The Best Part About Being A Girl Who Knows A Lot About Star Wars Is That You Can Fuck With Dudes So Much.

Since creators were revealed here's my piece from the DinLuke server Secret Santa! I had a lot of fun participating and seeing everyone's work.

Hope y'all had a great holiday season!

aliit

@codywanweek day 2: tatooine husbands

this one was so fun to draw bc I love the idea of tatooine husbands and also the idea of obi-wan and cody raising luke dehchbbuhdwchhb

luke is a sleeby boy

close ups under the cut :]

the thing i really love about dinluke is that yeah, the characters on a fundamental level work really well together because of their parallels with religion and their steadfast beliefs and how insanely powerful they both are in their own ways, but they are also the two most touch starved people i have ever seen - like warriors being soft and gentle with each other is one thing, but din and luke??? din and luke who have both tucked themselves away from the world, who have fought and clawed and killed for everything they have- din and luke who have both been, objectively, lonely people- finally giving in to the gentleness and care the other has to offer? oh. oh. i just keep thinking that it was first time they touch, no armour, no robes, just the softest, most innocent touch, where the resolve between them crumbled. both of them feeling that full-body, high energy feeling of someone else just touching you. shaking hands and hitching breaths. an all consuming feeling of comfort- of rightness- of allowing this person to give what has been denied. to wash the blood and dirt and pain away and see what’s underneath. beyond the helmet and beyond the titles. you cannot tell me that din and luke wouldn’t be the most tender with one another, seeking out touch at times for nothing more than reassurance. to feel that boundless connection that binds them together in the force, racing across their skin. allowing themselves to finally break from fighting, and rest instead.

dinluke galaxy’s edge canon

The Masks of Nobility- Chapter 1

Jikta had no desire to marry. She had, until now, been successful in avoiding such an arrangement. She was fortunate that both her family and potential suitors quickly recognized the simple fact—she was ill-suited for it.

To put it plainly, when the topic of romance arose, she had little to no understanding of it. She could recognize it in others—the way her dear cousin George looked at Bartosh (the latter would have told her if it was mutual, given their close bond), the way her father gazed at her mother, or even the subtle flirtations among the household staff. But she herself had never felt even the faintest flutter. She loved her family, of course, but familial love was not the same as romantic love. Or so George told her.

She preferred her art—studying the form of the living world, sketching it with a precision that sometimes unnerved people. Her paintings had become so lifelike that George often jested she must be a witch. Her lack of romantic inclinations, coupled with her pursuit of biological and anatomical studies (which her family wisely kept discreet), were reasons enough to deter suitors. But the greatest deterrent was her own ‘odd’ nature. Many found her logical assertions strange, though she struggled to understand why; to her, they seemed perfectly sensible. Yet this perceived defect was so offensive that it outweighed even the vast dowry her father and uncle could provide.

George often reassured her that she needn’t worry—he would always protect her. He had promised this since childhood when it first became apparent that she did not fit into the world as neatly as other noblewomen. He came to her for counsel on political and managerial matters, where her mind was a boon. And in turn, he explained her social missteps and how to navigate them. His presence at gatherings, ever the lively and charming one, made her participation tolerable.

Not that she attended such events often. And if she did, she did everything in her power to avoid engagement, retreating into her comfortable routine.

War made men desperate. And desperate men made desperate deals. Her uncle was not desperate, but Lord Hanush was. And so, the marriage was arranged.

Jikta had to admit—Lord Capon had been just as averse to the betrothal as she. Several months had passed since they were informed, and she was quite impressed (and grateful) for the litany of excuses that delayed the inevitable. George had been outraged, demanding that their uncle break the engagement. A foolish endeavor—one she would have advised against—for it only spurred Lord Hanush to secure the match more aggressively.

---

Jikta stared longingly at her sketches—portraits of home, of her friends, the household staff, her mother. Her father, uncle, and George rode alongside the retinue ensuring their safe passage to Rattay.

“Cousin, look—it’s Rattay,” George said.

Jikta peered over the top of her book. The city loomed in the distance, still some ways off, but the outskirts caught her interest. The flora suggested a strong presence of boars. She wondered if she could explore the forests to better understand them.In her musings, she had ignored George. “Sakra, Jikta! Look ahead!”

She blinked back to attention. George rarely grew frustrated with her, even when he had every right. But his tone now required notice.

An entourage of horses approached them."Sir Hanush!" her uncle called out. "What a generous welcome."Ever the diplomat, he gestured to the cart. "Allow me to introduce my dear niece."Her father extended a hand to help her down, whispering, "As we practiced, dear."She would miss his gentle, kind support.

Jikta stepped out of the cart, not as the woman she truly was, but as the noble lady she was expected to be. She placed the mask upon herself—an approachable smile, the tranquility of a blushing bride. Her gaze swept over the men before her, assessing, calculating.

She hoped for a kind husband—one who would leave her be, who would not take his rights often, if at all. Perhaps he would even allow her to pursue her studies.Perhaps that was too much to wish for.

Two young men stood out in the entourage. The shorter, broad-shouldered one with dark hair had striking eyes—not simply for their blue shade, but for the depth within them. They were the eyes of someone who had endured trials and perhaps still was. A rare quality for a noble of Capon’s standing.

The taller man, dressed in fine attire, was another matter. His gaze was one of disinterest—bordering on disdain. Accusatory, as if she had committed some unspoken crime.Unfortunately, this must be her husband.

She bowed politely to Hanush, who let out a thunderous laugh.“She will do you well! Now, introduce yourself!”

There was something commanding about the way Hanush spoke to his ward. His booming voice unsettled her.

Hans Capon’s expression was unreadable as he took her hand, pressing a formal kiss upon it. A forced courtesy. A mask, just like hers.

“I am most fortunate for such a fair wife,” he said, though his tone was devoid of warmth. “I am Hans Capon.”

She withdrew her hand quickly, resisting the urge to wipe it against her skirts. She hated being touched.

Jikta bowed, responding as custom dictated. “I thank you, my lord. I am most pleased to see you have recovered from the plague, sweating sickness, and—if I recall correctly—turning into a horse?”

Her father squeezed her arm. George let out a poorly concealed snort. The silence that followed made it quite clear—she had made a mistake.

Hans raised his eyebrows, momentarily stunned, before regaining his composure. “Yes, it was most distressing to be kept from this… wondrous day,” he said smoothly.She smiled at the falsehood. Two liars, wearing the masks of nobility.

“I do hope you no longer have a taste for hay,” she quipped. Her father and Hanush both cleared their throats. Hanush spoke "Welcome to Rattay. I have arranged for Henry of Skalitz, ward of Sir Radzig," he gestured to the shorter man, "and Hans to escort Lady Jikta and her cousin to their rooms. You good sirs," he said to her uncle and father, "will join myself and Radzig to celebrate this wonderful day."

----

Later, in the Gardens

The gardens were beautiful, brimming with a vast array of herbs. Jikta, momentarily forgetting her circumstances, exclaimed with excitement."May I look amongst your herb garden, my lord?"Hans seemed taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm but nodded.

George chimed in, ever her advocate, "Perhaps we can take a turn? Jikta loves the outdoors and has a great interest in plants."Encouraged, she turned to Hans. "I noticed several meadows nearby contain a particular dispersal of flowers—indicating a large boar population. Do you get many boars, my lord?"

Hans tilted his head, silent in thought.Henry, the man introduced as Radzig’s ward, spoke up instead. "My lord loves to hunt, Lady Jikta." She turned to Henry eagerly. "Ah! Then you must know about the flora preferred by the animals you track! What subspecies have you hunted?"

Hans’s mask returned. "I know little of flowers, my lady. Only the language of flora as is due proper."She deflated slightly, sensing he already found her an irritation. George stepped in. "What Jikta means is—back home, she devised a system using flowers to locate game. It increased our hunts tenfold."

Hans’s mask cracked. "Really?"Jikta brightened and eagerly began explaining. With George smoothing over her bluntness and Henry supporting a sulking Hans, her betrothed soon dropped his cold facade. He even regaled them with an amusing story of his and Henry’s misadventure with a boar.

Jikta thought, perhaps this could work.

------

She had slipped out of her chambers for a quiet walk, seeking fresh air and solitude. But as she turned a corner, she stopped mid-stride.

Two figures stood close—foreheads touching, whispering in hushed tones. Lovers, she thought at first, though the atmosphere between them was not entirely tender. There was tension. Most likely members of the household staff. Still, she ducked into the shadows. If she were found wandering alone, it would be improper.

She began to sneak past them.

Then she froze.The voice—clear, familiar, unmistakable—belonged to her betrothed.

"Christ, Henry, she's mad! Absolutely mad!" Hans's laughter rang out, careless and sharp. "It explains why she's unwed. She’s a rich looker—when I first saw her, I couldn't understand it."

The other man—Henry—sighed. "Mad and genius are often the same thing, milord."

Hans huffed.

Henry chuckled, tilting his head back, exposing the curve of his throat. "Maybe, just maybe, your heir gets her smarts and avoids trouble. Unlike you." He smirked. "I could retire."Hans leaned in. Pressed his face into Henry’s neck. Then, slowly, deliberately, he placed a kiss there. Jikta’s breath caught in her throat.

Hans’s lips moved upward, tracing Henry’s jaw until he captured his lips in a desperate, passionate embrace. "I'll never let you go," Hans murmured between kisses, his voice raw. "You'll never retire. I'll make trouble if you do." Henry laughed, quiet and warm. "Of course you will, my lord."

Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. Jikta should have turned away, but she could not. Hans sighed, as if a great weight pressed upon him. "Don't speak of heirs."

The shift in his voice was almost imperceptible, but Jikta caught it. The way it wavered, unsteady.

"The thought of bedding her feels… tainted. Wrong. I—"Henry’s expression softened. A look of quiet, immeasurable tenderness.

"Hans."

There was nothing else in that single word, yet it carried everything—understanding, sorrow, devotion.Henry whispered, a teasing lightness in his tone, though his eyes held something deeper. "You've been with many—a great many, as I recall. The infamous Hans Capon, conqueror of hearts. Fear not."

Hans did not laugh. He did not smirk.Instead, he tucked his head into the crook of Henry’s neck, as if seeking shelter.

"Not since you," he confessed. His voice was barely audible. "Never since you. You are… my everything."

Henry exhaled slowly, his hand moving to Hans’s hair, fingers threading through the strands in a soothing motion.

"Aye," he whispered. "And you to me."

The weight of their grief settled over them both.

Jikta did not understand the world of love. She never had. But she understood what she saw before her.

This was not desire alone. This was devotion. This was belonging.

The priest would call it sin. But the only sin Jikta saw was forcing the destruction of something so profound in the name of nobility.She began to step back, her foot knocking into a basket.

It clattered against the stone.

She held her breath.

Silence.

Neither of them stirred.

She slipped away, unseen.

---

The Next Morning

Jikta paced her chambers.

Neither she nor her husband-to-be wanted this marriage. That much was clear but the battle against it was lost—for now.

Marriage was a document, a binding contract, a political arrangement. That much could not be undone.

There was another matter. The one that loomed over her like an axe.

Heirs.

Jikta had never given much thought to the act of producing them before. But now—now she knew. It was not merely that she, herself, did not wish to bear a child. It was that forcing Hans into such intimacy would be a cruelty beyond measure. It felt wrong. Morally, deeply, fundamentally wrong.

But avoiding it forever? That was another matter entirely.

She exhaled sharply.

No. For now, she could stall. There were ways to delay—many ways. She could not stop the marriage, but she could control this.

She pulled out her study of plants and set to work.

She could not approach Hans about it. That would mean revealing what she had seen. And if she had miscalculated—if his shame turned to fury—her family could suffer for it.

That was not a risk she was willing to take.

So she planned.

One thing was certain—she had no intention of bedding her husband on their wedding night.

She would see to that.

----

This is my first fanfic! I was inspired by how amazing the Hansry community is and decided to give writing a try. The first chapter is from Jikta’s perspective, chapter two will be Hans’s, and chapter three will be Henry’s. I’m also thinking about adding one from Radzig’s POV. Let me know what you think! Posting here until I get an AO3 account.

Haunted

🦇🧡DinLuke Halloween Week 2023 Prompts🧡🦇

Spooky greetings, everyone!

After gathering all the prompts submitted early in September (and it was a LOT), we've summarized them all into 14 different prompts! Submissions will start in the 25th of October to lead us all the way to All Hallow's Eve!

Haunted House AU Witches/Sorcerers Scary Stories/Halloween Movies Spooky Corn Maze Eldritch Creatures Vampire/Vampire Hunters AU Halloween Creatures Trick or treating Frankenstein/Necromancy AU Halloween Party Werewolf AU Space Halloween Exorcist Luke Something is out there…

If you plan on posting in AO3, consider tagging your works as #Dinluke Week 2023 so we can include it in our collections. For Tumblr, tag your posts as #Dinluke Halloween Week 2023 and/or #Dinluke Week 2023. We will reblog posts in those tags throughout the entire Halloween Week schedule!

If you'd like to find a place to collaborate or chat in any all things DinLuke, send an ask to Star Dads for an invite to our discord server.

Create whatever your heart desires based on the prompts! Whether it be a story, art, a gifset, or a composition, the important thing is that you're having fun!

Patrimony

From the DinLuke Server prompt of the same word.

Luke reaches the end of his tether, and Ahsoka gets yelled at, as she deserves.

------

Luke feels out of his depth.

Everyone seems to know more than him.

“We didn’t used to do it like that,” Cal says, frowning.

“Oh, Kanan told me it was done this way,” Ezra says, flippant.

“That’s not how the Jedi teach,” Ahsoka says, disapproving.

“I don’t remember anything about that,” Reva says, dismissive.

“I DON’T THINK THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN APPROVED OF,” Gungi says, uncertain.

“Are you sure you want to do it that way?” Ezra asks, wincing, and Luke has had it.

He likes to think he’s left his rashness behind. He’s matured, he’s fully mastered his emotions. But even his patience can’t last forever.

He whips around to Ezra, shoulders set, face a mask of fury.

“You run this karking Order then!” he snarls. “If you’re all so much wiser than I am! Run it yourselves!”

And he storms off, blood hammering in his ears. He’s surprised he only said that, and not something so much worse, which was exactly what he wanted to. He stomps away from the little compound they’ve made, their temporary temple, and out into the streets of Sundari.

His boots pound the pavement as he tries to get as far away as possible, and Mandalorians quickly get out of his way, staring at him as he passes. He doesn’t care. All he can hear in his head is reproach, remonstration, criticism, dismissal. What do you even think you’re doing? the voices in his head demand, jeering at him. You don’t know anything!

Of course he doesn’t know anything, he thinks bitterly. He’s found himself in one of the little parks, a residential area, and he throws himself beneath a tree that still needs time to grow. No one told him anything. His masters were forging a weapon, not a Jedi. He didn’t even know what a Jedi was until he was nineteen! And they had the gall to call him the last, as if there weren’t people out there, people the same as him, who could have guided him from the start. They didn’t even attempt to remake the Order, and now they come here, judging every wrong step he takes without offering to teach him the dance in the first place.

He refuses to meditate, even though that would be the correct, Jedi thing to do. But he doesn’t want to be a Jedi just then. He doesn’t. He wants to drop everything and just run to the farthest corner of the galaxy where no one has even heard of the Force. Sithspit, even Tatooine would be better than this, right now.

What is he even trying to do, anyway? Maybe the Order would be better off dead and buried. What would the galaxy even gain, if he succeeded?

“May I sit?”

Luke hears the silver bells in the Force, their resonant chimes, and he scowls.

“What do you want?” he demands, not even looking up.

Ahsoka, wisely, chooses not to sit, because Luke would simply stand and then march off again.

“To discuss, perhaps,” she says, mild and supercilious and it grates on Luke’s nerves like metal scraping against metal, the hulls of two ships colliding. He surges to his feet, and her height doesn’t intimidate him – frankly, he’s faced taller, and meaner, and uglier.

“What’s to discuss? How I’m destroying everything? Ruining the legacy of the Jedi?!”

“Rage doesn’t—”

“Shut up, Ahsoka!” he snaps, and she does, her mouth clamping shut like he’s cast a spell on her. “You’re the worst of them all! Always needling, always criticising! You waltz in here whenever you want, proclaiming you’re not even a Jedi, and then proceed to tear everything apart because it’s not to your exacting, aloof standards!”

Luke breathes deeply through his nose, and instantly regrets everything he’s said. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m tired,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady, “of everything I do being worthless.”

Ahsoka is quiet. “Luke,” she says, and finally there’s some emotion in her voice after it’s been so distant all the time, “it’s not. You’re… you’re trying to do everything on your own. You’re exhausted, you’re barely at home.”

She reaches out, cautious, like he’s a cornered, wounded animal that might bite, and gently her hand settles on his shoulder. Viciously he contemplates shrugging her off, but that just feels petty. He simply glances at her hand, and then at her.

“We know how much this means to you,” she says. “How much is at stake. You’ve done so much and you’ve done it by yourself.”

He scoffs at her.

She frowns. “It’s not just your legacy, Luke. You can’t carry it alone.”

“I’m not trying to!” he says through gritted teeth. “I was never trying to! I need help, not constant belittlement!”

Ahsoka sighs. “I… I think some of us are afraid,” she says. “We’re afraid it might be too distant from what we knew, even if we barely knew anything in the first place.” She removes her hand and sits, cross-legged, rubbing her arms. She looks much younger than she is, in that moment. “The world we knew is gone, and it’s been gone so long, that to see something being born out of its ashes means… letting go of it.” She looks up, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

He takes a deep breath, and for a long moment he stares at the ground beside her, before making a choice. He sits as well.

“It can’t go back to how it was,” Luke says. “I’m trying. I know it’s not the same, but it can’t be the same. Am I qualified? No. But are any of us? You all left me alone to do this by myself, no help, no guidance, no knowledge. I’ve been working off puzzle pieces that don’t even fit together. You say you want to help now, but it doesn’t feel like help. It just feels like resentment.”

Ahsoka’s breath hitches and she shuts her eyes, a look of pain on her face. “I know. The thing is, you’re doing so well. You’ve given us a place to call home again, you’re finding our history, you’re finding us the future as well…” She rubs at her eyes. “We had nothing for decades. We ran and we hid and we died, and then you came along and...” She gestures at everything around them, the rebuilt dome and the cleared streets and the rebuilt houses. “You even made allies out of old enemies. You’ve done so much.”

She looks at him then, biting her lip. “Is… is this because of Anakin?”

Luke scowls at her. “Not everything is to do with Anakin kriffing Skywalker,” he says waspishly.

“No, I meant… do you feel guilt for what he did?” she asks. “Do you feel bound to it because of him? Because of his actions?”

“I…” Luke swallows, and searches inside himself. I am a Jedi, like my father before me. “No,” he admits. “It’s not guilt. It’s not repentance, because I didn’t do it. It’s more… the right thing to do. It’s because the galaxy will be better for it.” He laughs bitterly. “Not that it feels like it.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes I wonder what the point of it is,” he says gloomily, tugging at the grass beneath his fingers. “Maybe the Order should have stayed dead.”

“Have you ever… thought of leaving?” Ahsoka asks, her voice gentle.

Luke blinks.

“You could, you know,” Ahsoka continues. “You have a husband, a son. Grogu doesn’t need to be a Jedi. You could simply be Luke.”

He’d thought about it, on lonely sleepless nights, curled up in bed on Yavin 4, all alone, where the future seemed impenetrable and murky and ultimately futile. But he hadn’t. He gotten up the next day and continued, one foot in front of the other. Although… well, if Grogu hadn’t have come along, perhaps he would have. Loneliness was becoming too familiar a state of being.

Luke shakes his head. “I am a Jedi. That’s what I am. I couldn’t… I couldn’t see the suffering in the galaxy and turn a blind eye to it, just walk away from it all. Not when I can do so much more.”

Ahsoka smiles then, her eyes creasing. “There’s your answer. That’s the point.” She sighs again. “I think we’ve been neglecting that, but we’ve also been neglecting each other. We’ve all been so isolated, it hasn’t done us good.”

“Jedi are pack animals?” Luke suggests, teasing, and Ahsoka chuckles.

It’s quiet, broken by the sound of children playing a street away and the recycled breeze in the leaves above them.

“You’re a good grandmaster, Luke,” Ahsoka says. “Don’t let us tell you otherwise.”

Luke stiffens, head snapping round to stare at her. “What?”

“A good grandmaster,” she repeats.

He shakes his head. “No. No, I’m no grandmaster, I’m far too young for that…”

“Who else is there?” Ahsoka asks. “Me, the coward running away from her own truth? Cal, who ran away from everything else? Reva, who was an Inquisitor?” She sets her hand on his shoulder again, more confidently this time, and Luke welcomes its weight. “You’ve done more than we ever could. You’re the only one it could be.” She makes a face. “And perhaps being old isn’t always the best choice.”

“I’ll take that,” he says, shrugging. “I’m not calling myself that, though. Not yet, anyway.”

Ahsoka nods with a chuckle.

Together they head back to the compound, and all eyes are on them as they walk through the gate. Grogu sprints across the yard and launches himself into Luke’s arms, babbling wildly and accusatorially.

“Well, they didn’t kill each other,” Reva says.

“Are you ok?” Ezra asks, nervous.

Luke sighs. “Yes. But… It’s been feeling like you’re all against me, like you hate everything I do, and that’s been… demoralising.”

“Talking out your feelings like normal people?” Merrin heckles from her seat beneath the porch – she tends to watch, distant and slightly mocking of it all, but fundamentally supportive. “Not very Jedi.”

Cal rolls his eyes as Reva huffs darkly.

“WE DIDN’T MEAN THAT, LUKE,” Gungi says. “IF YOU HADN’T HAVE FOUND US, WE WOULDN’T EVEN BE HERE, TOGETHER AGAIN.”

“We owe you a lot,” Cal admits, folding his arms. “What you’ve done so far, it’s incredible.”

“And we didn’t get this far by doing it by the book,” Ezra says. “We had to adapt to survive.”

Luke rocks Grogu gently, looking down at him pensively. Grogu looks up, curious, and touches his little claws to Luke’s hand.

It’s for him, isn’t it? Everything that he does, ultimately, is for Grogu, and those that will come after him. The legacy isn’t something they’ve been handed from the past, it’s a debt owed to the future. And there is no future without change.

“The past can prepare us,” Luke says, tickling Grogu behind the ear, just to hear him giggle, “but we can’t chart a course back to it. And I can’t do it alone, I need all of you with me.”

“Spoken like a true grandmaster,” Ahsoka murmurs, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

The word doesn’t fit right now, but perhaps it will, in the future.

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.4

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

Posting part four of this for a slightly late Star Wars day post. (It's technically still May 4th for me).

I had a lot of fun designing/drawing their drivesuits. I've always been a fan of drawing armor, so this was definitely my comfort zone.

More sneak peeks for this WIP fic under the cut, for funzies. And may the 4th be with you!

Din rolls his shoulders in his drivesuit as he makes his way through the shatterdome. After all these years he thought it might be odd to get back into the suit, but it's like he never left. It's almost uncanny how natural it feels to put on the old polycarbonate armor.

After the confrontation between Marshal Skywalker and Luke, Din isn't sure what to expect as he makes his way to the Crest's conn-pod. It was clear Luke was the best candidate, even ignoring their drift compatibility, he was the only other person who had experience in an actual Jaeger. It made no sense for the Marshal to keep Luke grounded from a strategical standpoint, so it must be personal.

It didn't take a genius to realize that the relationship between the Marshal and his son was strained. Din didn't have the first clue as to why, but despite it, he understood where the Marshal was coming from. Even with everything on the line, he's not sure he could ever willingly put his son's life on the line. Thinking about it, Din is surprised that the Marshal even let Luke pilot for as long as he did. If Grogu grew up wanting to be a pilot, if the war lasted that long, Din isn't sure he'd be able to handle it.

But the way Luke and him fought. His skin was still electric from the way they met strike for strike. Din can't imagine piloting with anyone else after that. He isn't sure he'll even be compatible enough with any of the other candidates. Then what? Will he just go home? Watch from the sidelines as they make a run for the breech? He isn't sure what's worse, being unsuccessful here and watching his slow death on the TV, or being unsuccessful at the breech. Either way he'll die knowing he failed, failed the world, failed his son. He can't let that happen. So he'll just have to succeed. And the only way to do that is with Luke.

Din had just made up his mind when he approached the scaffolding that would lead him to the Crest's conn-pod. He was about to turn around and find the Marshal when a familiar figure walked towards him.

"Luke..?" Din trailed off. Luke was wearing a shiny black drivesuit and a sunny smile.

"Looks like I won that bet after all." Luke jogs over to Din's side, giving him a friendly punch on the arm before making his way to the ladder.

Din stays frozen for a long moment, unsure of what to make of the situation. He just stares as Luke begins to climb the ladder up to the conn-pod, helmet under his arm. Halfway up Luke pauses and turns towards him, meeting his gaze.

"You coming or not, partner?" Luke asks with a smile bordering on mischievous.

Din can't but help but return a small smile before jogging to catch up to Luke.

~~~

Just a cute little moment before reliving ✨trauma✨ in the drift!

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU

Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4

This idea has been brewing in my mind for a while now. There have been some discussions in the dinluke server that boosted those ideas even more. I've been wanting to post all the art I've done for a while but I've been nervous and also wanted to get an idea for a fic.

I am absolutely obsessed with Pacific Rim and dinluke, so this seemed like a logical combination. So if anyone wants to listen to my rants about this stuff I could literally ramble for hours.

This is also inspired by a screencap from Pacific Rim, so if anyone knows it I love you. I have so much more art to post so I'll be occasionally posting with extra info about this AU.

Luke has been a pilot since he was a teen, along with Leia. Din used too be a pilot with Paz but after Paz was killed during a Kaiju attack Din suddenly left the Jager program. This scene is Luke showing Din around the Hong Kong Shatterdome and the newly restored 'Razor Crest' the last MKIII Jaeger intact.