Din never understood the depth of what he had been asked to do until it was too late.
Finding the Way: 2400 words. Din struggles after the Rescue, but Cara Dune is a good friend.
Post S2/The Book of Boba Fett
The Good News: 800 words. Din shares the good news with an old friend. Angst.
Strikethrough: 1250 words. Din struggles with a wound that will not heal. Angst.
five denials and a truth: 3800 words. Five times Din Djarin denied being a father, and once he didn’t. Angst.
the wheeling stars, amidst the dark: 5370 words. Peli Motto is glad to see her favorite customer return, but is worried when she realizes he’s come alone. Grief, angst, friendship.
The Invitation: 2600 words. Din travels in dreams that feel realer than real after the Rescue. A promise is kept.
talisman, 470 words. Cara reaches out to a friend when she realizes he needs to talk.
The Nor'Wester, 1200 words. Din Djarin seeks a new purpose after the events of The Rescue, but memories lurk around every bend. Angst.
How Strange to Stay, 1000 words. Fennec Shand wonders why she cannot seem to leave Tatooine.
going up?, ~400 words. A Mandalorian gets on an elevator. BoBF 1x05.
Onto the Next, ~400 words. Din struggles during Return of the Mandalorian.
Aphelion, ~1500 words. It is a quiet, lonely ride back to Tatooine. Din leaves the Child with the Jedi.
in bacta, dreaming, 1200 words. Din Djarin dreams in bacta.
Season 3
questioning, short. Din wonders about his faith and his Creed in light of recent events (season 3).
Milestone, ~750 words. Din discovers the cause of Grogu's bad mood, and realizes a flaw in his own beskar. Big parenthood feels.
Grogu vs. the Grease Detonator, ficlet. Grogu encounters spicy food against Din's better judgment. Fluff.
fears, 1000 words of whump and light torture. Din has been captured, and fear proves an effective weapon, even against a Mandalorian.
lilies in her hair, ~1000 words. Bo-Katan has a long-overdue conversation with her sister on jMandalore.
cobbles, 200 words. Din and Grogu share a quiet moment.
Reverberations, linked to on AO3, 16,500 words. Five times Din and Grogu encounter the Dark Side, and one time they encounter something altogether different.
The Mandalorian and Grogu/post S3:
souvenir, Drabble. Din brings Grogu a gift.
Holding On, ~450 words. Grogu learns to ride on Din’s shoulder, and Din tries to learn to let go.
Taking a Break, ~1400 words. After Shakari, Din and his son retire to Nevarro for a well-deserved break.
All That Matters, ~1500 words. Din’s injured and kidnapped, but he has only one priority. So does the bounty hunter who’s captured him.
what floats on a breath, ~1400 words. Din knows his last breath draws near… but he’s wrong.
You Okay? - Short. After Nal Hutta, Grogu at last is not okay.
All the Fun of the Faire, ~3800 words. Din and Grogu head into town on Nevarro for supplies, but find an unexpected celebration awaiting them. Hijinks ensue. Fluff, father-son shenanigans, and Din & Greef friendship.
The Path Forward - 5200 words. On a desert planet a mission goes wrong. Grogu suffers for Din’s mistake. Hurt/comfort with a happy ending.
Arrangements - the Armorer has a visitor from the Tribe. ~500 words, angsty, Armorer POV about Din.
fathers - short. Sometime far in the future, Grogu accepts a truth he has been warned about: fathers die.
The meiloorun tree at the Djarin homestead grows and changes through the years. Bittersweet story of Din and Grogu's time together, with a Rotta cameo. 3100 words. I cried a bunch writing it.
--
A tree knows much.
It knows the taste of earth and water, nitrogen, carbon, oxygen, hydrogen. It knows the sensation of light dancing upon its leaves, of wind caressing bud and branch. It senses vibration carried through the air and soil. It knows the passage of time slow and swift both, years stretching onward beneath the sky. It knows the song of the great forest, the pulse that flows through all things that grow and live and fruit and die.
It knows its home.
--
A young meiloorun sapling takes root in Nevarran lava soil. The world and the tree are both young, and an abundance of nutrients lies beneath the jagged outer crust, waiting to be used if only water can be found. But beings scurry back and forth across the surface, and vibrations of digging and laying of pipe reach the tree’s fragile roots. The freed water is cold and crisp and sweet, and the tree grows, tasting sunlight.
Some of the beings become familiar, their footfalls, the vibrations of their voices, the touch of their hands on the bark of the tree providing identity. One is small and growing, like the tree; the other has the heavy settled footsteps of a strong and sturdy adult. The tree listens to them with great curiosity, especially when the small one lays a hand upon the trunk and the tree feels the song of the great forest in the child’s touch.
--
Grogu plays beneath the meiloorun tree, watching the patterns of the sunlight streaming through the slender leaves. Scattered light dances over the rocky-edged pond, gleaming on the surface of the water. He tries to chase a dot of light and it flutters away from him in the breeze.
The light vanishes, replaced by solid shadow. Grogu burbles a little sound of annoyance, then tilts his head to look up at his father. He points to the shadowed pond, trying to explain to Din that he’s interrupted his game.
His father crouches down and the sunlight returns, dancing once again. Din tilts his head to watch as Grogu splashes back and forth, trying to capture the light.
“A game?” he asks.
Grogu nods as the wind stills and the light freezes in place, outlined by the leaves of the tree. A-ha! He charges forward, water splashing everywhere, and stands triumphantly in the pond squinting in the sunlight.
Din chuckles, reaching down and patting Grogu on the head. “Good job, kid. You got it.”
--
Grogu notices the problem with the tree first. He stares up at it, then rests his palm against its trunk. Its light in the Force has dimmed a little, flickering in his mind. He senses bright pinpoints of other life taking from the tree. He frowns. It feels wrong.
He goes and gets his father, holding his leg. “Tree?”
“It’s an infestation, I think,” his father says. He studies it closely while walking around its trunk, brushing a gloved hand against the branches and the yellowing leaves. He plucks something off a leaf and brings it down to Grogu to inspect. A sturdy insect. Grogu sees wiggling legs, a big head with mandibles for chewing, a spiky little tail. He leans forward and swallows it whole. It tastes spicy-sharp.
Din chuckles. “Let’s hope it’s not poisonous. Though we haven’t found anything yet that upsets your stomach.” He rests his hands on his hips, and Grogu can feel him concentrating. “We’ll have to see the gardener in town. I don’t know much about plants.”
Grogu looks up at him curiously, then points at his mouth, then his stomach. “Eat!” he says proudly.
“That’ll work for the bigger ones, kid, but there’s probably something we have to do to take out the eggs.”
Oh. Grogu nods, understanding, then leaps up and snatches another insect off the trunk to shove into his mouth.
They take one of the blurrg into town, where Din leads them to the gardener at the edge of the city. Her property sprawls with shrubs and bushes and trees, little pillowy gray-green plants in small pots, big spiky things in pots bigger than Grogu. The Force feels rich and green here. It makes him think of Sorgan and Nal Hutta, where the plants were so lush and brilliant. He wonders if it will ever feel that way at their home.
His father explains the problem with the tree. Yellow leaves, the chewing insects. The gardener nods. She teaches them that some insects are good, but too many leave the tree out of balance. Din buys nets and a special spray, tools to keep the insects back under control to a healthy level. And Grogu knows that he'll help out too. His stomach grumbles, ready to assist.
--
The tree flourishes, the chewing insects kept in check. The pond’s moisture filters into the surrounding soil and new plants begin to arise, neighbors to the tree. Mosses, scrub grass, lichens. The tree can taste their connections to the soil as it makes its own. It grows stronger, sending out new leaves, new twigs, new branches to shelter the beings below who have brought it back to health.
--
Grogu perches near the top of the meiloorun tree, tongue sticking out in concentration so far that it brushes against the metal of his training helmet. He pulls it back into his mouth, smacking his lips to mute the taste of metal.
It has taken time, but the once spindly branches have grown thicker and stronger into sturdy boughs. The tree now stands well above the height of their homestead, and the leaves are lush and green, creating a curtain that keeps him well hidden. It’s a good place to keep watch. And to practice other things.
He keeps one hand on the trunk for balance. His father should be coming back this way any moment.
There. He’s not used to seeing the top of his father’s helmet, but the gleam of sunlight on the beskar makes him easy to spot. Grogu waits until Din approaches a little closer --
He leaps!
Through the Force and his training, he hits Din’s shoulder like a blast. Beskar clangs on beskar. Din grunts and takes a huge step forward, brought off-balance, but he manages to stay upright. He flings his arms up to grab Grogu. “Ha!” he gasps, winded. “Good one, kid. That would have knocked over anyone else.”
Grogu laughs, squirming out of Din’s arms and dropping to the ground. He’s too big to be held like that now. “I tried,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re tough, old man.”
“Still younger than you,” Din scoffs.
Grogu groans. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true,” Din points out. He tilts his head. “That was good form. Enemies will always underestimate you for being small, but this kind of attack is a good way to take advantage of your size.”
“I could do even better with a Rising Phoenix,” Grogu wheedles. “Right?” He looks up at Din hopefully.
Din’s wearing his helmet, but Grogu can see the way his father’s eyebrow arches anyway. “Well... maybe it’s time to pay a visit to the Shriek-Hawks.”
Grogu leaps up in excitement, ricocheting off Din’s shoulder and back into the branches of the tree. Din grunts. “You might be small, but you used to be smaller,” he calls, rubbing his shoulder. Grogu just hooks his legs over a branch and sits there, swinging his feet in delight.
He should try to be serious. If they’re really going to see the Shriek-Hawks about a Rising Phoenix, Grogu knows he’ll need to earn it. There will be trials, training, drills. But for now he sits in the tree, giddy as anything.
--
The training Phoenix is hard to work with by design. The Shriek-Hawk trainers explained to him and the other foundlings that the sensitivity of a fully functional jetpack would likely get them killed without dedicated practice. It was what Grogu had expected, but that doesn’t make it less frustrating. He’s already crashed it twice today, even though it only gets up a few meters off the ground.
Still, he’s determined. They made this one especially for him and his small size. He has to get this right. He gets up before Din and practices flying past the blurrgs, trying to make the jetpack obey the instructions he gives it through his gauntlet, his movements, his balance. The wind buffets against his robes and armor. For a moment he’s in the air flying suspended and free, his heart and mind fully attuned to the Phoenix --
And then he bobbles his hand on a current of wind and the Phoenix banks straight down.
He flails, kicking out and scrambling his hands, caught in an instant of pure panic as the ground rushes toward him.
But the Force is there too, flowing around him like the wind, and he leans into it, steadying his heartbeat and his reactions. He breathes. Shifts his hand, tilts it just so, speaks to the Phoenix.
It obeys, swooping him up out of his fall. He lets out a sigh of relief until he realizes he’s hurtling towards the meiloorun tree. He braces himself and manages to hit only a few branches before catching his hands around one, coming to a stop with a jerk as leaves flutter to the ground. He swings back and forth on the branch for a second, feet dangling, before he manages to clamber up onto the branch into a sitting position.
Grogu tries to catch his breath. Okay. Maybe he can see now why his dad held off on this for so long. And why his dad has never seemed the most skilled with the Rising Phoenix. This is hard.
He leans against the trunk of the tree, looking down at the pond, and decides maybe it’s time for a little break.
He’s about to hop down to the pond by using the Force when something in the green swaying leaves catches his eye. A burst of orange and fiery red, glowing in the early morning sun. His eyes widen.
It’s a fruit!
He reaches out, cupping his hand carefully around it, testing the rind for ripeness. The meiloorun hangs heavy in his palm, looking just as good as the best ones in the market.
“Wizard,” he says softly, and pulls it free.
His stomach rumbles. He hasn’t had breakfast yet. But this -- the first fruit from the tree -- he knows it deserves to be shared.
He leaps down to the ground much more gracefully than he would have had he used the jetpack. It’s but a quick walk to the cabin, and he opens the doors, looking for Din.
He finds his father brewing caf, just pouring hot water over the ground beans. Grogu’s nose wrinkles up. Even through his helmet, the stuff still smells awful. He wonders if he’ll ever like it himself, but doubts it.
“Look,” he says, holding it out.
“It’s a meiloorun,” Din says, nonplussed. Then he pauses. “Wait. Is that --?”
“It’s from our tree,” Grogu says proudly.
“Well,” says Din, his voice unexpectedly rough, “that’s something.”
“Come on! Let’s share it. Out here, in the sun.”
Din laughs. “Who are you, and what have you done with my kid?”
“I mean it.” He heads back out to the pond, finding a seat on his favorite flat rock. He sets the precious fruit beside him and takes off his training Phoenix, shrugging his shoulders. That feels better. It’s always hard getting used to a new piece of armor, no matter how much he has looked forward to it.
Din joins him, finding a seat in the morning shade. It takes him a moment to get down to the ground and get comfortable. Longer than it did once. He reaches out to take the meiloorun, testing its weight between both hands. “Looks good.”
“I remember when we visited the gardener,” Grogu says.
“You remember that?”
“Of course.” He shrugs. “She said it takes years for these trees to bear fruit.” Din nods. “And our tree was young when we moved here.”
Din nods again, looking at him steadily.
“It’s just --” Grogu tries to find the words. It’s hard, as hard as controlling a jetpack. Maybe harder. “We’re lucky, aren’t we? To be here long enough to see this.”
He thinks of a life on the run, hiding his powers in darkness, the vast loneliness and cruelty the galaxy can hold -- and he thinks of his buir, fighting for him year after year after year, fighting to create a place of safety for him. And he has. And now their tree, once a slender sapling, stands strong and proud and bearing fruit, sheltered and sheltering both.
“We are lucky,” Din echoes softly. He reaches down and pulls out his vibroblade, cutting through the fruit's rind and splitting it in half. He hands one half back to Grogu.
Grogu lifts his helmet, resting it on his lap. Grogu raises the fruit and slurps some up. Sweet, tangy juice fills his mouth, the fruit’s flesh a delicious jelly. It’s so much better than the ones he’s had from the markets. He closes his eyes and savors every bit of the mouthful.
He looks up to see his father lowering his helmet after scooping out a portion. Din swallows. “Thank you. It’s… perfect.”
“Yeah,” Grogu says, taking another bite. “Thanks for sharing it with me.” They eat the rest of the fruit in peaceful silence, juice sticky on their gloves, as the blurrgs make their morning rumbles and the breeze flutters the leaves on the tree. The Force sings around them, fixing this moment in Grogu’s mind: the flavor, the scent, his feet at the water’s edge, the breeze against his face, the shade of the tree above, and his father, at his side.
--
The tree’s fruit returns year after year, plump bodies ripening when the days grow long and the sunlight is fierce and the lava flows quieten. The first year the fruits are few and quickly eaten by the beings who keep the homestead. The second year the fruits begin to multiply. The tall being and the small one eat many fresh, but they also bring their creatures to the shade to eat what falls upon the ground, and they collect many to save and preserve for later.
But they are not always there to collect the fruit, and the meiloorun has other visitors: beings who come to watch over the creatures in their pen, small animals skittering over the stones, insects buzzing and eating what is left behind. The seeds find shelter in the stones at the water’s edge, and as the summers pass the seedlings begin to rise.
--
The tree is now one of many. Younger, stronger trees stand in a shaded grove, their leaves a rustling voice within the breeze, their branches fine and strong and lissome. They will stand for many years, their green a lushness against the lava stones. The tree is comforted in being amongst its kind, though it is now shriveled and wizened, with only the smallest crown of leaves adorning its twisted branches. A single meiloorun hangs from its lowest branch, its last effort.
Soon will come the time of ending. But death is not the end for a tree; the flying things will drill into the hardened wood to make nests for their offspring, the boring-beetles will find shelter in the trunk, the fungi will begin the long slow work of digesting the wood. The tree has no fear nor sorrow for what is to come. It knows that endings are only new beginnings.
There comes the roar of engines, the smells of fuel and ozone. The tree knows them less and less now in its final summers, but still it remembers returning ships.
Vibration, pressure, chemical changes, shifts in light, the mysterious hum of the greater forest: they combine into knowledge and familiarity. The tree knows the ones approaching. It has known them for a very long time.
The small one walks slowly, a wooden stick tapping beside his footsteps. The large one’s vastness undulates against the stones and moss and grasses. The large one stops first, granting the small one the last few steps to the black stone cairn, sheltered here within the grove beside the pond. The day these stones were laid was countless summers past. The tree remembers the scent of metal strange and pure, its residue translated through the soil; it remembers many footsteps on the stones, and words spoken into the winter wind and slow soft rain.
“It’s good to see you again.” The small one’s voice has changed over the long years, once young and uncertain, then strong and hale and hearty, now creaking with age. The tree knows how this feels too. The small one rests his hand against the stones of the cairn, perhaps remembering the being who used to stride these paths with him so long ago.
“All is well,” the small one says. He is quiet for a moment. “But I will not take another foundling,” he says. “That time for me has passed. Vi kelir cuyir tome tug'yc nusujii, buir.”
He bows his head until it touches the stones. The sound of metal on stone is soft, but rings out sweetly.
The small one returns to the side of the large one. “Time runs so swiftly now. I am glad to see him once more,” says the small one. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Of course,” says the large one. “I’ll always be grateful for what he did for me. For both of us. I've never forgotten."
“It’s good to remember. These were happy times.” The small one rests his hand against the old tree, and the song of the great forest swells, rich and real and brilliant, sunbeams and cold clear water and velvet loam, bud and leaf unfurling and blossoms in the sweetest kindest spring. The tree’s last tiny leaves shiver with a gentle joy, though the breeze has stilled.
“Look,” says the large one. “The first fruit of summer.” He reaches up to the old tree and pulls down the ripe meiloorun.
An ending for the tree, or a new beginning: a tree knows much, but perhaps not this. Perhaps it is not to be known.
“Would you like to share it, old friend?”
“Some things were meant to be shared.”
The two old friends sit at the water’s edge within the sheltered grove. They share the fruit together, and the seeds fall into the soil below, waiting for their time to begin.
-------------------------------------
(Notes: Vi kelir cuyir tome tug'yc nusujii, buir translates to We will be together again soon, Father in Mando'a.
The tree is confirmed to be a meiloorun in Star Wars: The Mandalorian Visual Dictionary.)
White clouds filled the air, mist from the Living Waters, steam from the cryoforge. Familiar footsteps rang out on the ancient stones and Din Djarin stepped into her forge-room.
She set down her hammers, regarding him with curiosity. It had been years since she had seen him last, ever since his son received his full armor and struck out into the galaxy on his own. Djarin walked a little slower now, right leg dragging with a slight arthritic limp, but he still cast an imposing figure with his beskar well-maintained.
She spoke the words of greeting. He dipped his helmet in recognition.
"What brings your journey back to Mandalore of old?"
"I wish to make arrangements," he said, and his voice carried the hallmarks of age that were otherwise hidden beneath his beskar.
She nodded. He was human. Yes, that would be appropriate.
"What are your wishes?"
"I have spoken with Grogu," he said. "We do not know what path he will walk, but if he takes a foundling, my armor may be passed on and used to protect them." He touched his right pauldron, his index finger tracing a border around the mudhorn signet. "But he has requested to keep this pauldron, should the Tribe allow."
"It will still remain with him?"
"Yes. In memory." He lowered his hand, his shoulders dropping slightly.
"This is permitted," she said. "Beskar belongs to the Mandalorian people. Your son is Mandalorian. I know he will treat it with honor."
"Thank you," he said. "I am at ease." But he did not turn to leave.
"There is something else. Your leg troubles you."
"It does. It's only age. A lucky problem to have."
"A problem of luck and skill both," the Armorer said, a touch of pride tingeing her voice. It was not very long ago that she knew no remaining Mandalorians touched by age. "I will make adjustments. You need a cuisse that is lighter, yet supportive as well."
He bowed his head in thanks, removing the armor from his right thigh and handing it to her reverently. "I would be honored." He knelt slowly, carefully.
She gazed upon him, then adjusted the cryoforge, its blue flames glowing through the white haze. She dropped the armor into the licking flames and raised her hammer and tongs, and she wondered if this would be their final time in the forge together. The idea brought an ineffable sense of a future grief, a shepherd losing a long-loyal member of the flock.
But that time was not now. The Living Waters within the forge roiled and steamed, and she spoke into the mist, her voice strong, certain, absolving. Shepherding.
Something (hopefully) easy from the fic prompt (and in honor of that very hungry toddler):
Din & Grogu, fried, greasy, and spicy!!
Grogu vs. the Grease Detonator
"You really want that one?" Din asked, pointing to the menu where a holo of a giant fried feast sparked in and out of existence. Grogu clapped with excitement. Din was less than enthused.
This place wasn't exactly a fine dining establishment, which usually suited him fine, but everything he could see on the menu looked like a one-way ticket to the vacc tube. And this was the best spot they'd seen all night. The kid had to eat something. He resigned himself to cleaning up some form of biohazard by the end of the night.
"One Grease Detonator," Din said, long-suffering. The shifty-looking Rhodian in a grease-stained cap took his credits and got to cooking, which consisted of dunking something that already looked fully cooked and congealing back into a sizzling vat of fat. His nose twitched under his helmet. It did smell kind of good, though. The Rhodian hauled it out of the vat and dusted it with a shower of red and green flakes from a rusted seasoning shaker, then tossed it into a pile of flimsi and handed it to Din.
"There ya go. Enjoy," the Rhodian said.
Din shook his head, then found a cramped corner of the bar to tuck himself and the kid away. He set the food down on the rickety table. The grease was already glowing through the flimsi, not exactly an encouraging sign, but Grogu's eyes gleamed with excitement as he grabbed a steaming nugget of some kind of meat and crammed it into his mouth.
"Just be careful," Din said. "I'm not sure how spicy it --"
Grogu hiccupped. He blinked in surprise at the sound, then grabbed another nugget and inhaled it just as quickly. Hiccup. Hiccup. The kid's eyes watered, and he looked up at Din, lower lip trembling.
"You okay? It's just spicy food. It does that sometimes," Din said, though he was regretting everything and calculating how long it would take to get back to the ship and to a privy.
Snot poured out of Grogu's nose, but he snorted as hard as he could, sucking in some of the mucus dripping down his face. Six more hiccups burst out of him. The little ridges above his eyes creased into a look of sheer determination. He reached out for another nugget, and took a defiant bite.
"We can look for something else, you don't have to eat it all --"
But Grogu waved Din's protestations away and took another bite. He hiccupped so forcefully that three people in the crowded bar turned and stared, but -- and Din had to be proud of him for it -- he kept eating. And he finished every last bite. His cheeks and ears were bright red, sweat dripped down his forehead, snot and tears leaked down his face -- but he gave Din a cheeky little look and let out the biggest belch he'd ever heard, and Din just had to laugh.
I'm about to start on a fic that I hope will wreak emotional devastation to everyone who reads it, but I wouldn't mind doing some genfic drabbles tooooooo! Anyone want to play along and send me asks? or if you would also like to get some prompts for the Mandalorian fic, reblog!
Pick a character or two and a couple words from below and send away!
Characters: Din, Grogu, Greef Karga, Rotta, Carson, Colonel Ward, Bo-Katan Kryze, the Armorer, Hugo Durant, Gatori
2. if din gets in a bed with blankets does he remove his armor and get under the covers or lay on top of the blankets like he’s in prison
3. does din miss being a child and getting snuggled up under a big comfy blanket without any armor
4. is din completely unable to sleep unless theres beskar digging into his skin
5. is din ever scared one of his five billion worn weapons will be set off in his sleep
6. Would there ever be circumstances that would permit din to remove his armor (save for the helmet of course), take off the flight suit, and put on a set of satin pajamas and sleep under a big fluffy comforter.
7. when was the last time din slept in an actual bed that wasnt the cot on the crest or his twin sized mattress on nevarro
8. Does he have sciatica from sleeping in chairs/sitting up
You got me thinking... Does Din own a blanket? Does Din own anything besides weapons, armor, and tools to repair his ship?
Ended up with a li'l character study of the cabin on Nevarro. Sharing because, why not!
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In the kitchen, there are two plates. Two bowls. Two cups for drinking. One is sized for tiny hands.
A cupboard keeps clothes neat and dust-free. He owns three shirts: one to wear, one to change into, and one extra for days when sweat or blood soaks through. There are three pairs of leggings and three flightsuits in the same rotation. One pair of soft trousers for days in hyperspace--or, now, times when he doesn't need to leave the cabin.
For the child, the cupboard holds two spare tunics, underthings, and one old shirt that used to be Din’s. It’s worn and fraying at the hem, and it’s Grogu’s favorite thing to sleep in. When the cabin’s closed up tight and the rest of Nevarro and the wider galaxy are locked outside, that shirt envelops the child in softness as he dreams.
Against one wall of the cabin is a locker for weapons.
There is one toolbox. There is a use for everything inside.
There is one spare pair of shoes.
There is a little bed for Grogu and a larger cot for Din.
There are exactly five things in the cabin that they don’t actually need.
There are cookies.
There is soap that makes rich lather and smells like flint.
There is very good caf.
And on each of their beds is the fluffiest blanket, a small one for Grogu and a larger one for Din. On those nights when the cabin’s locked up tight and the security system’s on and the rest of Nevarro and the rest of the galaxy are locked outside, Din will sleep in just his underlayers, wrapped in soft down and fleece. And sometimes Grogu will sneak over, the too-long sleeves of his favorite nightshirt dragging on the floor, and climb in underneath that blanket, too.
More adventures of Din and Grogu on Batuu! Drawn over 3 separate visits to Disneyland, the majority of which drawn while standing in the market hall leaning against an orb because there was nowhere to sit 😂 I love giving them endless visits to Batuu! Ink, watercolor, acrylic and colored pencil.
i DO believe that a good writer can make mischaracterization work. oh there's a character who doesn't normally cry? figure it out!! disect the character. make the situation cryable for them. make that character cry ugly tears even if it goes against their very nature. YOU CAN MAKE IT WORK!!!
