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sourwolf-sterek32 · 1 year

Text

Migraine

Summary: Whilst on set you suffer from a bad migraine but try to hide it, not wanting to stop filming. Pedro eventually catches on and looks after you.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: language

A/N: This is literally just a comfort fic that I wrote on my phone while lying in bed with a bad headache. I get chronic migraines and it sucks and wish I had someone like Pedro there to help me, so I wrote it.

Also I wanted an excuse to write something with Pedro in his Mando suit, so here it is.

It had been a long day, between meetings in the morning and filming in the afternoon, it was safe to say that you and Pedro were exhausted. But the crew still had more scenes to be shot in this location and only today to do it.

The headache that was pulsing through your skull had started around midday and had only gotten worse, despite taking probably too many pain killers than recommended on the packet.

You knew normal pain killers weren't going to fix it. You had suffered from enough migraines to know which ones would be cured by painkillers and which ones would stick around for 24 hours regardless, and this was the latter.

"Cut"! The directors voice boomed across set.

You sighed, "sorry. That was my line next, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it was." The director responded from behind the camera for probably the seventh time in the past hour. "Start back from when Mando walks into the room."

Pedro nodded from where he was standing on his mark in the middle of the room, but instead of walking out the door to redo the scene, he walked over to you. His helmet was still on, but you could feel his soft brown eyes looking at you from behind the black visor.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, still in his Mando voice.

"Yeah."

His helmet tilted to the side a little as he stared at you, and you knew he didn't believe you.

"It doesn't usually take you this many shots to get a scene right." He teased, trying to lighten the mood as if he could tell that something was wrong.

The two of you always teased and made fun of each other. After working together for Seasons 1 and 2 of The Mandalorian and in those few episodes of The Book of Boba Fett, and now filming season 3, you had grown close, sometimes annoyingly close if you ask the crew around you. The two of you were always getting in trouble for laughing too much on set, but neither of you ever listened.

"I'm sorry." You replied, not feeling up to teasing him back.

Usually, you'd come back with some witty or sarcastic comment, but right now, you didn't have the energy for it. Not when it felt like there was a drill constantly digging into the side of your skull.

"Hey, no, no, it's okay." Pedro quickly reassured, stepping forward and grabbing your shoulder gently. "I was just teasing. Don't worry about it."

His voice had turned from playful to concerned within a split second and you were grateful that he was still wearing the helmet because you didn't want to see his beautiful brown eyes looking at you worriedly. You were fine, it was just a headache. It's not like you didn't have one a few days ago anyway, you were used to it. You were fine to keep filming then and you were fine now.

"You guys ready to go again?" The director called out impatiently.

Pedro's helmet turned in the direction of the director, but he didn't say anything before he looked back over at you, waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

"I'm good. Let's do this scene."

He hesitated for a moment like he wanted to push this topic, but he simply nodded and went over to his mark to start the scene again.

To your relief and the relief of the director, you managed to get through the next scene without any major screw ups. The next couple of hours went by in a blur. You had shot a bunch of different scenes, but you could barely remember which ones you had just done. Katee Sackhoff had showed up at one point to do a few scenes as Bo-Katan with you and Pedro, but left after her scenes were finished, leaving you and Pedro to film your last scene of the day together.

The scene that you had been dreading ever since you felt the headache coming on.

A fight scene.

"Just like you guys did in rehearsals, okay? Take it from the top." The director instructed.

"Are we starting with Y/N holding the blaster to my head?" Pedro asked, looking over at the crew behind the cameras who all nodded.

Pedro walked over to his mark just as an assistant placed a foam mat on the floor for him to kneel down on. Once he was on his knees, you drew your blaster from the leather holster on your thigh before pressing the barrel of the prop to the side of his helmet. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting off the dizziness. Trying, even through the pain, to remember what the steps were for this fight sequence.

"You okay?" Pedro's voice suddenly asked.

You blinked your eyes open to find the black visor of his helmet tilted up towards you, and you nodded which turned out to be a bad idea because that small movement made your headache flare.

You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything. But before Pedro had a chance to comment on it, the director shouted action.

A switch flipped inside of you. The pounding headache momentarily forgotten as you shifted into character like you had done hundreds of times before. Your expression hardened, glaring down at the Mandalorian below you, finger resting on the trigger of your blaster.

"It's over Din Djarin. We have you ten to one." You said, glancing around your empty surroundings where your Troopers will be added in with special effects in post-production.

A beat of silence past between you before Pedro's gruff Mandalorian voice responded.

"I like those odds."

He suddenly shot his arm out to the side, his hand forming a fist and your eyes widened in shock, pretending to see his 'whistling birds' missiles shooting from his wrist and killing the Troopers around you.

"No!" You screamed, looking back down at the Mandalorian just as he hit your arm, knocking the blaster from your grasp.

Mando jumped to his feet in an instant and you hastily pulled out the knife from the back of your waistband and swung the prop at him, the foam blade slicing along the beskar armour on his chest.

You took a step back as Mando marched forward and you swung the blade again, but he blocked it with the armour on his forearm.

"Moff Gideon is controlling you." Mando grunted, blocking your next attack. "You have to fight it. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you will die." You spat, swinging the blade again, but this time Mando grabbed your wrist and squeezed. Pedro didn't actually squeeze it tightly, but made it look like he was, and you fake winced before the knife slipped from your fingers.

Mando suddenly spun you around until your back was flush against his armoured chest, his forearm wrapped around your neck in a chokehold. Your vision blurred momentarily from the sudden movement, your ears ringing a little as Pedro said his next line, but you barely heard him.

The rhythm of blood throbbed in your temple reminding you of the migraine that you had been trying very hard to ignore. But as the minutes ticked by, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

"You have to fight his control." Mando's voice said, breaking through the ringing in your ears.

"No. I have to fight you." You growled, throwing your elbow up as Pedro flung his head back at the right moment, making it look like you had hit him hard in the helmet.

His arm loosened around you and for a moment, you found yourself missing the close contact. It was nice being held against his body, wait, no. You buried that thought deep down in a box in the back of your mind because where the fuck did that come from?

You switched back into action and slipped out his chokehold with ease, but Mando was already advancing on you. He swung his gloved covered fist towards you which you easily ducked before he tried to punch you again. You were meant to dodge both fists before he would draw his blaster. You and Pedro had done this too many times to count during rehearsals and training, you knew there was a second punch to duck from.

If only your head would stop pounding because you were so focused on the pain that you completely forgot to duck to the left and the next thing you knew, Pedro's fist collided with your jaw.

A collective gasp came from the crew behind the cameras, but it was Pedro's shaky sharp intake of air that caught your attention.

The hit itself wasn't that hard. Pedro must have realised that you weren't going to duck in time and pulled his punch a little because you knew he could punch harder than that. It had happened once back in Season 1 by accident, and this was nowhere near as hard. Your jaw didn't even hurt, but the hit made the thumping pain of your head worsen as you tried to blink away your dizziness.

He was in front of you in an instant, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the ground without a care. In the distance you heard one of the crew telling him to be careful with the costume, but Pedro didn't acknowledge them, his panicked brown eyes focused on you, and you only.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't... shit, Y/N. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" He frantically questioned.

The world around you was spinning and you weren't sure if you were going to pass out or throw up, but yeah, you were okay, you had to be.

"I-I..." You began to say, about to reassure him that you were fine, but then black dots started to cloud your vision.

You stumbled back a step, but Pedro quickly grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

"Whoa, easy. Just sit down for a sec."

You didn't try and argue, not sure if you could even if you wanted to as Pedro slowly lowered you to the ground. He knelt in front of you, those worried brown eyes searching your face for some kind of reassurance that you were okay, but you couldn't give that to him. Not yet.

You rested your head in your hands and began to rub your temples, trying to sooth the sharp pulses of pain searing through your head.

"Can we get some help here!" Pedro shouted over his shoulder in the general direction of the crew.

"No, no, it's fine. I-I'm fine." You winced, lifting your head to meet Pedro's worried eyes.

"I just punched you and you nearly fainted. That is not fine." He responded, his voice laced with so much guilt it made your heart break.

"It wasn't you. The hit wasn't hard. You pulled it back, right?"

He nodded, "well, yeah. But it clearly still hurt you-"

"It didn't, but I've had a migraine all day and it just kinda aggravated it. It's fine. Just... just give me a minute and we can redo the scene." You reassured, rubbing your face with your hands as the dizziness slowly began to fade.

Pedro's eyes widened, "fuck, you've had a migraine all day? We aren't going to redo the scene, you are going to rest in your trailer."

"Pedro-" You began to protest, but he cut you off.

"This scene is not as important as your health, sweetheart."

Your heart swelled at the last word. Pedro had gotten into the habit of calling you that recently, it sort of came out of nowhere, but it stuck and you weren't complaining.

"Okay." You agreed because you did not have the energy to argue with him.

"Is she good to start the scene again? You guys can have a five-minute break if needed." One of the directors called out.

Pedro sighed, "I'll be back."

You nodded, but winced at the pain that movement caused and made a mental note to stop doing that before you watched Pedro stand up and walk across set towards the crew behind the cameras.

He was speaking with them quietly, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, although whatever it was, the director clearly did not like it if the frustrated expression on his face was anything to go by.

"Jamie, go and grab some pain killers from the first aid kit. They'll kick in within 30 minutes and then she'll be fine to do the scene." You heard the director say to one of the assistants.

"No. We're done shooting for the day." Pedro stated sternly before he turned and began to walk back towards you.

"We only have this location booked for today. It's your job to act. That is why you two are here. We have to finish the scene-"

Pedro stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping in the director's direction so fast you feared he had given himself whiplash from the movement.

"Pedro, it's okay." You called out, slowly getting to your feet and silently relieved that the room didn't start immediately spinning when you stood up. "I can keep going."

"No." He said, shaking his head and walking back over to you, grabbing your arm as if he was scared that you would pass out on him or something which, yeah, okay that fear was warranted. Passing out was still a possible outcome at the moment.

"But the location-"

"You guys will figure something out." Pedro's stylist, Coco, suddenly called out, glaring at the director before glancing over at Pedro. "You okay with her?"

"Yeah, I got her. Can you bring some painkillers to her trailer?" Pedro asked and Coco nodded before he began to walk you out of set in the direction of the trailers out the back.

The sun was setting along the horizon, painting the sky various shades of pinks and oranges, but you squinted at the brightness unable to enjoy the beautiful view because looking in that direction simply hurt too much.

Pedro led you to your trailer, holding the door open as you stepped inside and instantly flicked the light switch that you left on and turned it off, trying to reduce the brightness. Pedro seemed to catch on because before you could say anything, he was walking around your trailer and closing all the blinds covering the windows for you to reduce the light.

"What can I do? Coco will bring some painkillers. Is there anything else you need?" He asked softly, seeming to realise that loud noises probably weren't good for migraines either.

You opened your mouth to tell him that you were fine, but then the nausea that you had been fighting earlier suddenly came back.

"Stay here." You managed to say before you rushed across the trailer into your bathroom, only just managing to kick the door shut behind you before you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

Your head pulsed in pain as the little food that you had eaten today came back up. This was always the part you hated the most about migraines. Sometimes you didn't throw up, sometimes you did, and you could never figure out why.

Your stomach heaved as you continued to throw up, when suddenly the door behind you opened and a second later, Pedro was grabbing your hair and pulling it out the way.

"Don't. It's gross." You mumbled.

"I don't care." Pedro's gentle voice responded.

You flushed the toilet to try and get rid of the horrible smell, knowing if you could smell it, then Pedro definitely could. But you didn't dare get up and leave yet, unsure if your body was done throwing up or not.

You leant your elbow against the porcelain edge of the toilet and held your aching head in your hands while Pedro remained silent behind you, holding your hair and rubbing soothing circles over your back.

After a few minutes, you deemed it safe to leave the bathroom and slowly stood up, Pedro quickly grabbing your arm to help.

"I'm not helpless." You sighed, glancing over at him.

"Just let me take care of you."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me."

He smiled softly, "I know, but I want to."

Your heart fluttered a little, but didn't get a chance to respond before there was a gentle knock on your trailer door. Pedro led you over to the couch and you sat down wordlessly before he opened the door.

"I got aspirin and Advil. I wasn't sure which type she wanted." Coco's voice said from outside. "I also convinced the director to give you guys the rest of the week off."

How the hell did she manage to do that? The last time you tried to ask for a weekend off, they shot you down straight away.

"You're the best." Pedro sighed with relief, taking the painkillers from her.

"I know. Don't ever forget it." Coco replied causing Pedro to chuckle softly as he waved goodbye before closing the door.

He walked over to your small kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before he returned to your side, handing you the water before holding out the two different types of painkillers.

"You probably heard, but we got the week off now." Pedro informed as you took one of the bottles, not having the heart to tell him that painkillers won't fix your migraine.

"Thanks." You replied, swallowing down the pills with water.

You shifted one of the pillows to the end of the couch before you kicked off your boots and laid down, trying to ignore the thumping in your head.

Pedro watched you silently, but his brows furrowed a little before he looked over at the wall of your trailer like he was stopping himself from saying something. You had known Pedro for long enough to know that he felt guilty. The way his shoulders were slightly slumped and how he kept fidgeting with his fingers by his side, let alone the guilt washing over those beautiful brown eyes whenever he looked at you.

"Hey, it's not your fault." You whispered, but he just kept staring at the wall. "Look at me. P, look at me."

He sighed, but glanced down at you anyway. His soft chocolate eyes meeting yours sadly, "I punched you, Y/N."

"It wasn't hard."

"It was still a punch."

"Dude, you punched me harder back in season 1. That one left a bruise. But this?" You said, motioning towards your jaw. "Doesn't hurt."

"That doesn't make me feel better. I still punched you."

"Yeah, so? I threw us both off that speeder bike back in season 2. You have nothing to feel bad about." You reminded him and Pedro's face cracked into a small smile which you were calling a victory.

"That was a good day." He chuckled.

"I spent the rest of that day plucking sand out from between my boobs and ass, man. That was not a good day." You pointed out, but that just made Pedro laugh even more and you smiled.

The two of you fell into comfortable silence for a while thinking of that day on set. You lied, it was a good day. Just you and Pedro sharing a speeder bike that the prop team had designed and engineered to actually work. It was awesome, and the best thing was, Mando was injured and had to hold onto you while you drove it.

Nearly 12 hours of Pedro with his arms wrapped around your stomach from behind. It was a long day, but it was great. Even after you crashed the bike, the two of you still had fun.

You must have fallen asleep at some point without meaning to because when you opened your eyes, you realised that there was a blanket now draped over your body that definitely wasn't there earlier.

How long had you been asleep for?

You looked around your trailer in confusion trying to find your phone to check the time before you spotted Pedro sitting on the chair across the room reading some kind of book.

He was no longer in his Mandalorian costume. The beskar armour now replaced with his yellow vintage Lakers shirt and grey sweatpants.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." You said, speaking up to try and stop yourself from thinking about those damn grey sweatpants.

Pedro practically jumped out of his skin, not expecting you to be awake as his wide eyes shot over to you in surprise. "You're awake. How do you feel?" He asked, concern written all over his face.

Your head was still aching, but the sharp pulsing in your skull had gotten a little better, so that was a win.

"A bit better." You answered honestly.

"Good. Good." He nodded, seeming relieved with that news. "Why didn't you tell me that you had a migraine?"

"I didn't want you to worry. It's no big deal, I get chronic headaches anyway. I'm used to it."

"I never knew that." He whispered in shock. "How long have you had them for?"

You shrugged, "ever since I was a kid."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. What are you reading?" You asked, changing the topic.

If Pedro noticed your quick change of topic, he didn't point it out. Instead, he looked down at the book in his lap with a small smile.

"It's The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann."

"What's it about?" You asked curiously.

He flicked through the pages and chuckled to himself before looking over at you. "It's basically a 706-page book about, uh, death."

You laughed, but that laugh turned into a wince when pain in your head flashed hard and hot. "Don't make me laugh."

Pedro's expression softened, "sorry. I can't help it. I'm just a naturally funny guy."

"More like naturally annoying." You shot back.

"Ouch." He gasped, resting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You, my dear, wound me."

You rolled your eyes at his antics before you sat up, wrapping the blanket around your body tightly as you looked around, still trying to figure out what time it was.

"It's about seven-ish. Do you think you can eat something? Coco offered to drop off takeaway if we wanted." Pedro suddenly said, like he could somehow read your mind.

"I'd like that."

"Great. I'll call her now." He beamed happily. "What do you feel like?"

"Whatever you want. I don't mind."

He sighed, expecting that answer after knowing you for so long. You could never choose where to eat, and he knew that, despite his best efforts over the years to make you choose.

"Five Guys? They do a really good strawberry milkshake." He suggested instead of trying to force you to pick something.

"I would love you if you got me a strawberry milkshake."

"You love me anyway." He teased, bookmarking his novel before pulling out his phone from his pocket.

"Yeah, I do." You replied honestly.

He would never know how true those words actually were though, but that was okay. There was no way you'd admit your feelings to him. You'd rather have Pedro as your best friend than risk losing him forever.

His beautiful brown eyes locked with yours across the room when he mentioned two large strawberry milkshakes over the phone. He smiled brightly at you, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling back at him, soaking up the moment not wanting it to end.

THE END.

MASTERLIST pinned to profile.

Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries❤️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #the mandalorian

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talesfrommedinastation · 3 months

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My Redneck Neighbor Doug has watched The Bad Batch Season 3 opener:

LEEEEET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

This is more pithy than normal: Doug's been busy with work, as have I. But I'm determined to hear his thoughts on The Daddy Warcrimes 'n Company so here we go!

These were all via text messages, btw.

CW: Doug Doug's as you know Doug will do. Away!

---------------------------------------------------

Episode 1: 'Little Orphan Blondie's Shit Internship at The Museum of Science and Industry'

Poor Little Orphan Blondie, stuck in The Museum of Science and Industry in a shit summer job because they got bills to pay. Except they got rid of the dinosaurs and walk in heart and filled it with gross shit.

Hey look, they still got the coal mine exhibit! Man I miss Chicago.

(Doug, that museum has never had dinosaurs. “What, since when?”)

MUTANT JIMMERS EVERYWHERE! Aw, Little Orphan Blondie gave one her chicken nuggets! And it’s shy, aw, I hope it’s okay.

Poor Mutant Jimmers…she named her?! Swear to Christ Almighty if that dog gets Old Yeller’d I’ll just lose it.

That freaky alien thing that ran the mall on the ocean looks sad, I bet she wishes she fell into the water and got eaten by a shark or something. I wish you did too, lady.

The Sons of Robocop really are everywhere, they must be a cult or something. They look cool, I’d join, why not. Think they get 401ks?

Oh man, Daddy Warcrimes is down bad. Poor Daddy Warcrimes. Man, all my clone boys are stooped and sad…this ain’t good.

At least Little Orphan Blondie can craft! Man, she should start selling those at the Museum of Science and Industry’s gift shop. Maybe Tarkin can bring one back for the grandchildren he’s not allowed to talk to since the restraining order was put in.

Oh, there’s Stepsister Beth, she seems on edge. Must’ve gotten divorced recently, don’t blame her ex, I bet she screamed at him for leaving cabinets open who knows. How do her eyeballs not hurt after wearing those dumb glasses all day?

Episode 2: 'Night Elves and Neverland Ranch'

The night elves from Warcraft invaded Star Wars and got horns or something and now they have a castle that looks like a boss level in Diablo IV or V or how many Diablo games they got now.

Now they yelling at people and throwing them in the basement today. Makes sense, gotta fight the orcs and stuff. Think they fight the orcs in the basement?

The Night Elf Horned Queen hired Daddy Rambo and Julio to get people, I guess they’re turning into Boba Fett or something. They got her son's horn back, guess that's good. Oh they need new paint jobs on their armor.

Do they end up in the basement in the Diablo Boss Level? No? And off they go!

Daddy Rambo and Julio are in their homeland of FLORIDA! Hell yeah, SPACE FLORIDA! And they’re bringing the talking trashcan with them using straps! Go Julio go! Yeah, boa vines, this is TOTALLY the Everglades!

Escaped clone boys! Oh man! Shit, is Neverland Ranch in the jungle? Oh man–oh, they know what they’re doing. Good kids. Real good kids. Oh what happened to the rest of them? Oh Meat Muffin, this ain't good :(.

You know what? Them clone boys are smart, take it back, this ain’t Space Florida, this is Space Louisiana! Them baby boys gone get feral and run off into the bayou and live in the caves and now you know my origin story, Meat Muffin!

If this was Florida they'd just end up working the late shift at Zaxby's and smoking rocks in the parking lot. We know better, we French and all.

I bet they’ve been living on nutria and half-empty chicken boxes from behind the gas stations. Resourceful scrappy kids and I can tell its making Daddy Rambo proud.

Oh holy SHIT, there go them vines! It's like the kudzu all over again, maybe this is LaFourche Parish?

See, them boys are definitely white trash, Mandalorian rednecks. Look at em, living in the woods and hijacking a plane, but they good kids, saving their brothers. Even saved the robot too.

Man, all the feels, them poor little boys. What will they do now? Oh, they're going to Space Daytona! Good, wait, I saw the trailer, doesn't the Empire invade it? THIS AIN'T GOOD MEAT MUFFIN!!!

Wait...where's Toaster Strudel and Rex?

Episode 3: 'Blondie Got a Gun'

Well here's the Emperor. He wants to be immortal. Gotta make that other movie make sense or something.

Where's Darth Vader? Is he running the government when the Emperor is running around giggling?

Don’t you DARE kill Mutant Jimmers, you damn droid. I hate that ugly assed stupid thing. It looks like its scarecrow daddy fucked a microwave and then left it enough money to go to Planned Parenthood but instead spent it on crack and there ya go.

Oh shut your goddamned yap, Jimmy the Scientist. I bet he gloves that hand up because he keeps shoving it up his own ass and that's why he walks funny all the damn time.

The Emperor also has a Diablo IV or VIII boss level all to himself too at the Museum of Science and Industry. How many Diablo games are there, Meat Muffin?

YEAH, LITTLE ORPHAN BLONDIE! GIT ER DONE!!! They're out! Oh wow! There she goes with Daddy Warcrimes! Kill em all and let GOD SORT THEM OUT! That's my GIRL!!!!

Blondie’s got a gun

Her whole world's come undone

Shooting droids is FUN!

GO MUTANT JIMMERS GO!!!!

YEAH BLONDIE DADDY WARCRIMES AND MUTANT JIMMERS!!!!!!

I AIN'T A BULLS FAN BUT REPEAT THE THREE PEAT! YEAH!!!!!!

....so when we gonna get Toaster Strudel and Rex? Next one? Where's my reg boys?!

-----------------

Tagging those who missed my Cajun neighbor. LOOKS LIKE REDNECK DOUG IS BACK ON THE MENU, BOYS!

@skellymom @amalthiaph @eyecandyeoz @cdblake1565 @sued134 @merkitty49 @supremechancellorrex @yeehawgeek @wrenkenstein @techs-stitches @deezlees @autistic-artistech @perfectlywingedcrusade @auntie-venom @megmca @thecoffeelorian

#tbb #cloneforce99 #thebadbatch #redneck doug #doug watches star wars #star wars tv #cajun doug #doug why #star wars fans #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #bad batch season 3 #tbb season three #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 #fan reaction

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themandaloriandaily · 1 year

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Turns out, the titular Mandalorian is no longer considered to be just Din.

"I think that's been interesting as we've been on the journey of the show, and now that we're at this point, is that, what does that title mean?," Famuyiwa told IGN.

"Who is the Mandalorian at this point? And so I think it could be anyone. And I think that's what they're trying to define in many ways, is what does that mean to be Mandalorian?"

As mentioned by Famuyiwa, the latest episode of The Mandalorian saw Din (literally) step to one side and (literally) pass the mantle to Bo-Katan, as she took the Darksaber and stood ready to unite the Mandalorian people.

#the mandalorian #news #spoilers

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djarins-cyare · 3 months

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So it’s been a year…

One year since Disney released episode 1 season 3 of The Mandalorian

One year since I published chapter 1 of Be-All And Endor

I don’t really remember much of the first 20 weeks of that year, just that it was a flurry of proofreading and finalising and uploading (the hard parts) and comment reading and new friend making and massively appreciating (the wonderful parts).

Proofing and publishing 2 chapters a week with average lengths of around 10k words was exhausting. But for the first 8 of those weeks I had Din Djarin on the screen (intermittently *ahem* but this isn’t a post about the quality of s3) and for the rest of the year I had my readers leaving comments and sending messages, and it was… overwhelmingly the best year of my life.

I mean that. The best year. Ever. Because of you. Any of you, all of you, if you’ve ever even just clicked on my fic and given it chance, you’ve raised the hits on it. Even seeing that metric tick up has made me so thankful.

Because I didn’t think I could write. I always wanted to be an author but never believed in myself.

I did an English degree with writing in mind, but told myself nobody ever does anything with an English degree. I took creative writing modules, and when the published author who ran the class gave me scathing feedback, my dream fully died. I got an okay grade, hardly anything to be proud of, and I graduated and went to work in another industry.

I suffered from clinical depression.

One day many years later, I found a favourite author online and messaged him to ask when his fourth novel in a series was being published, and (emboldened by the anonymity of being online) cheekily offered to proofread it for him. Except he took me seriously and sent me the prologue to see what I could do. Like, for a real book you can buy on Amazon. After feeling sick for two whole days I went all Autistic Obsession on it and sent him back the most thoroughly proofed bit of writing anyone had ever seen. And I got the job. (I say ‘job’, I’d volunteered for free in exchange for the privilege of reading it in advance, so I can only ever call it semi-professional since I didn’t earn from it).

This, amongst other things, lifted me from my depression. I came off the pills and felt happier, more creative. Once the proofing was completed, the author encouraged me to write my own stuff, but whilst I’d gained some confidence… my brain was empty. I had no clamouring stories to get down on the page, no gems ready to polish.

Then in summer 2021, a friend sat me down and showed me the first 3 episodes of the Mandalorian. And my brain chemistry was instantly altered. I binge-watched the first two seasons, by the end of which I was unequivocally in love with Din Djarin, and then I binge-watched them again.

Around that time, I moved to a different country. Well, Wales is still the UK, but it’s a different country to England, and I was now 170 miles away from my friends. I went because as a single woman on a middling salary, London is too expensive to live in and having rid myself of an overbearing long term relationship, I was NOT keen to get into another one just to pay the bills. The pandemic meant I could work remotely, so I upped sticks and moved to Cardiff, resolving to visit my office in London (and my friends) once a month. It’s 2 hours by train, totally doable.

So what to do with all the spare time I suddenly had?

By Easter 2022 I’d started writing. 9 months later (yes, it’s my actual baby), Be-All And Endor was complete and I began publishing alongside season 3’s release.

Now… it has over 62.k views and 1.2k kudos 🥹🤯

Did I think it would be this popular? No way. I can’t even believe it now. I still see SO much wrong with it, which is why I’m still proofreading and editing it.

A professional proofread/edit takes a long time, and if you’re wondering what I’m doing to it, it involves the following:

Checking for things like clichés, non-inclusive language

Checking all adverbs to see if a better word can be used (e.g. ‘bellows’ instead of ‘shouts loudly’… adverbs usually end in -ly and it’s not good to overuse them)

Rephrasing any passive sentences (simply put: ‘the ship is flown by Din’ is passive; ‘Din flies the ship’ is active)

Reducing average sentence length (shorter sentences are easier to read)

Going through every single damn polysyllabic word (e.g. anything that has more than 3-syllables) and seeing if a shorter synonym can be found (this helps the rhythm, as too many long words slows things down and can make readers stumble… and I use them a lot 😖)

Checking the 50 most frequently used words and seeing if I can find synonyms for those (helps give more variety in the language)

Ensuring Din’s name isn’t overused or underused, and adding epithets (e.g. ‘the hunter’ or ‘your Mandalorian’) where it’s overused but it’s too confusing to just say ‘he’/‘him’

These are the big things, but there’s more too - I’m streamlining decisions I made to use certain phrasings throughout; tweaking Din’s word choice here and there to ensure his voice is captured the best way possible; revamping some of the photos. And with all the tiny tweaks, it’s slowly padding things out too… when publishing was done it was 393k, now it’s 403k, although it’s not extra content as such, just better described.

I’m up to chapter 13 so far, and I’ll probably be doing this for another 2 years to get through all 40, because (a) I want to write other things too so that slows down the proofing, and (b) I so badly want to be proud of this project… everyone’s telling me I should be, and I am in a way… but it’s more gratitude to others than pride in myself… and I feel like if I get this proofing done and finally have a story I’m truly happy with, I can at last let myself be proud of what I achieved here.

I confess, I’m so envious of those who can post something without obsessing over it. I know it’s a facet of my autism, and I’ve long since accepted that my neurodivergent brain will not let me be cool about things other people are cool about. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I should turn it to my advantage, so okay… I’m gonna make this fic the same quality as a published book on your bookshelf. And meanwhile I’m gonna enjoy and love all the fics that people can write and publish with far greater speed than I can, because the greatest thing about this fandom is that every contribution is worthy of appreciation, no matter the author’s experience or writing method. Quality fic isn’t synonymous with proofreading, and I hope it’s clear that I’m describing my obsession with perfecting my own writing, not other people’s. I’ve read so many amazing authors on here, and I want them all to know how much I love their work (any recs are from the bottom of my heart).

So anyway, this long and rambling post has turned into something unintended… I guess you now have some insight into my mind and the origins of Be-All And Endor and the future of it. Not what I meant to do, but I’ll leave it in for context.

Because the real reason I started writing this diatribe was because I wanted to express my true and undying gratitude to everyone who has ever read, commented, or left kudos on my fic over on AO3, and/or messaged me, followed me, interacted with me, or reblogged my masterlist here on tumblr 🧡💚

I know I am insanely lucky to have received the level of support I have, and I don’t take that for granted at all. I want to give back to this fandom, and I love reading and reccing other people’s fics, meeting new moots, and hopefully soon I’ll be publishing new fics for you all to read too. Fresh material is percolating, so it won’t be too long now.

So thank you to everyone who reads this post, you’re the absolute best and I love you more than I have the vocabulary to describe. Please accept a grateful forehead kiss instead 💋

#well this was longer than intended #but we all know brevity isn’t my strong suit #cannot express how much i love you all #so i rambled and i hope my gratitude comes across in there somewhere #thank you for supporting me #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader

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theetherealbloom · 3 months

Text

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, One Bed Trope, Awkward, Plot Holes

Word Count: 10k

A/N: I swear I don’t mean to take months to update! I get sidetracked so often by random things and other obsessions. I’m at a point with this story where I get lost with the timeline so then I have to reread what I wrote (try not to cringe at my writing) and then continue on writing the next chapter. Usually, I’m very organized with my outline so I don’t lose track of where I am plot-wise, but Star Wars is— it truly is something else. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re one step closer to the season finale. Love you guys :>

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

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OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

It had become apparent to you that Din was touch-starved, even though he never openly admitted it. You could trace the progression of his need for physical contact, starting with subtle gestures like a comforting touch on your elbow or a gentle squeeze of your hand in public. These small interactions held unspoken messages of affection, revealing a side of Din that he rarely showed to the world.

His tactile expressions of intimacy grew more pronounced over time. Your heart skipped a beat the first time he cupped your face, his gloved hand warm against your cheek. The tenderness of that touch spoke volumes, carrying a depth of emotion that words couldn't quite capture. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that you were not alone in this unpredictable universe.

One memory stood out vividly: a day when the three of you found yourselves in a cantina on an outer rim planet. The credits Din had earned were put to practical use, securing supplies and a decent meal for all of you. While Din went to order drinks, you focused on the child, ensuring he was comfortable and fed.

Amid your care-taking, an unfamiliar man appeared, his presence casting a shadow over your booth. You regarded him with skepticism, raising an eyebrow as his words dripped with overconfidence.

"Can I help you with something?" you responded, your tone laced with a mix of caution and annoyance. The stranger's attempt at flirtation was as transparent as the space beyond the cantina's windows.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he purred, his words dripping with unmistakable intent.

Suppressing an inward sigh at the sheer predictability of his approach, you let a subtle, sarcastic smile curve your lips. The galaxy had taught you to navigate these situations with a mix of wits and composure.

As the child cooed beside you, curiosity evident in his innocent eyes, you shifted your gaze back to the stranger, his overconfident demeanor oozing from every pore. Your reply was measured, tinged with a hint of dry amusement, "Clearly, I'm not alone and occupied, so if you could leave, please."

Undeterred, the stranger continued with his advances. "C'mon, baby, don't be such a priss. I'll show you a good time."

You were on the cusp of rising from your seat, ready to firmly reiterate your point when a sudden shift in the atmosphere seized the cantina's attention. It was as if the air had changed, thickened by an invisible tension. The chattering voices seemed to hush instinctively.

Amid the palpable silence, Din materialized like an imposing guardian. His presence radiated authority and raw power, his Mandalorian armor reflecting the ambient light, turning him into an almost mythical figure. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unyielding, "She said leave."

The room held its collective breath as the stranger's bluster crumbled in the face of Din's command. The confrontation became a silent battle of wills, one that spoke volumes without the need for further words. The stranger's retreat marked a victory for the indomitable force that Din embodied, leaving the cantina in stunned silence.

Your gaze shifted from the defeated stranger to Din, who stood there with an intensity that both reassured and electrified the room. His unspoken declaration of protection wasn't lost on you, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unspoken connections.

And then, with a swift shift, Din's demeanor transformed. His grip on patience loosened, and his actions spoke volumes where words had been unnecessary. In a heartbeat, he had seized the offender, the loud crack of bone echoing through the hushed cantina as the stranger's resistance was brutally halted.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale of surprise and a hint of awe, as the resounding crack of bone filled the air. It was a stark punctuation to Din's swift and decisive intervention, a thunderous echo of authority that cut through the cantina's previous cacophony. The clatter of utensils and the discordant symphony of bowls added to the jarring chorus, a testimony to the power that had just been unleashed.

The stranger, once so assertive, now resembled a scurrying insect, his escape marked by a trail of spilled drinks and overturned stools. He disappeared into the crowded haze of the cantina, no longer a contender in this silent duel.

Throughout this confrontation, Din's gaze remained unyielding, a force of nature that had momentarily swept the establishment into a hushed reverence. As the patrons bore witness to the unassailable might he wielded, their earlier bravado had crumbled into hushed awe.

With the situation resolved, Din's attention shifted back to you, and that deep, unspoken connection that had been nurtured through shared challenges seemed to shimmer in the charged atmosphere. His gloved hand gently found yours, prompting you to rise from your booth. You cradled the child securely in your arms, his innocent eyes bearing witness to this display of protective strength.

“I could have handled it,” you spoke, your voice soft and understanding, and Din nodded, a faint hint of gratitude in his voice. “I know.”

A beat passed between you, the atmosphere laden with unspoken words. Then, Din continued, his words tinged with vulnerability, "I could not just stand there and do nothing," he said, “I would... the things I would do to ensure you and the child are safe.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the weight of his unspoken commitment hanging in the air. It was a promise forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. A vow to protect and cherish, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You blinked, your gaze filled with understanding and affection. With a gentle hand, you reached out, placing it over his heart, and whispered, "I know. I would too."

To your surprise, he was the first one to initiate the hug. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you into an embrace that felt surprisingly warm beneath the cool, unyielding exterior of his beskar armor. You still held the child in your arms, creating an intimate tableau of unity. Surprisingly, the hard plate of his chest was comforting, the armor a symbol of his steadfast protection. In his embrace, you felt safe, secure, and trusted, as if nothing in the galaxy could harm you as long as you were in his arms.

Maybe that's why you two ended up where you are now. In the passing days and nights, your connection deepened, communicated through silent reassurances by the simple touch of an elbow or the light squeeze of his gloved hand. Din seemed to always find a reason to be near you, seeking excuses to touch and hold you, even if only for a brief moment.

There were times when you would prepare food for the three of you, and Din would just watch from a few steps away. Despite the helmet, you could feel his gaze as he observed you move around the small workspace, heating the food. You would glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and his heart would flutter wildly.

In those moments, you could see the shimmering outline of his silver aura mixing with shades of reds and maroons, a silent testament to the emotions he kept hidden behind the beskar helmet.

The nights in the cramped bunk leave you no room to move, but you find it surprisingly comfortable, curled up together. The baby sleeps soundly in his hammock nearby, his tiny breaths filling the small space with a sense of peace.

During those nights, Din often surprises you with unspoken acts of service. He'll quietly slip out of bed, leaving you wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and return with a cup of hot caf. He never says a word, but the gesture speaks volumes, warming not just your body but your heart as well.

Sometimes, he'll softly hum a lullaby, a hauntingly beautiful tune that you've never heard before. The melody dances in the air, soothing both you and the baby, creating a bond that goes beyond words between the three of you.

As you lie there, nestled in his arms, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you've found something exceptional in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.

The peace the three of you had found seemed almost too good to be true. It was a fragile tranquility in a galaxy filled with chaos, and you knew deep down that it wouldn't last long. Still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

But as you entered the flight deck one day and saw the look on Din's face, you knew that the serenity was about to be shattered. Concern etched your features as you asked, "What's wrong?"

Din didn't immediately reply. Instead, he pressed a button, and a flickering hologram message of Greef Karga materialized before you. His gravelly voice filled the cockpit, delivering a message that sent a chill down your spine.

"My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive," Greef Karga's hologram began. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown."

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, and you exchanged a knowing glance with Din. It seemed that your past had come back to haunt you again, and the peace you had briefly tasted was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand from Tatooine.

Greef Karga's hologram continued to flicker as he outlined the dire situation on Nevarro. His gravelly voice held a tone of urgency as he explained, "They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you and Din. It was clear that this was no ordinary mission; it was a perilous gambit that carried immense risks. Karga's proposal hung in the air, the unspoken words echoing loudly in the confined space of the Razor Crest.

"So, here is my proposition," Karga continued. "Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

The concern in your eyes didn't escape Din's notice as you voiced your doubts. "This has to be a trap, Din," you asserted, your voice tinged with worry.

Din nodded in agreement, his thoughts mirroring yours. "Possibly."

A small, determined smile graced your lips as you continued, "We're gonna need help... from our friends."

As you glanced at the sleeping Child, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both of you. It was a decision that would determine the course of your future and the safety of the innocent life in your care.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Din made his decision clear. Without uttering a word, he steered the Razor Crest toward the coordinates Greef Karga had provided, the ship leaping into hyperspace. The die was cast, and a treacherous path lay ahead, but the bond between you and Din, and the allies you had made along the way, offered a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

The Razor Crest soared over the lush tree canopy of Sorgan, its engines humming like a contented beast. As the forest gave way to an open area, Din carefully brought the ship down, landing with the grace of a seasoned pilot.

Exiting the ship, you and Din followed a worn path that led to a common house in the distance. The atmosphere was different here, far removed from the cold metal of your ship. It was a place where the rustic charm of Sorgan had found a home.

Inside the common house, the commotion caught your attention. A sizable crowd had gathered, their voices mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation. At the center of the room, a makeshift boxing ring had been set up.

You and Din approached the ring just as Cara Dune, faced off against a male Zabrak fighter. Cara’s movements were swift and calculated, her strikes a testament to her combat prowess. The Zabrak, equally skilled, proved to be a formidable opponent. Each of them tethered to a laser that crackled with energy. The makeshift boxing ring suddenly felt smaller, the tension palpable as the combatants engaged in a fierce battle.

As the bout reached its climax, Cara executed a flawless maneuver, pulling the Zabrak in with the tether that connected them. The Zabrak, caught off guard by her sudden tactic, found himself unable to escape her grasp.

With a swift and decisive motion, Cara forced the Zabrak to tap out, his admission of defeat ringing through the air as the laser tether fizzled out between them.

Cara's triumphant grin illuminated her features as she basked in the adulation of the crowd, her chest heaving with exertion from the intense match. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a victorious finger, punctuating her declaration to the assembled spectators.

"Pay up, mudscuffers! Come on. That's mine, thank you. All right, thank you," Cara exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the cheering crowd. In response, several patrons begrudgingly reached into their pockets, producing credits to settle their wagers.

You, Din, and the Child entered Cara's line of sight, drawing her attention away from the crowd. Din's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the noise of the common house as he addressed her directly.

"Looking for some work?" Din inquired as he broached the subject with Cara and you all decided to take a seat and have a drink as you discussed the situation.

"It's a straightforward operation," Din elucidated to Cara, his voice low and measured. Leaning forward, he rested his left forearm on the table, his gaze unwavering as he outlined the details. “They're providing the plan and firepower. I'm the snare.” Meanwhile, you tended to the Child who fussed beside you, keeping one eye on the conversation.

"With the kid? And her?" Cara inquires, casting a glance your way.

"That's why we're reaching out to you," you respond softly, meeting Cara's gaze.

Cara sighs, weighing the risks. "I don't know. I've been advised to keep a low profile. If anyone runs my chain code, I'll be in a cell for life."

"I thought you were a veteran," Din remarks, his silver helmet catching the light as he speaks. The defeated Zabrak fighter drops a credit on the table and nods at Cara, who offers a smile. "Come back soon," she calls after him.

"I've been a lot of things since. Most of them come with a life sentence," Cara explains, her expression serious. "If I so much as board a ship registered to the New Republic, I'm—"

"We have a ship," Din interjects, his voice firm. "I can take you there and back, and there'll be a handsome reward waiting. You can live free of worry."

"I'm already free of worry, and I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore," Cara says, taking a sip from her cup. "Especially not for some local warlord."

"He's not a local warlord," Din interjects, his voice low and with a growl. You finish the statement, your tone was distant, eyes glazed. "He's Imperial."

Cara takes a deep breath and offers a small smile as she nods. "I'm in."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

"Does your contact need to vet me?" Cara leans against the side of the cockpit panel, her arms crossed. Din shakes his head. "Doesn't know you're coming."

Cara raises an eyebrow. "Really? That could be a problem."

"It won't. But if it is, that's his problem." Din shrugs before exiting the cockpit. You give the Child a gentle pat as he sits beside you, then follow Din down the ladder and to the weapons locker with Cara.

"Is he alright up there alone?" Cara asks, nodding towards the cockpit.

Din nods. "Yeah." He opens the locker, the doors hissing as they slide apart. Gesturing to the array of weapons, he adds, "Pick one."

"Do you trust the contact?" Cara inquires, brows raised as she sifts through the locker's contents, a grin playing on her lips.

Din lets out a sigh. "Not particularly," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of wariness. "He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business."

"So then why are we going?" Cara questions, her tone laced with curiosity as she glances over at Din.

"I don't have a choice," Din responds, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He pauses, then reaches out to pull you closer to his side, anchoring you against him as he leans against the ship's panel. "You saw what happened on Sorgan. They'll keep sending hunters," he continues, his gaze steady. "The kid and her... they'll never be safe until the Imp is dead."

"And you're okay with bringing them back there?" Cara asks skeptically, a hint of concern coloring her tone. You frown slightly, your expression conveying a sense of determination as you respond, "I can take care of myself."

"What about the kid? We need someone to watch that thing," Cara remarks, gesturing towards the Child above in the cockpit. Din nods in agreement, acknowledging the need for a trustworthy guardian. "Yeah."

"You got anyone you can trust?" Cara inquires further, her gaze shifting between you and Din.

You feel Din's thumb brush over the exposed part of your hip, a comforting gesture that sends a subtle warmth rippling through your body. He hums softly, his presence enveloping you in shades of silver and grey, a reassuring aura amidst the uncertainty of the moment.

Suddenly, the ship begins to rumble, Cara stumbles, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the wall. Meanwhile, Din swiftly pulls you closer to his body, a protective instinct evident in his actions. With a gruff huff, he releases you and heads back up the ladder.

You and Cara follow Din up the ladder, only to find the Child meddling with the controls, causing the ship to thrash and rumble. Din takes charge, settling into the pilot's seat to stabilize the Razor Crest once more.

"We really need someone to watch over him," you remark, holding the Child securely in your arms while Din nods and agrees, “Yeah.”

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

The Razor Crest settles on the desolate planet of Arvala-7, its rocky surface bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. As the ramp lowers, you step out alongside Din and Cara, the hovering pram carrying the Child trailing close behind.

Your eyes fall on the Ugnaught Din mentioned, a figure named Kuiil, who greets you warmly as you make your way to his home. With a nod, you duck your head to enter the tunnel-shaped structure, eager to get to know Kuiil.

"It hasn't grown much," Kuiil remarks, his eyes fixated on the Child.

Din nods in agreement. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."

Kuiil shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

"I had a dream recently," you begin, your voice soft but earnest. "A creature like him named Yoda appeared to me… this little one is likely to be one of his kind."

Din listens intently, his gaze underneath his helmet fixed on you as you speak.

"It’s why I followed you, at first," you continue, turning to face him. "Because the last time the Empire had Force Sensitive children…" You trail off, overcome with emotion. "I just couldn’t leave him there."

Din's gauntleted hand gently clasps yours, emanating a comforting warmth that sends a tender sensation coursing through your veins. You feel a soft flush rise to your cheeks as you meet his gaze, the visor of his helmet lending an air of mystery to his expression.

Kuiil clears his throat, his gaze shifting between you and Din. "You and Din make a formidable pair," he says with a nod, his tone carrying a note of respect. "A union like yours brings strength and unity in uncertain times."

A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily. However, Din's firm grip on your waist draws you closer to where you sat, anchoring you in his reassuring presence.

Meanwhile, Kuiil turns to Cara with a playful glint in his eye. "This one, on the other hand," he remarks, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

You gesture toward Cara with a smile, introducing her to Kuiil. Cara responds with a nod, her own smile reflecting the camaraderie in the room.

Kuiil's eyes settle on Cara's arm, where the telltale tattoo of a Dropper catches his attention. "You were a Dropper," he observes, prompting Cara to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Did you serve?" she inquires the Ugnaught.

Kuiil settles onto a stool, his expression taking on a thoughtful cast. "On the other side, I'm afraid," he admits. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

As Kuiil speaks, the room is suddenly interrupted by the mechanical steps of an approaching figure. You glance toward the entrance and see an IG-11 droid entering, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Instantly, both Din and Cara spring to their feet, blasters are drawn, their defensive instincts kicking in. Meanwhile, you remain seated, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched on your face.

The IG-11 droid, its metallic voice crisp and clear, breaks the tension with an unexpected offer. "Would anyone care for some tea?"

Kuiil, ever composed, raises a calming hand towards Din and Cara. "Please lower your blasters," he urges, his voice steady and assured. "He will not harm you."

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din asserts, his voice tinged with anger as he keeps his blaster trained on the IG unit.

Kuiil interjects calmly as IG-11 places the tray on the table in front of you, "Not anymore. It was left behind in the wake of your destruction.”

“I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness.” Kuiil recounted to you and you listened intently.

"Reconstruction was quite the challenge, but not impossible," Kuiil reflects, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It had to learn everything anew. This is not a task for mere machinery. It demands patience and repetition. Day after day, I nurtured its growth with care and affirmation. And as its experiences expanded, so did its personality."

Din remains skeptical, his tone betraying his doubt as he inquires, "Is it still a hunter?"

"No," Kuiil replies firmly, "but it will defend."

As the IG-11 droid offers, “Tea?” Cara grabs the cup and takes a sip while you exchange glances with Kuiil, sensing the sincerity in his words reflected in the warm hues of the sunset. With a reassuring touch, you rise from your seat and place a hand on Din's outstretched arm, gently guiding down the blaster. "He speaks the truth," you affirm softly. "It’s okay. We’re okay."

Reluctantly, Din secures his blaster back into its holster, his tension easing slightly as he acknowledges the reassurance in your words.

"I've encountered some difficulties," Din admits as he approaches Kuiil, who is tending to the Blurrg.

Kuiil emits a thoughtful hum. "Seems like you've been managing quite well. Especially with her support," he remarks, nodding in your direction. You're engrossed in play with the Child, introducing the little one to the droid, while Cara observes with interest.

As Din watches you, bathed in the warm glow of the setting suns, he can't help but marvel at your radiance. Your smile outshines even the brightest stars in the galaxy. In that moment, he feels a profound sense of gratitude for having someone like you by his side.

A warm sensation stirs within Din as he watches you laugh at something the Child finds amusing. The primal urge to claim you as his own surges within him, an instinctual longing he struggles to suppress. Beneath his helmet, his jaw tightens as he fixates on you, momentarily lost in the intensity of his emotions. When you glance his way and offer a smile and a wave, his heart swells with longing, yearning for a world where he could have you all to himself, free from the burdens that weigh upon you both.

Swallowing hard, Din tears his gaze away, attempting to regain his composure. "That's not... that's not why we're here," he insists, his voice tinged with an edge of determination.

"I assumed as much. There must be another reason for your return," Kuiil observes with a knowing hum.

Din's voice carries a low, earnest tone as he addresses the Ugnaught. "I need your services."

"I'm retired from service," Kuiil responds, his voice measured.

Ignoring the subtle refusal, Din presses on, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

The Ugnaught, displeased by Din's persistence, harumphs. "I have a name. It is Kuiil."

Din's gaze remains unwavering as he makes his request clear. "I require someone to protect the child, Kuiil."

Kuiil shakes his head, his resolve unwavering. "I am not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol duties."

Din's voice grows firmer, his tone resolute. "No. I do not want that droid anywhere near him."

"Why are you so distrustful of droids?" Kuiil asks, his tone curious yet skeptical.

Din's response is matter-of-fact. "It tried to kill him."

Kuiil nods, understanding. "It was programmed to do so. Droids are not inherently good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them." He looks to Din, hoping to impart some sense to the Mandalorian.

Din's voice carries a distant gravity as he speaks with a serious tone. "I've seen otherwise."

"Do you trust me?" Kuiil's gravelly voice breaks the silence, his gaze steady on Din.

Din nods thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, yes."

"Then trust my work. IG-11 will join me," Kuiil asserts, his tone resolute. "And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery."

A weight seems to settle on Din's shoulders as he exhales softly. Kuiil's continues, "None will be free until the old ways are gone forever."

Din takes a moment to consider, his mind churning with the implications. Finally, he meets Kuiil's gaze and nods. "Okay."

"The blurrgs?" Din queries, a hint of confusion in his voice as Kuiil starts to walk away.

Kuiil pauses, turning back to face Din. "And the blurrgs will join me as well," he affirms, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Kuiil turns once more and continues on his way, leaving Din standing there with a contemplative expression. As he disappears from sight, his parting words linger. "I have spoken."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

After securing the blurrgs in the Razor Crest's cargo hold, Din takes control of the ship's controls, steering it towards Nevarro. With the ship set on autopilot, you and he descend the ladder into the cargo hold, where the Child sits in his hovering pram, eyes wide with curiosity as he emits a soft cooing sound.

As you assist Kuiil with feeding the blurrgs, your attention is drawn to the sounds of grunting nearby. Slowly turning, you find Cara and Din engaged in an arm wrestle, their muscles straining against each other in the dim light of the cargo hold. Despite the intense competition, they appear evenly matched.

As you observe Din's impressive display of strength, a flutter of excitement stirs within you, mingled with a hint of something more intimate. His determination and power are undeniably captivating, igniting a subtle thrill that courses through your veins.

"I got you, Mando," Cara declares with a huff, her voice laced with determination.

Din's response is confident as ever. "Care to double the bet?" he challenges, his voice resonating with a subtle intensity. You catch a glimpse of his gaze behind the visor, sensing his determination.

Intense heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his gruff grunt, the raw energy of the moment heightening your anticipation. You’ve been buzzing with anticipation for weeks.

But the heat fizzes out as a moment of panic grips you as Cara struggles, her hand dropping abruptly from the arm wrestling match. It startles both you and Din, prompting him to rise to his feet with urgency.

As you rush over to the Child, you hear Din's firm voice addressing the little one. "No! No, no! Stop! We're friends, we're friends. Cara is my friend!" he asserts, his tone authoritative.

Stretching out your hand, you tap into the Force, attempting to gently ease the Child's grasp on Cara. Gradually, the tension dissipates, and you release your hold on the Force, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Eager breaths escape your lips, leaving you slightly winded from the unexpected exertion.

Cara gestures toward the Child and voices her concern, "That is not okay!"

"Hmm. Very curious," Kuiil remarks, his gaze shifting to you and the Child.

"Curious? It almost killed me!" Cara exclaims, her alarm evident.

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil adds.

"Mudhorn?" You interject, your curiosity piqued. You glance over at Din, who has now moved closer to you, checking to ensure you're okay as you still catch your breath from the ordeal.

"What is it?" Din inquires Kuiil while keeping you close by his side.

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this… This I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies.

Cara shoots the Ugnaught a skeptical glance. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

Kuiil stands his ground, his tone resolute. "When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude."

"Yet somehow, you walk free," Cara retorts with a scoff, rising to her feet. But Kuiil remains unfazed. "I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon what I am nor whom I shall serve."

As the swirling colors of intense emotions overwhelm your senses, you feel a surge of turbulence within. It's a challenge to maintain composure, especially given your empathic abilities.

Sensing your discomfort, Din's demeanor softens, a rare glimpse of tenderness shining through. In a voice touched with kindness, he addresses Kuiil, "Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

Kuiil acknowledges the request with a nod, his expression solemn. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands."

With purposeful movements, Kuiil sets to work, the hum of machinery filling the space as sparks fly from the welding gun. Meanwhile, the Child observes with wide-eyed curiosity. Feeling Din's comforting touch on your lower back, he guides you back up the ladder toward the cockpit.

You move to take a seat on a nearby chair, but before you can settle, Din swiftly pivots from his pilot chair. His strong hands encircle your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a single fluid motion. You emit a surprised yelp as you find yourself seated sideways, legs draped over his, and your head nestled against the cool surface of his beskar pauldron. Instinctively, you loop your arms around his neck to maintain your balance.

"Din! Cara could walk in any second," you whisper urgently.

He responds with a nonchalant hum. "She won't mind."

"But—"

"You seemed winded earlier, using your..." Din's voice trails off as he adjusts a few controls, and you finish his thought, "The Force?"

"Yes," he confirms.

You release a sigh and reach up to lightly touch the side of his helmet, wishing you could see beyond the reflective visor. "Din, I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. Later, I'll speak with the kid about using the Force responsibly. It's something we need to ensure he understands."

As you utter the word "we," something ignites within Din's chest. The notion of you wanting to stand by his side, to be integrated into his clan, strengthens his need to claim you as his own, to initiate the formal courtship.

With a gentle movement, he leans his helmet closer, as he uses his left gloved hand to hold the back of your neck, bringing your forehead to rest against his. The warmth of your skin contrasts with the cool touch of his beskar armor. You instinctively close your eyes, sharing a moment akin to the gesture known as the keldabe kiss.

You emit a soft sound, unable to suppress it as you sense him gently squeeze the back of your neck, expressing his desire to draw nearer. Din gruffly murmurs, "Soon, Cyar'ika. Soon."

"You better be fully clothed in there, I'm coming in!" Cara's voice echoes through the ship before the doors hiss open and shut, signaling her entrance. She finds you still seated on Din's lap, a sheepish expression on your face.

Wide-eyed, you attempt to slide off Din's lap, but he pulls you closer in a tighter grip. Your embarrassment intensifies, your cheeks burning as Cara smirks at you. Wanting to hide, you bury your face between Din's neck and shoulder, the heat of the moment igniting a mix of desire and embarrassment throughout your body.

Cara meticulously cleans her blaster as she addresses both of you, "So, we're heading to Nevarro?"

Din, still seated with you on his lap, engages in the conversation, "Have you been there before?"

"No," Cara responds, settling into her seat with the blaster and a rag in hand. "We lost a lot of our forces there. The city's dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control 'till the end of the war.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. "The warlord we're taking out was an Imperial officer.”

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

Din turns his chair, keeping you snugly in his hold, as he explains, "Hard to tell. No insignia anymore.”

You attempt to wriggle out of his grasp once more, but his arm around your midsection keeps you firmly in place.

"We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid." Din continues, his tone grave. "More Imps have reinforced since.”

Apologies for the oversight. Here's the revised text, retaining the original dialogue:

"There's something more going on," Cara remarks as she begins to clean a different rifle.

"Maybe. We'll find out more when we land," Din replies, his gaze fixed on the controls.

The doors hiss open, and IG-11 steps inside, its robotic voice announcing, "I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?"

"I'm not hungry," Din says flatly.

The IG-11 leaves.

Cara's chuckle echoes lightly in the cockpit. "You got a real thing for droids, don't you?" she teases.

Din's voice remains monotone as he responds, his helmet reflecting the dim light. "I got a real thing for that droid."

"The Ugnaught said he rewired it," Cara mentions, her tone casual.

Din shakes his head, his expression hidden behind the helmet. "That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature."

Cara's departing words linger in the air as she heads back down to the cargo hold, leaving you and Din alone once more.

A hushed quiet falls between you, the hum of the ship's engines filling the space. You break the silence, the words catching in your throat. "We need to get ready..."

Din's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Just let me hold you a little longer, Cyar'ika," he murmurs, his tone laden with affection. You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you, and with a quiet nod, you reply, "Okay."

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

The Razor Crest descends into a desolate corner of Nevarro, the distant hum of its engines fading as it settles on the uneven terrain. Your pulse quickens, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you adjust the cloak robe to conceal your lightsaber, keeping it out of sight.

The four of you dismount the ship, perched atop blurrgs, and spot Greef Karga approaching, accompanied by three other bounty hunters including a human, Nikto, and a Trandoshan. He strides toward your party, a mix of urgency and caution in his steps. "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” he says, coming to a halt a few paces away.

As he surveys the group, Greef Karga remarks, "It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail," His gaze shifts to Cara. "I'd suggest the shock trooper stays back to guard the ship. These lava fields are swarming with Jawas."

"She's coming with us," you assert firmly.

"But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up," Greef Karga argues, attempting to dissuade you.

"She's coming," Din insists.

Greef Karga grudgingly relents. "Fine," he seethes, then relents once more with a resigned sigh. "Fine." Gesturing to Cara, he adds, "Just cover your tattoo. No need to draw unnecessary attention."

"Now, where's the little one?" Karga inquires. Din activates a button on his bracer, causing the hovering pram to glide forward, its hatch hissing open. Greef Karga leans in to inspect the Child, drawing uneasy gazes from the group. Fingers hover near blasters as tension mounts, and you clench your jaw.

"So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head," Greef Karga remarks, lifting the Child briefly before returning it to the hovering pram. Din swiftly closes the hatch with another press of his bracer, bringing the pram back to his side.

As the group prepares to embark on their journey across the lava fields of Nevarro, Greef Karga lays out the plan. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light," he explains. You nod in agreement as your group rides the blurrgs, ready to traverse the treacherous terrain.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

As the group settles in for the night, a campfire crackles, casting flickering light on the surrounding faces. You find a spot on the ground, seated cross-legged like the others. Positioned between Din and the Child, Kuiil patiently feeds the young one while you quietly finish your meal.

Across the fire, the three bounty hunters sit, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. With a keen sense, you observe them, your empathic force powers awakening to perceive shades of darkness and red, hinting at hidden motives and deceit.

As you unconsciously shift closer to Din, preparing to whisper your observations, Greef Karga's voice cuts through the quiet night. He gazes at the Child, remarking, "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie."

"Let's go over the plan again," Din interjects, brushing off Karga's comments.

“We three enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Greef Karga explains matter-of-factly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Din quickly follows up, “Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they'll all scatter,” Greef Karga replies nonchalantly.

“And what if they don't?” You press further.

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

Din shakes his head, “That's not good enough.”

Greef Karga sighs heavily, “If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper, and your Jedi will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“I’m a medic, not a Jedi,” you mumble with a clenched jaw.

“How many will there be?” Din asks Greef Karga.

“No more than four,” Karga replies as he rises from his seated position, heading over to the large piece of meat roasting over the campfire. He reaches out to grab a piece, confidently stating, “He travels with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

However, his confidence is shattered as a large beast emerges from the darkness. It's a species of winged, predatory reptavians native to Nevarro. With a large wingspan, scaly and dry skin, and a dragon-like appearance, these reptavians have a pointed snout, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and two brownish eyes.

One of the reptavians swoops down, sinking its teeth into Greef's arm, eliciting a pained grunt from him. Chaos erupts as blaster fire fills the air, echoing against the rocky terrain. Each member of the group takes aim, firing at the winged assailants with precision.

With swift movements, the Mandalorian secures the Child in his hovering pram, shielding the youngling from harm. Meanwhile, you ignite your lightsaber, its vibrant purple hue casting an eerie glow in the dim light. Swinging it fiercely, you fend off the winged creatures with determined strikes.

Amidst the commotion, a blurrg and a Trandoshan bounty hunter fall victim to the creatures' relentless onslaught. As one of the reptavians swoops down to snatch another blurrg, it meets its demise in a barrage of blaster fire, falling lifeless to the ground. Unfortunately, in the chaos, a blurrg is accidentally struck by friendly fire.

After the Mandalorian's flamethrower repels the winged creatures, a tense silence settles over the group, broken only by the occasional groan of pain from Greef Karga. As the dust settles and the smoke clears, everyone remains on edge, waiting to see if the creatures will return.

Moving swiftly, Kuiil rushes to Greef's side, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "He's hurt badly," Kuiil announces, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Ow!" Greef insists through gritted teeth, his bravado failing to mask his discomfort. You kneel beside him, your focus on assessing his injury. The deep bite mark left by the reptavians catches your attention, and you speak with authority, "Hold still."

"They got you good," you murmur, your focus still fixed on the deep wound.

"How bad, Cyar'ika?" Din's voice comes from behind you as you work.

"Bad. The poison's spreading fast," you reply, urgency lacing your tone as you inject Greef Karga with a pen, hoping it will slow the venom's progress.

"So this... This is how it happens," Greef Karga says between labored breaths.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" you urgently call out.

“Anyone? I'm guessing that's a ‘no’,” you say with a huff, frustration creeping into your voice. You glance back at his arm, noting the venom's continued spread. “It's still spreading. This isn't working.”

“Get this thing outta here,” Cara exclaims, prompting you to realize that the Child had approached unnoticed.

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

The Child extends his tiny green hand and places it atop Greef Karga’s arm. With a wince, Karga cries out, “He's trying to eat me!”

You sense it too—the subtle hum of the Force emanating from the Child. With each focused use, the Child begins to harness his abilities, channeling them to gradually heal Greef Karga’s arm, leaving no trace of a scar. Witnessing such skill from one so young fills you with awe; Force Healing of this magnitude is exceedingly rare. A collective exhale fills the air, each member of the group seemingly sharing in the astonishment of witnessing such a miraculous feat.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

As the sun begins to ascend, casting a dim light across the rugged landscape, the group presses onward. Smoke billows from the small volcanic vents scattered throughout the rocky terrain of Nevarro. An uneasy silence envelops the group, with Greef Karga's companions forging ahead, leaving you, Din, Cara, and Kuiil to tread quietly behind on foot, the Ugnaught trailing along atop the last remaining blurrg.

Cara speaks softly, directing her question to both you and Din. "You think they're having second thoughts?"

Din responds in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible. "Could be. I need your eyes."

"I'm watching," Cara confirms with a nod.

An hour later, your group arrives at the outskirts of Nevarro, with Greef Karga leading the way and you, Din, and Cara close behind. "I guess this is it," Greef Karga remarks, gazing out at the view. But something tugs at your gut, a feeling that something isn't right.

Before you can react, Greef abruptly turns around and fires at his associates, sending them collapsing lifeless to the ground. The sudden violence startles you, Din, and Cara. They swiftly unholster their blasters, aiming them at Greef Karga, while you grasp your saber hilt, activating it in readiness to deflect any blaster fire.

Din and Cara keep their blasters trained on Greef Karga, who raises his hands in surrender. "There's something you should know," he confesses as he ensures that both the bounty hunters are truly dead and kicks away their blasters. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it."

Your brow furrows as you listen to Karga's plea. "Go on," he continues, "You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

Cara grits her teeth and shoots Karga a scowl. "We'll take our chances," she asserts firmly.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef Karga reasons, causing Cara to grow more agitated. "This is ridiculous," she tells Din.

"Perhaps you should let him speak," Kuiil interjects calmly, while you maintain a steady gaze on Greef Karga.

Karga points out, "Listen, we three need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two…"

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

Cara clenches her jaw, her blaster aimed at Greef Karga. "Let's just kill him and get outta here," she suggests, her frustration evident.

You feel the Force connecting you through your empathic powers, sensing the true colors of Greef Karga. Taking a deep breath and deactivating your saber, you speak up. "He's right."

Din lowers his blaster, while Cara hisses in disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the child," Din explains to Cara, who responds with a warning, "It's a trap."

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

"What?" you exclaim, taken aback, while Greef Karga echoes, "Bring you?"

"Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him," Din states with determination, and Karga nods, “That's a good idea. Give me your blaster.”

As Din hands over his blaster, it prompts you to protest as you take a step closer to him. "No! Hold on, it should be me. Bring me instead," you insist.

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

You sharply turn your head to face Greef Karga. "Do they know?"

Greef Karga begins to respond, but you cut him off, your voice tense with urgency. "Do. They. Know?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"Okay," you swallow, your mind racing through the options and landing on a decision. "You bring me in. Say that Cara captured me and convinced Mando to trade me instead of the Child." You then hand over your saber hilt to Greef Karga who pockets it.

"No. Absolutely not. You are going back to the ship with Kuiil and the Child," Din interjects, his tone firm.

"But without her or the Child, none of this works!" Karga exclaims, trying to reason.

"I’m going with you," you assert, stepping closer to Din. As he meets your gaze through his visor, you see the conflict in his eyes. He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a whispered plea, "I am going with you, and there is nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. We face these things together." You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, feeling the cool metal beneath your palm as you press your foreheads together. "Let me be there for you, like you were for me. Please."

Din hesitates, visibly conflicted. Finally, he lets out a shaky exhale. "Maker help me. Fine, fine. But you listen to me, alright? When I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

You nod, determination in your eyes. "Okay."

Din grunts out his plan. "Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. Once you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

"Here's a comlink," Kuiil says, handing Din the device. "I will keep the child safe."

Kuiil looks at Cara and advises, "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

"Let's go," Din nods, prompting everyone to prepare. He turns to you, offering a pair of silver binders. You secure your hands in front of him, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the familiar sensation of the cuffs.

With a click, your hands are bound, and he asks softly, "Not too tight?"

Feeling playful, you respond with a cheeky grin, "You could make it tighter."

There's a warmth in his chest, almost like laughter. His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Cyar'ika, you are going to be the death of me."

You freeze, sensing the shift in his demeanor beneath the helmet. It's almost like awe or something.

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

"You're smiling, I can tell by your voice," you note, smiling yourself. Your eyes meet the visor of his helmet, and his skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, he wants you a lot closer. In his lap. Straddling him, maybe. Your hands in his hair, and his in yours. But there's no time for that. You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and gesture toward Greef Karga, who is waiting for the other pair of stun cuffs to restrain Din.

Din regains his composure, walking over to Greef Karga to be cuffed. As he does, Cara conceals her tattooed arm with a cloth, and Kuiil picks up the Child from the hovering pram. With your group heading in opposite directions, you hope fervently that everything will go according to plan.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

Greef and Cara escort the bound Mandalorian, you, and the hovering pram toward the town. At the gate, they come across two scout troopers riding 74-Z speeder bikes.

"Chain code?" one of the Scout Troopers demands, eyeing Greef Karga suspiciously.

Greef nods toward you and Din. "I have a gift for the boss."

The Scout Trooper repeats, "Chain code?" with insistence. Reluctantly, Greef retrieves his card and hands it over.

The Scout Trooper scans Greef's card. "I'll give you 20 credits for the helmet," he offers, eyeing the Mandalorian's helmet.

Greef lets out a fake laugh. "Ha-ha! Not a chance. That's going on my wall."

Din leans in to Karga, whispering, "On your wall?" Greef shoots him a pointed look. "Go with it."

"Go ahead," the Scout Trooper says, returning Greef's card. The group proceeds forward into town.

Cara gives Greef a sharp look. "You said four. There are more than four troopers."

Greef explains quietly, "Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse."

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

You approach the cantina's entrance, Greef Karga announcing, "Here we are." As the door slides open, the once bustling space is now eerily empty, save for the watchful eyes of the stormtroopers stationed inside, their presence unsettling.

Greef nods towards the troopers. "You see? Four." He then leads you and Din towards the Client, gesturing towards both of you. "Look what I brought you. As promised."

The Client moves closer to Din, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of Din's beskar chest plate. "What exquisite craftsmanship. It's remarkable how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans."

Your expression twists in disgust as you watch the Client touch Din's armor. Then, the Client's attention shifts to you, his hand reaching out to grab your face. You meet his gaze with a defiant glare as he remarks, "Ah, the Jedi. Word travels fast whenever your kind is spotted." His tone drips with disdain. "What a waste."

As the Client releases your face, you feel a surge of revulsion. Sensing Din's simmering anger, you brace yourself.

"Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?" the Client proposes to Greef Karga, who accepts with a nod.

An RA-7 protocol droid sets to work at the bar, preparing drinks for Greef and the Client. Gesturing towards a nearby booth, the Client invites, "Please, have a seat."

As you take your place, the Client begins, "It's regrettable that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable."

He turns his attention to Din. "Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire enhances every system it touches." You let out a derisive scoff, prompting the Client to continue, undeterred. "Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside." He gestures towards the window. "Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos."

You grit your teeth and suppress a retort, sensing the Client's emotions swirling before you, a dark maelstrom of black and red hues.

"I would like to see the baby," the Client requests.

Greef Karga clears his throat. "Uh... It's asleep."

"We'll all be quiet. Open the pram," the Client insists, narrowing his eyes. You swallow nervously, feeling a sense of unease. But before the situation can escalate, a stormtrooper approaches the Client and murmurs something discreetly. The Client stands abruptly. "Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call."

A stormtrooper sets up a holoprojector as the Client strides over to it. Under the table, Greef Karga discreetly unbinds his restraints, while Din swiftly does the same for you, his hands deftly removing the cuffs. "Give me the blaster and her saber hilt," he instructs Karga, his tone firm.

"You get one shot," Greef Karga reminds Din as he hands over your saber hilt. Din passes it to you with a determined nod.

Cara leans in close, her voice barely a whisper. "This is bad. You said four."

"Well, there are more. What can I tell you?" Greef Karga replies quietly.

A tense moment hangs in the air, and you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Before you can react, gunfire erupts from outside the cantina, catching everyone off guard. The shots strike the Client and his stormtroopers, sending them sprawling to the ground. Instinctively, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef dive behind a nearby table for cover. Amidst the chaos, the RA-7 protocol droid is caught in the crossfire and falls to the ground, incapacitated.

Taking cover behind various pillars, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef cautiously assess the situation. Through the shattered windows of the cantina, a line of death troopers becomes visible, their ominous presence sending a chill down your spine. As if that weren't enough, an Imperial Troop Transport rolls onto the scene, unloading a squad of stormtroopers, further escalating the situation.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara scoffs, her expression darkening. "This is bad."

The Mandalorian quickly contacts Kuiil via comlink, his voice urgent. "Kuiil? Are you back at the ship yet?" After a tense moment of silence, he presses, "Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes!" Kuiil's voice crackles through the comlink.

Din wastes no time. "Are you back at the ship yet?"

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

"Get back to the ship and get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!" Din's command is sharp and resolute.

The roar of engines interrupts the chaos, drawing your attention outside. An Outland TIE fighter swoops into view, its retractable solar collectors gleaming in the sunlight. The Imperial officer emerges from the cockpit, clad in full black attire, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. His voice carries over the commotion as he declares, "You have something I want."

"Who's this guy?" Cara asks, her confusion evident.

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not," the officer asserts ominously.

"Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet? They're onto us!" Din urgently tries to reach Kuiil through the comlink.

No response.

Din attempts again, growing increasingly desperate. "Kuiil, come in!"

Still, there's silence.

"In a few moments, it will be mine," the officer threatens, his tone dripping with menace.

"Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!" Din's voice echoes with urgency.

"It means more to me than you will ever know," the officer adds, his words sending a chill down your spine.

"Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, come in," Din pleads desperately.

"Kuiil? Are you there? Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!"

TAGLIST: @wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x forcesensitive!reader #ethereal writes #thesilverliningch5 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian rewrite #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #pedro pascal x reader

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ravenalla · 1 year

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I think overall the main problem season 3 is having is the same as TBOBF, which is not giving the audience a well-established storyline and so not giving them a reason to care. This is probably gonna be long so bear with me.

Throughout the first two seasons, we had a clear goal for our main character. Sure Din did other things all the time, the “side quest” as the fandom liked to joke, but it always made sure to remind us what the motivation behind all of this was, keeping Grogu safe, finding him a Jedi. The story still introduced other characters concepts, but it made sure to always keep Din tied to them in some way that made us understand why this would affect him and why we should care. The side adventures never felt random, they all had a clear step by step progression as Din tried to get closer towards his destination. Moff Gideon was also not just a threat against Grogu, his rule under the Empire was responsible for the destruction of Din’s people. The conflict between them was personal, both because of Din’s newfound love for the baby and because of who he is. It all tied together to give us this intriguing but fun and adventurous story.

On the other hand, stuff in Season 3 just feels like it’s happening at random. It began looking like the main drive this season would be Din trying to regain his identity and the restoration of Mandalore as a whole. Instead, the former was solved in a matter of two episodes with little fanfare compared to how serious they made the situation out to be. No we get pirates both we and the characters have never seen before and have no reason to give two shits about. They’re gone for a while. Then suddenly back as a big threat we are suppose to take seriously for some reason. Din and the rest of the covert do not show any indication they are ready to rally the Mandalorians and take back their planet up to this point. Oh nevermind now they want to. Like there’s no motivation for our main character happening between episodes behind the random monster of the week stuff, nothing the covert is working towards.

Things are just happening out of nowhere, nothing feels like a cohesive narrative and Din isn’t getting any new development or character moments to make up for it. Aside from two things that have nothing to do with the actual Mandalorian, Bo and the New Republic.

Bo-Karan’s story is interesting, and I like her developing a relationship with the covert, but this is not her show. You should not be ending every episode with a shot of her like this has always only been about her journey, at least not here. It’s fine to have more than one main character, but you can do that without throwing away everything you spent two seasons developing with another one. I don’t even know why Din and Grogu are here to be honest. Are they really any different from the background Mandos at this point? Din’s speech was cool, but there’s not really been tight moments of friendship this season for us to get super emotional about him coming to Greef’s rescue from these random Disney channel villains on planet gentrification. It’s obvious now that Bo’s going to be the one to lead, so him showcasing traits of leadership probably also won’t even matter. Din is obsolete, and the heart-wrenching relationship between father and son is now being used for cheap Grogu brownie point moments when they actually remember they have to include them.

As for the New Republic, yes, as people have said this does expand the world and relate to stuff that is going to happen later that we don’t yet know about. The problem is, this is a completely detached event from the main character. Nothing (aside from the random reveal of Moff Gideon’s escape) relates to our main characters situations at all, and it is so clearly ideas from rangers of the new republic shoved in so they can squeeze already established plots they didn’t want to abandon. Because we don’t know why this matters at all towards Din, there’s really no reason to care at this point. Again, you can say there’s plot happening, but it’s all disconnected in a way that doesn’t keep us anticipating any type of ending. And look I’m not saying the show needs to spoon feed its audience or explain everything right away. My problem is everything is that Din is given nothing to do anymore. All of his problems that were built up for two seasons have been solved instantaneously, and we don’t even get many conversations between Din and Grogu as we use to, the driving force of the show. Neither do we get simple explanations for things like where the hell did all the new Mando’s come from or why they decided to settle there. It is both so busy and so empty.

The Mandalorian was never just about finding Grogu a home as quickly as possible, it took the time to show us Din’s personality, his relationship with himself, and the new relationship he formed with his son. So why is the show treating it like none of that stuff was important enough to take up screen time? That Din and Grogu had to take a backseat because showing two former Imperial officers having a meaningless conversation about a planet’s history was more important, that dedicating every emotional beat to Bo-Katan’s changing feelings left no room for exploration of the main character’s own when he is suppose to have been his most changed and isolated self yet, that setting up major plot lines and characters which will bleed into other shows was worth sabotaging what made the show so popular in the first place? The Mandalorian can have a bigger plot, it can have more characters, but when those elements feel like they can exist without that main character being there? That is just bad writing.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian spoilers #bo katan kryze #god sorry there’s probably a million typos in this

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wackyart · 1 year

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"STEEL AND STARLIGHT" UPDATE N°5

Sooooooo DinBo fam, I have some news....

WE HAVE A BANNNNNEEEEEER !!!!!! (Yes, I made a fucking banner with "Steel and Starlight" written in Mando'a because I'm that extra and have the time management of a carrot-) LOOK AT THAT BANNER THO ISN'T SHE GORGEOUS ?????? But anyway, Chapter 2 is coming next week, probably monday or late sunday night (if I have time) so stay tuned bestie !!! But also, I have a small fic cooking and I'm sure y'all are not ready for the cuteness of it and I cannot wait for your reactions !👀👀👀 This one drops tomorrow and no, I won't drop the title because if I say it, it'll be spotted immediately X'D

(Not me reposting this for the third time because the video didn't load correctly x') )

#steel and starlight #dinbo #dinbo fic #din djarin x bo katan kryze #din dajrin #din x bo #din djarin x bo katan #y'all are not ready for the fluff #like AT ALL #one clue: it made me sobb for like a good hour #this is so soft #i love them so much #anyway still hoping the antis are choking on beskar right now #bo katan kryze #did i mention y'all are not ready ?#the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 3 episode 7

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spacemagicandlaserswords · 1 year

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Feral Hunter

I wrote most of this in a reblog but thought it deserved its own post as my unwieldy response took on a life of its own, which they have a tendency to do. I’ve added more to it as well so there’s some new extra ramblings on one of my favourite ideas/headcanons/theories for season 3 of The Bad Batch.

Give me Feral Hunter. My kingdom for Feral Hunter. Completely unhinged, vengeance fueled, feral Hunter. He can go on his Joel Miller/The Mandalorian/John Wick/Liam Neeson in Taken/The Punisher arc, as a little treat.

I've been trying to figure out why I love this idea so much. I think it's because we never really see any of the Batch actually, properly unleash. Sure, they're unconventional and a bit bonkers in their approach but they're still a very well-oiled machine. When they're on a mission, they all know exactly what they're doing, what their roles are, and where their squad mates are. Even when they improvise on the fly, they all adapt fairly easily and smoothly. Everything is still all rather professional, smooth, and efficient. Like they're all operating on muscle memory, which they basically are given how many countless times I'm sure they've trained and done missions together.

Even when the Batch is fighting their way through Kamino, they still operate with that same smooth, efficient, hyper competent professionalism. Despite their unorthodox approach, there's still this sense that they're contained. Never throwing off the shackles and being completely unrestrained. The full unbridled force of their abilities and skills simmering just below the surface, waiting to be given free rein and just obliterate everything.

There's a little hint of this in the opening scene of episode 2x14 'Tipping Point', where the ARC Trooper in Echo comes out to play. But oh, how I would love to see more. From all of them, but especially Hunter.

Look at his face. Look at that expression and all those emotions from Sergeant Stoic himself, who is usually fairly reserved and contained. Dorito Bod Bandana Space Dad on the warpath to get his ad'ika back, cutting a swathe through the Imperials, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, and taking out anything and everything that even thinks about getting in his way. Hunter goes full Space Rambo mode, ruthlessly taking out Stormtroopers, blood dripping off his vibroblade, eyes wide and deranged, as he turns into a complete animal. His half tattooed skull now completed by the blood of his enemies covering the other side of his face. For extra angst, when he finds Omega, she doesn’t recognise him. The figure standing in the smoking remains of the door to her cell looks like Hunter. Is wearing Hunter’s armour. Is holding Hunter’s vibroknife. But that’s not Hunter. That’s not her buir. Not anymore. And she’s afraid of him. We get a little hint of this at the very end of season 2 and oh ho ho, I am so ready for more. I am so ready for Hunter’s descent into vengeance, revenge and rage. Not just Hunter either, I’d love to see the rest of the Batch unleash as well.

Can you just imagine Wrecker properly unleashing? All of that strength and power finally freed as he rips limbs off Stormtroopers, snapping necks and crushing skulls with his bare hands. The crumpled, pulverised bodies of his enemies discarded behind him as he rages down corridor after corridor of whatever Imperial base they’ve infiltrated. We got a hint of how damaging Wrecker can be when his chip activated but that was chip controlled. This would just be pure Wrecker.

We see a little more of this in Crosshair's actions and you could also argue that this is chip controlled. Or if his chip has actually been removed, then Crosshair’s actions are definitely still clouded by his Imperial mindset and blind delusion that the Empire is right. Right up until it all goes horribly wrong on Barton-4 and he finally wakes up to the reality of his nightmare. Either way, that unrestrained part of him is still there. The amount of rage and anger that must be building up and festering inside Crosshair is eventually going to explode. When he snaps like he did at the end of 'The Outpost' then there isn’t going to be an Imperial left without a blaster bolt between their eyes. When Hemlock ends up dying (he better), my bet is on Crosshair taking him out and getting revenge. And it won't be pretty. He'd shoot him execution style at the very least.

I'd love to see Tech (shut up he's alive) completely lose it and finally snap off every ounce of his carefully crafted control. I've written about this before but Tech's combat is exceptionally efficient and precise. He only ever uses the minimum number of shots or moves to take out an enemy because he doesn't need to expend anything beyond what is necessary. Complete economy of form. His combat style is very contained, almost like a mirror of his personality and character. Can you just imagine him snarling and growling like a beast, teeth bared, eyes dark, face distorted in rage, as he slams a Stormtrooper's head into a control panel desk with enough force to crack their helmet and shatter their visor.

I mentioned above that we've seen a tiny bit of this slightly unhinged quality from Echo. There's another little hint of it when they're all in that training simulation on Kamino.

This gifset from @starqueensthings shows this perfectly, especially the above gif. I love the line they wrote at the top of their post as well, which I'm going to quote in part here: "I’d like to introduce my scomp arm TO YOUR JUGULAR WIRE." This perfectly encapsulates the unhinged quality lurking in Echo. He just leaps onto the back of what looks like the Kaminoan version of a B2 super battle droid and then proceeds to flail and stab madly before plunging his scomp arm into the battle droid's chest and ripping out the droid version of its jugular. Absolutely unhinged behaviour. The absolute madlad.

Now picture Echo finally snapping and doing this to a bunch of Imperials and just absolutely annihilating them. There is so much in him that is screaming to be let out. The general batshittery that comes with being an ARC Trooper. The insanity and chaos of coming from the 501st and Torrent Company. The unconventional, yeet-the-reg-manual-out-the-airlock, bonkers existence of The Bad Batch. Plus all that trauma, fury and rage of what has happened to him, what was done to him, and everything that he’s seen, experienced, endured, suffered, and survived. When the last few frayed threads holding Echo back finally snap he is going to go completely postal.

Is it healthy? No. Is it "good"? Probably not. But my god, would I love to see it.

The Clone Wars has a history of tackling and portraying difficult, multilayered and nuanced topics and we've seen that in The Bad Batch as well. More recent Star Wars series, such as Andor and The Mandalorian, have also had a real interest in showing the murky areas that exist between the good (Republic) and the bad (Imperial). There's been a particular focus on showing that there's a lot more grey than we think, rather than the pure dichotomy between cliched black and white. That sometimes there is no right or wrong decision. That sometimes everything is awful and everyone is stuck in a shitty situation from which there is no way to escape unscathed. In order to make it out alive, lines are going to be crossed. The battle of good vs evil takes on a new edge and the line between good and bad gets very murky.

That quote about how “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” comes to mind. In this instance, the Batch are still fighting tooth and nail for each other but their sacrifices and actions are starting to take them to much darker places. It’s a classic example of good people being driven to do bad, awful, terrible things when those they love are in danger and they will do whatever it takes to save them.

The whole 'deeply flawed parental figure seeking vengeance' is a popular trope at the moment as well so Feral Hunter would make sense narratively for a number of reasons.

Will we actually get it? Probably not. And even if we do, it'll probably still be a watered-down kid friendly version.

But oh, just imagine if we did.

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gingerlurk · 6 months

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 6: The Boy

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: You and the Mandalorian are working well together. But as you try to move away from your past, it comes to you.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, it's a cantina scene folks. Reader has a past lover and nicknames. Uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: I'll make a master list page or something at some point. Halp. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, A03. Thank you for reading! (Edit: one Masterlist, chef.)

A matrix of dust motes hangs in the doorway of the old cantina, swaying on the hot breeze that toys with the air. A skewed rectangle of harsh sunlight paints the floor of the entryway. The bar is scattered with weary folks, their hardness loosened steadily with each drink poured.

Although not loose enough that every blaster in the place doesn’t swivel to the door as the feared and revered bounty hunter, clad head to toe in armour and bristling with weapons, steps across the threshold. The figure struts passed several readied muzzles and leans against the bar.

A cocky, acerbic bark of laughter erupts from a ferocious looking man in Tuskan threads, who stands from the table he’d been counting credits at. He’s the only one not pointing a weapon at the towering presence, who is looking at him with unreadable intent. The leader just rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck a few times, confident his crew has his back. Every one of them answers to him or finds an unpleasant end.

‘Seriously, man,’ his loyal 2IC spits. He’s closest to their adversary, weapon cocked and ready. ‘To just stroll in and not think 30 blaster sights would be trained immediately on that shiny, pretty kit you’re in? Like we haven’t been watching for you from second one!’

The Mandalorian cocks his head, the angular features of his helmet glinting in the harsh light.

He speaks.

‘It was not me you should have been watching for.’

‘Beep, boop,’ you chime from behind the squared off gang leader, pressing the scanner to the rigid veins of his neck.

‘Ow!’ He jerks around while slamming a huge, grimy hand to the spot. He takes you in, hood pulled low over your hair and a patterned green scarf over your nose and mouth, eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Who the goddamn, fucking, hellish—’ He curses as you check the little read-off and smirk, tossing the unit to the 2IC standing next to Mando.

The guy catches it, checks the screen and goes red. ‘Oh you asshole!’ His pistol swings to point squarely at his boss. The rest of the room hesitates. ‘It’s fuckin’ positive.’ He holds the scanner screen aloft.

Every other blaster makes the same move. The ‘leader’, Kemor is his name, whirls around, taking in the change of situation. So quick, his people have turned. He rounds back on you. ‘You little, fucking, asshole!’ He roars, telegraphing a huge roundhouse swing at your head.

You lean back to let his fist take in the air where your head was. Converting to a light crouch, you take three quick jabs up into the side he’s exposed to you. He exclaims in surprise, rights himself and makes to lunge straight at you. Easy. Feet shift and his momentum is carried across your shoulders and into a stack of stools, pointy ones. He shouts a litany of expletives and threats about what he’ll do when his hands get on you as you hop lightly from foot to foot.

Over by the bar, the 2IC watches, positioning his aim to and fro as Kemor lunges about the place. He leans slightly to Mando. ‘Aren’t you going to, like, help her or anything, man?’

‘She has it handled,’ he replies, amusement in his tone.

In front of you, Kemor sets his stance and grips his hands into a heavy hammer fist. He makes to raise it over his head, getting ready to smash it down onto you. Every single pressure point on his body is laid before you and you move lightning fast to lay waste to his tender joints. You lift a foot to jam into the backs of his knees to help him into a kneeling position as you spin behind him.

‘Beep, boop,’ you say again and drop a mechanical circlet around the crown of his head. It sinks over his ears and eyes and he goes still.

‘What, wha…’ He wrenches around in distress. ‘Help! Help? I can’t see; I can’t, I can’t hear! What the fuck have you done to me!’ He starts to whimper.

You touch a notch on your wrist brace. Kemor straightens up and tilts his head to the side.

‘Oh my god, man. Fine. You can hear now, okay? Just chill.’ The quarry doesn’t even fight you locking a pair of cuffs across his wrists behind his back.

‘Huh, impressive,’ the 2IC huffs out a laugh.

The Mandalorian finally steps forward and hauls the now-captured bounty to his feet. Grogu rises in his pod from the booth you and he had previously been sitting at, munching on a fistful of biscuits. ‘Let’s go,’ Mando says. ‘I assume that will not be an issue?’ He tips his helmet back toward the new leader by the bar.

‘Psh, take him man. Get this fuck out of my sight.’ As you stride past him you motion for the scanner. He tosses it back to you, muttering, ‘Fucking let him stay with my mother with that shit in him. Hope he fuckin’ rots.’

Outside, Din frog marches the bounty in front of him, who’s still whimpering and craning his head to and fro while stumbling every few steps. He’s thinking to himself he should probably give you a more generous cut of the reward on this clown. Seems fair since you handled yourself so well in there.

You two had worked a few jobs together since the agreement. Although you’d been content to hang back and learn the ropes. This job had Din stumped for a while, wondering at the best approach, and you’d had the decoy idea. A very tidy method. Although your sense of style may be something to comment on.

The imposing, beskar clad bounty hunter looks over at you strolling beside Grogu, light-heartedly trying to steal one of the biscuits from the squawking kid.

‘Did you really say… “beep, boop”?’ Din startles as the child bursts into a high-pitched fit of giggles. ‘What’s so funny, kid?’

You’re chuckling too. ‘I told him I bet I could get you to say that.’

The long-suffering sigh and slight shake of the head makes you crack up even more.

‘Hey!’ A shout from behind registers but he takes no notice, watching you wipe the mirth from your eyes. ‘Hey, hey wait!’ Footsteps running. Then Din hears your name.

Your head snaps to him, eyes wide. You punch at your brace. Your bounty startles a little.

‘Lady! Hey lady! I can’t hear again please!’ He’s shut up by Din kicking him to his knees and laying a firm hand to his shoulder. ‘Oh, oh- okay, I’ll just wait here for a minute.’

You both spin, spying a figure with an arm raised jogging from the direction of the gang’s cantina.

He comes to a stop in front of the three of you.

‘So…’ The figure straightens up. ‘That was cool back there.’

The hubbub of the town centre floats around your little group. You’re stood stock still. Din waits for your move.

‘Oh, come on, you recognise me don’t you? I know it’s been a long time but still.’ He pops his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, a gesture Din seems to find loathsome on instinct. ‘Although,’ the guy continues, eyeing you from head to toe, another motion that scratches at Din’s hate reflex. ‘It seems things have changed a bit for you. You’re a friggin’ bounty hunter? Wow.’

Din looks to you, clocking your rigid shoulders and narrow eyes. He bets if he checked your heart rate it’d be thundering. He makes to manoeuvre into an angle beside you for ease of leaping forward in defence. But you take one massive stride toward the stranger, so forcefully the guy steps back a little.

‘Yep,’ you grit. ‘So it would be wonderful if you didn’t shriek my name in the street like an asshole?’

Hands go up in a surrender gesture. ‘Shit, right. Yeah, sorry. That was pretty stupid. But damn was I floored when I saw you in there. You! Miss Five-Dresses-Per-Season-Party, rocking a Kevlar jumpsuit and going all hands with this fucker here.’ He makes some weak martial arts motions then points at Kemor. ‘You know I knew he was stimmin’ that shit? Was waitin’ to make my move, but oh well.’ He shrugs.

‘I almost didn’t believe it was really you! But,’ he leans in, ‘I’d recognise that feisty little voice of yours anywhere.’

Din kills out of necessity. Could eliminating skeevey leerers bothering you be considered a necessity?

You step back.

‘Well, we’ll be on our way, you ready?’ You turn to Din and stride forward, brushing arms a little. He hadn’t noticed he’d been edging closer to you. He hauls the bounty up again, who gives a little yell of surprise.

‘Woah, woah, wait! Hey, hold up!’ calls the stranger who knows who you are. You don’t stop. ‘Heyyy, hey, hey, hey, come on. I could have a job for you!’ You pick up the pace and Din shoves your prisoner forwards. But the creep just keeps hopping along behind you both.

‘Come on, this is serious! I guarantee just listening to me for a few minutes will be worth your time!’ He singsongs, ‘Just a few minutes of your time!’

Then, ‘I promise you’ll want to hear about this job Mando.’

That scheming, hopped-up, irritating jerk. What the hell would he want with Mando? Why’s he here? What’s his play? What are the odds? Gods, you didn’t think your old life would go and track you down out here.

And wow, he hasn’t changed one bit. Still those boyish curls and sparkling eyes… All this and more rushes through your mind as the three of you face each other again.

Torre has the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. And you’ve seen him serve plenty of smirk.

Mando seems to be waiting for you.

You turn to him. ‘Do you want to hear what he has to say?’ you ask. He looks between the two of you.

‘It may be wise,’ he says, voice dangerous. ‘I would like to know what he knows of me.’

Torre – the prick – waves a hand. ‘We can get to that. But I’ll cut to the point. How would you like to join me in pulling off an awesome, honest to riches, fucking ship heist?’

You scoff. Mando regards him steadily. ‘We are bounty hunters,’ he says. ‘Not loth-cat burglars.’

That makes you give a ‘Ha!’ and you both move away again.

‘Huge score! Massive!’ Torre calls.

‘Not interested,’ you toss over your shoulder, turning into an alleyway cutting up to the marshal’s house.

‘You’ll be set for good! The old life, huh?’

That will not get a response out of you, although the temptation to turn back and knock his shit in is strong.

He’s stopped chasing after you though, so you prepare to breathe a sigh of relief and start to wonder how you’re going to explain this encounter to Mando.

‘How about a not insignificant cache of imp-minted, genuine article beskar?'

Fuck.

When you reluctantly turn around, the quarry is standing motionless on his own in the middle of the street. Grogu hovers uncertainly by your side, humming in concern. The Mandalorian is already right in Torre’s face.

‘What ship?’ His modulated voice is deadly low but still carries to your end of the alleyway.

‘I will be happy to tell you all about it,’ Torre says easily. ‘And more. If you agree to partner with me.’

You can see Mando shift his stance, moving into one of violent intent. This can’t escalate right now.

‘Hey! Heyyy! Fellas?’ They both look at you, one steely visor and one infuriating grin.

‘We have to get this guy in and settle up,’ you motion to the loan figure now swaying like he will tip over any second. ‘Can we talk about this someplace else?’

‘Great idea! Here,’ Torre takes a fob from a pocket and lofts it over Mando toward you. You catch it and look, a villa key. ‘That’s where I’m staying, come find me when you want to hear what I have in store.’ He takes a few steps backwards, out of Mando’s range, and pivots to saunter off.

Great.

When you are later standing on the steps of the marshal’s house, the mood is quiet and pensive. Mando is looking off to the side, still as midnight. He hasn’t said a thing since walking out of that alley. You had to do all the talking in there just now. It was weird. Grogu seems unsettled by the atmosphere as well, staying quiet. You sigh, just get into it.

‘We have to do it, don’t we?’

‘Who is he?’

‘We have to at least try; it’s too important to your p—Sorry?’

‘Who is he?’ His intimidating visage swivels to you.

Butterflies erupt in your belly. You feel a fresh burst of sweat on your neck that has nothing to do with the hot evening air. With your mouth suddenly full of cotton you decide to just burst the bubble.

With a heavy sigh, you say, ‘Ex-lover. From the Estate. Years ago I fucked him over, and he vanished. Thought I’d never see him again, to be honest.’

A stony wall of silence.

‘His name is Torre. He was a, they called it minsoliar, a highly skilled undercover house guard, acting as an artist in residence. I didn’t know it was an act, but precious heiress niece shouldn’t have been fucking with either anyway. Chose the Estate over him in the end.’

Is that all you should say?

‘He’s a born schemer, making plays and fancying himself a real spycraft agent. Won’t let go of a plan if it’s suitably juicy either.’

Stop now. Stop there. Just stew in the silence for a bit.

After a not insignificant portion of stew, Mando finally speaks up.

‘You are right,’ he says. You wait. ‘We do have to obtain that beskar. It is sacred to my people.’

Even though you knew it was coming, your shoulders slump a little. But you straighten quickly, hoping he didn’t notice. He gives nothing away.

‘You don’t trust him,’ he states.

‘Gods, absolutely not.’

‘Then we have to be careful.’ He stands and waits for you to head in the direction the fob indicates. You think nothing’s for it and get going.

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #star wars #themandalorianedit #pedro pascal #din djarin x f!reader

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