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the unified cringe the covert felt when bo’s fleet took off their helmets

Wait a minute who's this guy

Funky helmet, is that.. non-human Mando?

"We don't have a word for hero. Being prepared to die for your family and friends, or what you hold dear, is a basic requirement for a Mando, so it's not worth a separate word. It's only cowards we had to find a special name for." - Baltan Carid -

This armor is part of our identity. It makes us Mandalorians who we are.

#sir, your son is the size of a shrimp

oh they’re the same glasses okok no one call or text for the next 7-10 business days i am NOT OK

Fanfic writers really said "in any universe, in any scenario, despite any obstacle, these people would love each other" and I think that's very cool of us

Can we get prompt 5 with Din 👀👀?

“Sometimes I wonder if you even like me…it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.” + Din Djarin

a/n: ta da! my first mandalorian fic thank you for requesting! this one got away from me a little bit.

"Go ahead and toss over the credits and we'll let you go," the twi'lek says, waving a vibroblade under your nose. "You don't need to get hurt, sweetheart."

You scoff. "Right, and then you'll just let me walk away?"

"That's right," his partner says. "Unless you wanna be difficult about it."

You did not want to be difficult about it but -

"Y'know, can't you find some rich asshole to rob? I barely have anything as it it. This is like the poor stealing from the poor." They glance at each other, brows raised.

You consider your options for a moment. Only one of them seemed to have a weapon, and neither seemed to have a blaster.

If you were quick enough, you could probably wrestle the blade from the twi'lek and use it against both of them to negotiate your release from this particular alleyway.

"C'mon now, we know you're buddies with that Mando that's always hovering around these days, and he's covered in beskar. There's no way you're lacking for credits. You probably get a cut of all those bounties."

You furrow your brow, "Are you stupid?"

The Mandalorian was not your friend. He tolerated you at best, considered you an okay contact at worst, when he was looking for work, or information.

Mainly, he sought you out because you heard everyone's business as the barkeep at the cantina.

But apparently your insolence and calm at being robbed has run its course of charm. The twi'lek steps forward, blade to your throat. "Either you hand it over, or we take it from you."

You open your mouth not sure what your retort would be and half expecting it to get you killed, when a voice rings out. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

The modulated voice is a balm you don't expect, and both your captors glance over, towards the mouth of the alley. "This doesn't concern you, Mando," the partner spits.

The Mandalorian's helmet simply tilts to the side. "It does."

His tone is hard, brooking no room for disagreement, when you swing your knee up into the twi's gut and twist the blade from his grasp in the same movement.

You slash at the partner, and think you nick his arm. Both flee down the alley away from the Mandalorian, who stands still, hand on the blaster still in its holster.

When they're gone, he approaches you slowly. "Are you okay?" If you didn't know better, you'd say he actually sounds worried.

"Fine," you kneel to stick your new blade in your boot. "I had it handled. Why are you here anyways?" You brush past him, back into the street.

To your surprise, he follows.

The question was meant to be rhetorical. "I saw them follow you when you left the cantina."

"So you followed me."

"Didn't look like you realized."

You shrug and keep walking, "I just guess I didn't realize you cared."

The Mandalorian pauses, stopping in his tracks, and when you turn to look at him, his head is at an angle. Like he's considering you and found you both wanting and strange.

You kick out your hip and tilt your head right back, crossing your arms over your chest.

It takes a long time for him to respond.

"You should be more careful," he says simply. "You need a better weapon."

"I don't have the credits for a better weapon. Lucky for me though I have a blade now." You turn and keep walking. "Don't worry, your contact is unharmed."

His footfalls are heavy as he follows you. "Is that why you think I followed you?"

You aren't sure what he expected you to think, what you're supposed to think. "I mean...I know we work together. But sometimes I wonder if you even like me…it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

There've been numerous occasions, particularly in the beginning, when he didn't even speak to you, tossed credits onto the counter and said a single name. Then, he disappeared.

He's progressively gotten less gruff but you still don't get the sense that he likes you all that much, no matter how much time he's been spending on your world and in the cantina lately. He'd even gone so far as to order a drink recently, even though it always went untouched.

You were a means to an end, really. You know that. "I could go to anyone for information," he says gruffly. "But I come to you."

You pause and turn and this time the Mandalorian only stops when he's close to you, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet the gaze hidden behind the visor. "Oh."

"You need more than a blade."

"I'll get right on that," you shake your head, heavy on the sarcasm. He doesn't react, standing still, the cloak over his shoulder fluttering in the warm breeze. You aren't sure why he's never intimidated you, by all accounts he should terrify you. An armored, faceless man, that dealt in bad people and weapons.

But he's never frightened you, he's never really given you cause to.

And you seem to lack the self preservation instinct instilled in most people anyways. Arguing with people trying to mug you was only one example of that.

"Thanks for stepping in back there," you continue, this time without the sarcasm. "Could have been bad."

He merely nods at you.

When you start walking again, he follows, this time keeping pace with you and staying by your side. "You really only come to me?" You ask, glancing sidelong at him. He doesn't answer, but you take the silence for agreement. "Maybe I should get a cut."

Mando huffs under the helmet, and you think it must be a laugh.

He walks you all the way home, even though you know he should already be off world. "'Night, Mando."

Again, he doesn't answer, but he doesn't walk away until the door is closed behind you either.

The next time you see him, he places a wrapped parcel on the counter by way of a greeting. You raise a brow and unwrap it to find a blaster. "Who's is this? You looking for the owner or something?" You ask, tossing the towel in your hand over you shoulder.

"It's yours," he answers. "Do you know how to use one?"

"Mine?" You look up into the shining helm. "You're sure?" The lip of the helmet dips down in confirmation. "No, I don't know how."

"I'll teach you," he says, and you know he's not asking. "Do you still have the vibroblade?"

"Yes."

He nods. "Good," he sounds pleased. "I'll teach you how to use that, too."

With that, he departs, curious eyes of the patrons following him, drawing the attention he always does.

"Well," the owner says, tugging the cloth off your shoulder and placing it back in your hands. "Aren't you special?"

"What are you on about?" You ask, scooping up the blaster and rewrapping it before stuffing it in the front pocket of your apron.

He chuckles, leaning around you as you start polishing a glass. "Haven't you heard the stories? Mandos only give weapons to people they court."

You only roll your eyes, fairly sure that's just another legend.

LOVE GROWS

Din Djarin x GN!Reader —☆

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ about: Grogu wanted to see you, and frankly, he isn't the only one who does.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ warning/s: none that's disturbing! (no canon typical violence) this oneshot will include love confessions, so yes. (was listening to love grows by edison lighthouse while writing this.) a few mando'a words, but the translations will be shown at the end!

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: 2.2k

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ note/s: hello! it takes a while for me to finish writing, and it's my first time writing for din djarin. this might be a little out of character, but i swear i'm trying to write properly for him.

The distant cooing of Grogu echoed around the ship, pointing at a small crown made of dried and preserved flowers that hung near his hammock. His big black eyes pleading.

It's a free moment anyway, and it's just little Grogu and his dad lurking through the galaxies. Only the engine of the ship functioning is heard, along with his little coos, begging for his father's attention.

Din looks behind him, leaving the controls on autopilot for him to go to his little one. He stands up, seeing Grogu patiently waiting for him to get closer as his little hands wave over the flower crown that felt as if it was protecting him from his nightmares; seeing as it's hanging by his bed.

He can't resist the little bundle of joy's pleas, and he of course will bring him to one of the places that bring the two of them that feeling of home and comfort, adamant that Din refuses to admit it, Endor.

The Mandalorian loves seeing his child happy and comfortable; if Grogu was happy, so was he. Just the two of them against the world… but lately Grogu seems off. Din stressed over not knowing what was going through his mind that sometimes he hoped to have the ability of a jedi to communicate and at least see Grogu's mind.

On the way to Endor, Din welcomes Grogu to sit on his lap, even leaving a little seatbelt for him so he wouldn't fall. It's a quiet journey with only the little one humming a tune that showed his excitement. A tune you once sung to him as he slept in your arms.

Soon enough, the two touch down at the Forest Moon of Endor.

Grogu starts to race Din to the exit, his little feet being too fast. Beneath the helmet, he just smiles. The twinkle in his little Grogu's eyes made his heart swell.

It's evening as they arrive, so patiently, the little one waits for Din outside of the ship. “You're too excited, kid." He chuckles, following behind as Grogu heads for the familiar little cottage that felt like home. It wasn't their house per se, but the person who lived in it was what made it feel like home.

“Grogu?" The warm and familiar voice greets, opening the door before he can even knock with his little hands. 

You. A Jedi.

Wind chimes echo and twirl through his big green ears as he swiftly hugs and tugs on your leg. You carefully pick him up as he snuggles in closer. “We've not seen each other in a while, little one. D'you miss me already?" He nods, tapping on your cheek, engulfing in the warmth.

“Sometimes I think he likes you more than me." Din jokes, crossing his arms afterwards. Somewhere lingers his smile. You can feel it. But you've not seen it, sadly.

“Mando, Mando… He just missed me." You shrug, inviting him to join you inside.

As you hold Grogu in your right arm, the first place you head to is the kitchen, remembering that you just made a batch of wildberry pie. Surely this would satisfy his appetite. A body so small, an appetite so big.

You sit him on one of the chairs, placing the plate of pie in front of him. His smile grows, making his little teeth visible. Before taking a bite, he looks at you happily, giving you a thanks.

While he is busy eating and enjoying his meal, you sit beside Din who was quietly sitting on the couch. 

“So," You give him a suspicious but cheeky look. “this is the third time this month. Odd, isn't it?" Usually they would go here once a month, or sometimes rarely as bounties were always happening.

“Grogu just wanted to see you." Din replies, feeling an invisible lump in his throat before handing you an envelope with little drawings on it that was definitely Grogu's doing. “I have something for you by the way. Well, we." Indicating him and Grogu.

You take it carefully, appreciating the fact that the crayons you gifted the last time they were here got well used. Grogu tried to eat it once, leaving you and Din in a panicked state.

“You sure that's not the only reason?" Teasing him as you poke his armored side a little bit.

“...Yes."

“Ok." It's soft how you said it, and you actually do miss him and want to see him. You miss him everyday which was an overstatement, but you love it every time he and Grogu were here. “Well, it's never too bad to miss a friend."

Remembering the scraps you found when you were looting a couple of abandoned places, you stand up. “Oh! Wait here, I have something for you too." He gets surprised by your sudden movement, but he just waits patiently for you anyway.

“It's a music thing that I found, you just have to insert it in your ship's radio thingy… If you have one of those of course." It looked like a port that could play telegrams like the ones he gets from reports from Karga or Cara. “I designed a little music box to enhance its sound and liven up a room." Ok, you are psyched to let Din see this item you made, and frankly he isn't complaining. It even catches Grogu's attention as he was about to finish his entire plate.

From a random storage room, you pull the music box out then insert the port, the beat of an unfamiliar tune playing. “I don't even know who Rosemary is." You say, seeing Grogu start to sway to the music.

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes…

“So, Din, what do you think?" Questioning him as you get all excited. “Is it nice? It's nice, right?"

“The kid likes it. It's nice." He crosses his arms, the distant light glinting from his helmet as he nods.

The little jedi walks to your leg as he lifts his arms up, wanting you to carry him. Upon shaking your hips to the beat, Grogu looks at his dad.

“No," Din says, crossing his arms. He makes an attempt to intimidate the both of you, but instead, you and Grogu look at each other then giggle. “I will not dance."

Grogu can feel a small, sly smile that begins to grow on Din's face.

A couple of moments pass with you constantly having to carry Grogu because he wanted to dance in your arms and teasing Din when the two of you saw him shake his hips a little bit. Those couple of moments left Grogu tired after a whole day in the hyperspace, longing to see you then relieving that longing shortly.

Din carries Grogu in his arms, leading him into your bedroom where a small hammock hangs beside your bed. Just for him. For Grogu.

Afterwards, you and Din talk in the kitchen, sitting across from each other in the dining area.

“So, that was fun.” You smile, looking at the cup of juice swirling in your hand. It was an exhausting whole day for you, running around doing errands, and ending your day with a surprise arrival by the two people you would trust your life with when this whole galaxy arrived, was the best way of resting from a draining day.

Din knew that when he got Grogu, he knew little to nothing of becoming a father, let alone that of a child who was to only be a bounty for him. But when time passed, the longer he spent moments with Grogu, he knew that he could do it. Or at least try to. The Child wasn’t the only one who benefited and learned from the situation and days they’ve been together as Din also learned in ways which he kept mostly to himself. He wasn’t alone. He’s not alone anymore.

Meeting you was an accident to him, but it was a good accident. It was an evening a couple of years ago where the Razor Crest landed near your house, obviously disrupting your peace. It was a tiring day like this and you just wanted to rest, but it was pouring heavily. You kept your guard up, of course, upon hearing a knock that you assumed was from the recently crashed ship.

You looked annoyed, but still asked him of his intentions. Apparently his ship had a couple of malfunctions where he needed a few parts. Luckily you had extra scrapped stuff that you were about to give out to some Jawas that would visit the place in a few days. A couple of the pieces were what he needed, and you just sold it to him.

He left you that same evening, meeting you accidentally once more at one of the bars where he actually was about to catch a bounty. The rest was a loop of meeting each other in surprising places and somewhat unconventional places until the two of you became friends. Not close friends, but still friends.

“It was fun.” He nods, seeing a glint from his helmet, the kitchen light reflecting on his beskar. He’s quiet, primarily keeping his words short even after knowing each other for quite a couple of years now.

No one says anything after that. It's a comfortable silence between you and Din, like always. You just look at him and wonder what he's thinking of right now. Tilting your head a little on the side while you settle your cup on the table, you furrow your eyebrows.

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Din asks suddenly, tilting his head the same way you tilted yours.

“Nothing."

There's a sense of longing that always went around your head. A longing for him, for some reason. You want him, although for certain he does not want you the same way. You already settle with an early heartbreak, and yet you want to risk every year you've spent seeing him, wanting him to be aware of what you really feel.

“There's something I have to tell you." If now is not the time, then surely that time will never come. It's a risk you're willing to take. “Follow me."

You lead him behind your house where a big tree sprouted in the middle with evergreen leaves, a couple of blue and violet leaves. The atmosphere looked warm, lights illuminating from your house.

“What is it that you want to say?" Din stands near the tree, you follow to stand opposite of him. He anticipates on what you have to say, truthfully he wants to hear such things from you.

It's never common for him to experience such attachment the way Grogu has, but something about those years of meeting you felt as if though he never wants to stop seeing you. He doesn't want to lose you in spite of the fact that he never was yours, nor were you his.

You're a Jedi. He's a Mandalorian. No amount of judgment could withhold such a partnership. Unless he's willing to risk it, unless you're willing to risk it.

Din can't shy away from the fact that his love grows. It continues to do so, and it blooms everyday. He is not admitful of this. Perhaps the vulnerability he is to display to you would give you a sign. You, to him, are different from the rest; with the exception of Grogu, of course. Din knows you would understand that.

“Din, I would go through the deep and dark undergrounds of Mandalore's ruins if it meant that your happiness would be the reward." You clear your throat, feeling that invisible lump that you want to cough out. “You know that, right?"

He grew silent. You immediately regret this. Under all of that hard exterior, that stoic stance, his covered face, is a soft, gentle person.

“I-" The flame in your chest is about to burst, each pump of your heart is firing your body up. Palms sweaty, skin tingling, you don't notice the slight yet noticeable trembling of your body. “Din, I-"

“Cyar'ika," Your eyes grow wide at him, your breaths still unkempt, your eyebrows filled with worry and shame. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

A slight chuckle of nervousness left your lips, your eyes a bit panicked, relieved, but why? “Din, you know I don't understand Mando'a."

“You're lying." He's right. You've been secretly studying Mando'a ever since he gifted you a box of tools after one of his bounties. It's not the most romantic or symbolistic gift, but Din knew what you liked; he kept mental notes of every detail about yourself that you've talked about.

Although you were learning the language in secret, you've slipped a few times. He's heard you speak in Mando'a at times where you've fallen asleep in his ship whenever you joined him every now and then. Din found it cute.

“Yes, I learned Mando'a." You admit, a little embarrassed. Your hands start to cover your face. “It just…It made me feel closer to you."

You feel his hands touch yours that cover your face. “Cyar'ika, every memory of you makes me feel as if I'm just a step away." It was true. Din felt closer to you with every scene of your beautiful smile, your natural self that had grease and dirt all over from fixing things and scavenging. He adores you.

Din pulls your hands away from your face, holding them both gently as his thumbs circled your palms. He tilted his head to you so as you did, your forehead touching his helmet.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din." (I love you, Din)

We find it extremely funny how apparently the way Transformers writers solved the weird discrepancy between how many male and female Cybertronians there are was to just go. "Hey, they're an asexual species anyways. What if they're all born with masc-leaning presentation, but once they came in contact with aliens that have sexual dimorphism, some of them were like 'Yoooooo girl is an option?????' and started going by she." So every femformer is canonically a trans girl now.

people keep trying to make "ladies and gentlemen" more inclusive.

I think we should go the other way around.

make more and more weird false dichotomies in greetings. "gamers and pianists". "oil painters and swordsmen". "vexillologists and entomologists". "chess masters and diamond artificers". "accountants and gendered individuals".

we need to be dropping shit into formal meetings to make people say "wait what? which one am I?"

twitter you go offline for one business week and lose 27% of your followers, tumblr you go offline for a few days only to come back and the crappy anime fan art you drew in 2015 suddenly has hundreds of new admirers

HELLO BOYS I HAVE A QUESTION CAN YOU FEEL OUR BOOBS WHEN WE DO THE HUG

god created man to be penetrated

I am not responsible for who I become when hyperfixating

I am not responsible for who I become when hyperfixating

do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment

he's the worst man alive he's the love of my life he's covered in blood he's weird about god and he's a lot, he's not perfect, but most importantly he's bisexual

my peers are like publishing and having babies and i'm like if i don't think about this anime character railing me 24/7 i might have a mental breakdown

in case it wasn't clear they're PIRATES

I’m 35 now. Also here’s the original doodle

Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.” 

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word. 

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. 

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped. 

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer. 

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you. 

You roll your eyes gently. 

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either. 

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders. 

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it. 

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical. 

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.” 

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.” 

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.” 

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back. 

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling. 

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him. 

Maybe, you just know him too well. 

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.  

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival. 

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there. 

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops. 

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for. 

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.” 

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.” 

“A weapon?” 

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?” 

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing. 

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant. 

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved. 

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur. 

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips. 

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.” 

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies. 

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well. 

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu. 

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine. 

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.  

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils. 

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore. 

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you? 

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you. 

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant? 

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself. 

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse. 

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious. 

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child. 

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter. 

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some. 

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter. 

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf. 

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?” 

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.” 

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it. 

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.” 

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?” 

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man. 

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a. 

“And how did you learn?” 

“My…” you trail off. 

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined. 

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” 

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.” 

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.” 

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence. 

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.” 

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.” 

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of. 

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic. 

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.” 

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all. 

“Mando?” 

Still, he doesn’t answer you. 

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough. 

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping. 

“No.” He answers curtly. 

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why. 

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,” 

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright. 

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it. 

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?” 

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon. 

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him. 

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.” 

He goes back to eating, already distracted. 

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means. 

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh. 

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone. 

Riduur. 

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings. 

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser. 

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands. 

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit. 

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod. 

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.” 

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.” 

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?” 

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.” 

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know what?” 

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.” 

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?” 

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.” 

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.” 

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.” 

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?” 

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren’t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly. 

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists. 

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you. 

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.” 

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.” 

“Told me-,” 

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him. 

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.” 

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time. 

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?” 

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.” 

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.” 

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words. 

But you don’t. 

You’ve never been surer in something. 

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.” 

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. 

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine. 

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor. 

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks. 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” 

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them. 

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you. 

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.” 

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke. 

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.” 

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.” 

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.” 

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.” 

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.” 

“Elek,” you agree. 

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice. 

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right. 

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this. 

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not. 

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this. 

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate. 

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people. 

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly. 

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet. 

You want to kiss him at the very least. 

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself. 

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze. 

“Open your eyes.” 

“What? No-,” you begin to protest. 

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth. 

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,” 

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little. 

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time. 

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.” 

“Open them.” 

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough. 

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it. 

 Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at. 

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger. 

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him. 

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes. 

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling. 

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew. 

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice. 

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger. 

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.” 

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?” 

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.” 

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression. 

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.” 

“That’s my line.” 

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there. 

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.” 

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.” 

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes. 

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat. 

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows. 

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers. 

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language. 

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this. 

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper. 

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as he bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Ner riduur - my spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

Udesii - Relax, take it easy

Ad’ika - little one, baby

Su cuy'gar - Hello

Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor

Ni ceta - an apology, rare

Osi'kyr - exclamation of surprise

Elek - yes

Mesh’la - beautiful