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dindjarinandlysakane · 8 months
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The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose
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When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…
Masterlist
Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose
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Din had been to Nar Shaddaa more times than he could count.
It was a dark and dismal moon, and only the worst of the worst remained there long. The rest going for what they came for, and getting out as soon as they could.
Din had only been here perhaps an hour, and already he could feel the thick toxic smog settling over his lungs, despite having switched the seal on his helmet only ten minutes after arriving.
The tall Mandalorian stood now in a dingy little control room in the top of a tall black tower, which stood in the centre of the imports district, which welcomed thousands of shipments of all kinds of illegal goods a day. But Din was not here to cast judgement on how the criminals here made their money. Not today at least.
Right now Din was here for one thing and one thing alone.
“I shouldn't be doing this, y’know-” came the voice of an old acquaintance of Din’s.
Ghonda was a Mon Calamari who certainly owed Din more than one favour for sparing his life almost a decade ago, and then again three years later. Din had heard that Ghonda was working here a while back, and yet now after all this time, much to Ghonda’s surprise and dismay, Din needed to call in that favour.
“You owe me, Ghonda,” said Din in a low voice. “I could have killed you all those years ago…”
He disengaged the safety on the blaster in his hand with an audible click.
“...and I still can.”
Ghonda gave a visible gulp now, shaking his head. “Ok, ok, keep your beskar on, Mando. Let me just look see.”
Din Djarin was not in the mood to be messed with. He feared he had already delayed too long in getting here and finding wherever Crix may have taken Lysa. And so, with urgent adrenaline pumping through his veins, Din felt twitchy and keen to get out there and start searching for her.
Ghonda, who worked in the imports and cargo control tower, tapped ferociously on the terminal before him, before pausing.
“Ok, I’ve only got three ships on our list that arrived from Nevarro in the last twelve hours,” he said, sitting back a little in his seat, as Din leaned forward to look at them.
Placing his hands to the scroll button he looked at the ships one by one.
The first was a small modified gunner that Din knew would only have fitted a pilot inside, far too small for any men plus Lysa. And the second was a cargo vessel. This time too large to have fitted anywhere near to Jawa territory back on Naboo without being noticed by them.
But the third, which Din paused on, one hand on the dial, was a small-sized freight vessel. It was nothing special at all, but certainly large enough to fit several people inside.
“This one,” said Din in a husky voice. “Do you know where it docked?”
Ghonda tapped the terminal again before he brought up a set of coordinates.
“It’s a hanger bridge on the south-side of Nar Shaddaa,” he said promptly. “I’ll transfer them over to your wrist comm.”
The strap on Din’s wrist dinged a second later.
“So…we even then?” said Ghondu, swivelling in his chair and peering up at Mando.
But Din, eyeing the orange coordinate holo that streamed from his wrist, turned on his heel, not even giving Ghondu a final backwards glance.
“For now…” he murmured in a dark voice, as Ghonda gave a hard sigh, watching the Mandalorian as he left the control room.
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“Where is he?” hissed Xi’an standing at the entrance to the hanger base, peering up at the cloudy night sky above illuminated with an orange light from various advertisement-holos that circled some of the surrounding buildings.
“He’ll be here,” said Ran smoothly. “He ain’t stupid. He’ll have tracked us by now. We left an easy enough trail.”
“I’m going to cut his throat for what he did to my brother,” the Twi’lek snarled.
“An’ my base,” said Ran with a huff. “Don’ you worry. Mando will get what’s comin’ to him.”
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Lysa sat on the floor in a cold, damp side-room of the hanger. Nothing else inside but a thick black slime that seemed to coat the walls, and a high window, far too small for Lysa to have any chance of escaping through, which looked out onto the bridge they had arrived on. 
The ship they had landed in had been swiftly piloted away by the droid soon after Lysa had been taken inside.
Around the corner, Lysa could just about hear the distant voices of the crew that had brought her here. The man known as Ran and the Twi’lek Xi’an. But with the wind howling at this height, she had no chance of hearing what they were saying.
Xi’an, who had thrown her into this makeshift cell, had given a cackle and slammed the door tightly shut behind her, leaving Lysa alone, where she had been for the past hour.
It was cold up here, and Lysa cursed herself for deciding to wear just a long tunic dress this morning after she had left for work. The dress itself was now coated in blood from her blaster wound.
Lysa’s head still throbbed, as did her shoulder now, which had started to ache painfully once more and bleed a little, as the course of bacta spray began to wear off. 
“Come on, you son of a bantha!” Lysa muttered to herself in a desperate voice, as she struggled to free her hands from the wire tie that bound her wrists together.
She knew that escaping would be a fruitless task, being so far away from the safety of Nevarro. But if somehow she could just find her way to a comlink…
Lysa could feel the razor sharp wire cutting painfully into her skin, but she knew just an inch more and-
She gave a cry, gritting her teeth against the pain, but stopped suddenly as she heard the clunk of the door being unlocked, gazing up hurriedly as it slid open before her.
Crix strolled inside the room, a vile smirk plastered over his features. His outfit was all black, with a leather tunic buttoned up to his neck. His salt and pepper hair slicked back from his long tanned features.
“That bacta spray wearing off yet?” he said, rattling a canister in one hand, circling around her, as Lysa shuffled back, watching his every move with tired green eyes. But she didn't reply.
She hated Crix and feared him in equal measure. Only wishing that she hadn't missed when that blaster had been in her hand, all those weeks ago in Din’s cabin.
“Come on now, Lys’,” grinned Crix, crouching down in front of her and tugging her forwards sharply by her bonds. “No hard feelings, huh?”
Lysa before she could stop herself, bared her teeth at him. “I wish I’d killed you when I had the chance-”
But she was cut off by Crix grabbing her chin, and squeezing both cheeks hard with his fingers.
“Yeah but you didn't,” he said with a harsh laugh. “And now look where you are. Tied up and as useless as ever. We’re only keeping you alive long enough for him to watch you die. Like I said, none of this is even about you anymore. You’re just bait.”
He let go of her face, shaving her back a little as Lysa felt her lip tremble but she held it together. As Crix sprayed the bacta spray over Lysa’s blaster wound, sealing it over once more.
“You know when you an’ him left me for dead, I was in that kriffing desert for a day hiding from those Peacekeepers before I sneaked my way back into the city,” he uttered. “I stowed away onto the nearest ship bound for Corulag, and just happened to run into a couple of old friends of mine, who were mightily intrigued to hear about the Mandalorian. Turns out they were old pals of his who he’d double crossed a couple of years back.”
Lysa swallowed as she listened.
“Small world, huh?” continued Crix. “And well that's when we realised we all wanted the same thing. We all want to see the Mandalorian dead. Because of him, Ran lost his base, Xi’an lost her brother. And I lost you.”
Lysa scowled. “I was never yours to lose,” she snarled at him. “Real men don’t treat the women they love like you did-”
But Crix’s eyes seemed to flash at her words as he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back as she let out a cry of pain. And Lysa could only watch as he bared his teeth close to her face, feeling his hot and foul breath on her cheek.
“I never loved you,” he spat. “You hear me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you, Lysa. Cause’ y’know what? A gal like you ain’t worth loving. And at the end of all this…my smilin’  face is the last thing you’re going to see when the light leaves your eyes.”
And with that, he gave her a hard shove backwards, as Lysa whimpered out involuntarily, watching as he rose to his feet and left the room…
…the door sliding shut behind him as he went.
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saddayfordemocracy · 4 years
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Rising From The Ashes Of War, 
Enayat Asadi focuses upon the issues of poverty, injustice and social discrimination in Southwest Asia. For his series Rising from the Ashes of War, Asadi photographed Afghan refugees in transit in Iran, following the Afghan War. To accomplish this work, it was necessary for him to dare to travel through dangerous regions in eastern Iran.
Afghan refugees inside the fuel tank of a bus, where they will stay for about 30 hours as they travel to their destination in Tehran. Each fuel tank can fit seven people but possibility of asphyxiation is very real. The refugees must be get out  before reaching to each checkpoint, skirt around the checkpoint undetected, then re-enter the bus fuel tank. 
Afghan refugees wait for smugglers to give orders for them to enter cars. Around 30-35 people will sit in the luggage tray of each utility. More than 5000 Afghan and Pakistani refugees try to pass the eastern Iranian border to get to a safe place, far from their homeland. Some will stay Iran, others will go to Turkey and Greece.
Three hundred Afghan refugees arrive in Iran, after 12 hours walking on the border path of Iran and Pakistan. Some will stay in Iran, others will go to Turkey and Greece. Iranian police are fighting against people smuggling, however there are some accusations that they also assist smugglers
20 year old Mohammad is an Afghan refugee from Ghondus. He was kept and kidnapped by smugglers for an unpaid 15000 dollars debt. After two weeks, he was able to run away.
© Enayat Asadi 
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thoken5309 · 4 years
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Enayat Asadi |  Rising From The Ashes Of War 08 “20 year old Mohammad is an Afghan refugee from Ghondus. He was kept and kidnapped by smugglers for an unpaid 15000 dollars debt. After two weeks, he was able to run away. © Enayat Asadi”
2nd Place Series Award, LensCulture Exposure Awards, 2020
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