#grogu is holding on by sheer will

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

fill in the blanks by mindshelter

"You?” Tim blurts. Holy shit. “You’re Kon?”

A nod. “Are you in any pain?” he asks again.

Kon’s skin is sun-kissed, cheekbones dusted with a fine smattering of freckles; he is, without exaggeration, the prettiest person Tim has ever seen. “No, I’m—great,” he says, fidgeting. “Do you, uh, come here often?”

Kon raises a brow. “To the medbay?” he intones. “Definitely more often than I’d prefer."

Fault Line by sElkieNight60 (+ podfic)

Part 1 of Tectonics

"You’re invulnerable…” he whispers, but it’s clear that fact falters in his mind.

Confusion writes its way into the lines on Conner’s face and Clark takes a step back as though physically pushed.

“You’re not invulnerable.”

It is a statement, dull like stone.

“N-no, sir.”

— 🦸 —

OR: Conner's not as invincible as Clark thought. Suddenly, he's a lot more human.

Danny Phantom x DC

The Business of Family by Spaced_Ace

Jazz remembered the way their parents loomed in the living room as they’d laid out that verdict. Ever-present weapons gleaming, standing in such a way that they blocked access to both the front and back entrances. Their eyes had been what struck her the most of that horrible tableau. What made her stomach fill with jagged stones and drenched her back in a frigid sweat. The way they looked at her little brother, their gazes cold and hollow and -

Hungry.

(Things are not well in Amity Park.

With the GIW getting more and more aggressive and their parents becoming ever more suspicious of Danny each day that passes, Jazz knows that they're running out of time. It's not safe, and their options are painfully limited. Out of sheer dumb luck or a little intervention from Clockwork, she manages to discover a distant relative that just might be their salvation.

If asked Oswald Cobblepot would say that it's just good business. Adopting a few kids had done wonders for Bruce Wayne's reputation, why not his? It's not like he can't afford to put them somewhere out of the way if they get to be a problem. It's just business. Nothing more.

(His soft heart says otherwise))

The Witcher

Words of Love by ForestWren

"I should warn you,” Jaskier said between kisses in the soft darkness of the shed, “That I know some… very interesting people. You may want to avoid meeting them.”

“I’ve dealt with the Redenian court for decades. Your friends can’t be worse than that.”

Five times Radovid meets Jaskier's friends and family, plus one time they are alone.

Star Wars x The Mandalorian

Master Skywalker: The Absolute Worst by PrinceJakeFireCake

"Din got to his feet. He patted Boba on the shoulder affectionately.

“You should watch the recording of Skywalker fighting the death troopers,” he said, then pressed a kiss to Boba’s cheek and told Grogu to stop eating his blocks.

Boba watched the recording. He was pretty sure he would never be the same again. He was positive that he never wanted to meet Skywalker ever again.”

Boba Fett falls for Luke Skywalker. It isn’t the funnest thing he’s ever done.

Original Works

Call Me Menace by wingedcat13

You, Synovus, are a respectably terrifying supervillain. Your main rivals, a pair of superheroes named Legionnaire and Athena, are actually respectable as heroes. You hate having to stoop to kidnapping their child - but you hate more what the kid's behavior implies.

if it don't hurt now (just wait a while) by quandaries_and_contradictions

Part 27 of mage in a wolf pack

When the hunters first take him, Jaime knows everything will be okay.

He’s scared, of course. He wants his mom and dad and little sister. But he knows it’s going to be okay — because the wolves who protect his town will come for him. Lada’s mother and father and papa won’t let the hunters get away with this. All he has to do is hold on until they get here.

Months later, he's not so sure.

Stranger Things

No One Rides For Free by weird_witchcraft

"Are you okay Harrington?” Eddie asks gently, “Need me to get anyone?”

“No one to get,” replies Steve, so soft Eddie barely catches it. “You think I want anyone seeing me like this?”

Eddie Munson stumbles across Steve Harrington crying next to a bush at Tina's party and makes it his mission to cheer him up.

Clone Wars

mirci't be uja by ihathbenobiwankenobied for whitchry9

Obi-Wan is usually good at keeping track of his blood sugar levels–because he has to be–but this time, it’s out of his control.

(Or, a diabetic Obi-Wan is thrown for a loop after crashing on an unknown planet. Stim does his best to keep his General alive)

#hopefully this makes your monday a bit better #weekly fic round up #my posts #sw recs #original works recs #stranger things recs #dc recs #dp recs #witcher recs #fic recs

[joels-darlin]

Take Care

Pairings: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, brief mention of alcohol, mentions of stress.

Summary: After a rough week at work Pedro wants to take care of you.

Word count: 1289

Author Note: I woke up this morning inspired to write and this little piece came together as I was getting ready to start my work day. Hope you all enjoy, any feedback is appreciated <3

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

It was late. The house being virtually silent except, coming from the office in the next room, the sounds of you clicking away furiously at the keyboard. The atmosphere was particularly comforting to him as he sat mulling over the script for the next job lined up.

You worked too hard he already knew that and on multiple occasions had expressed that you didn't have to work at all, he had enough for the two of you to live comfortably. But he also knew that you loved your job, eyes lighting up with pure passion every time you spoke about it. A wave of worry washed over him briefly remembering that it was a very busy period, the project you where working on just a mere few weeks away from release so it was all hands on deck. The only comfort being that he knew you had a great team around you who where a solid support system. Everyday you made him proud and the moment he sees your name on something you had poured your soul into then his heart will probably burst of out his chest.

Leaving the iPad to one side for a moment he left the couch in search of you, mainly to put the niggles at the back of his mind to rest but also ask if anything was needed. He had eaten alone early in the evening as you where stuck in endless meetings. No bother to him but he was concerned you weren’t getting enough nutrition - making a mental note to ask if food had crossed your mind yet.

Stood in the doorway of the office he took in the sight of you hunched over at the desk, fingers working away furiously. You had a small scowl on your face which told him something wasn’t right, there it was again that wave of worry sharp in his chest. Opting for the mix of comfy but professional then your upper body adorned a smart t-shirt and then on the bottom half those damn Grogu pyjama pants you absolutely wore to death. He loved that you where a bit of a nerd, it was cute. Pedro’s mind wondered for a second upon laying eyes on you again. He knew you where a fan when you met, the sheer surprise and acknowledgement in your face as you locked eyes with him for the first time - there was also that well worn Grogu backpack you clutched so tightly like a prized possession.

What he loved the most though you treated him like the normal human being he is, it was refreshing to say the least. After accidentally bumping into you whilst at his local coffee shop (completely at fault and too busy looking at his phone). The contents of the cup once held in your tiny hands ended up spilt on the floor. Apologising profusely he quickly ordered you a fresh one, holding your small hand up to stop him from continuing to grovel and with a simple but breath taking smile said “Accidents happen, don’t worry”. Pedro knew he was done from that moment and quickly suggested fetching a table. Normally he wouldn’t stay and chat in fear of being recognised but you caught his eye leaving him wanting to know more. It was just general chit chat but he hung onto every word that familiar sparkle in your eyes showing through so clearly. He still felt bad for the coffee incident and at least wanted to make it up to you but on some level this felt different. After for what felt like hours the conversation was interrupted by a phone call from his agent and he had to dash.

It happened again a week later in that same coffee shop (minus the bumping and spilt coffee this time) he spotted you instantly when ordering his drink - tucked away in the corner head buried in a book. Grabbing an extra coffee on his order he headed straight for your table, eager to talk again. Both knowing this was probably going to become a habit you exchanged phone numbers and what started out as friends for the first few months grew into the solid loving relationship you where in now, 2 years later. He knew how lucky he was.

”P…you okay?” your voice brought him back to the present moment eyes searching his. Completely lost in his thoughts, unsure of how long he had been stood in the doorway. “I’m okay mi amor, I came to check on you but obviously got distracted” he chuckled moving from the door to behind the office chair. Pedro wrapped his warm arms around your shoulders planting a gentle kiss atop your head. You leant into his embrace taking a moment to breathe, the stress of the day was starting to get too much and you knew it was time to clock off. “Worried about you cariño, have you eaten today?” he half-whispered against your ear. As if on queue then your stomach growled “I’ll take that as a no then…come on or I’m resorting to other tactics” he laughed softly tapping your shoulder and freeing you from his embrace.

Curious you spun in your chair facing him cocking one eyebrow “Tactics hey? like what Pedrito?” Oh he loves it when you use that nickname, it’s gets him. Every. Damn. Time. Pedro didn’t even think his lips just smashing against yours kissing you passionately. Moving to wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer you continue the heated exchange, his hands coming up to cradle your face gently. He moved back leaning his forehead against yours after a few moments, both breathless. “How about a frozen pizza & some wine? then we can spend what’s left of the evening on the couch”. You pondered for a moment. Technically you had done all your tasks for the day as well as the extra thrown in last minute (hence why you where working so late again). Plus it was Friday - with no work obligations for the next day then you where free to enjoy after a stressful week. “That sounds perfect to me…I’ll be out in a minute” you smiled at him.

It wasn’t a minute…more like 10 when you had finally logged off and headed for the kitchen, finding Pedro stood near the hot oven sipping on a glass of wine. “Got your favourite…” he beamed pouring a serving in the empty wine glass “and pizza is nearly done, go get on the couch querida”. Like a true gentlemen he doted on you bringing the pizza fresh from the oven, stealing a slice for himself of course, and topping the wine glass up when required . He knew it was a rough one and aimed to care for you the same way you do for him when he has bad days at the office. One bottle of wine in and a random film was playing on the TV. No idea what was even going on though because you did not pay any attention - too busy wrapped up in your head about the man snuggled up next to you. Turning your head to look at him for a moment before reaching over, laying a hand flat on his chest for support, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. This caught his attention eyes locking with yours. “Thankyou P” you said softly. He didn't need to ask why, he already knew, flashing you a toothy grin pulling your frame closer to his. Life wasn’t always perfect but with Pedro in it then it made things a hell of a lot easier.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro x reader #pedrito

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Allure

Summary: Din sees where all of his missing shirts have gone.  Paring: Din Djarin x jedi!Reader Warnings: minor violence, sex heavily implied, longing & lust. Word count: 850 A/n: This has occupied my mind for months and I’m very happy to finally share it with all of you!

Din has to turn his helmet away and focus solely on the intruder.

He can handle a tracker, another bounty hunter after the child. A crook too sloppy for the guild to ever consider. One who didn’t consider the clank of the Crest ramp lowering in the dead of night. One who didn’t do their homework and didn’t know that there was a Jedi onboard. Din could watch him squeal and choke under your hold. His legs dangling inches off the ground, kicking and scratching the walls, trying to get a grip on a force beyond him. Din wouldn’t even mind if you killed him. Anyone who dared to lay a hand on the kid was dead in his eyes. But what Din can’t handle the sheer sight of you at this ungodly hour.

An oversized shirt, Din’s flightsuit shirt, drapes over your frame. The shoulders is too wide and the fabric slings to the left exposing your own shoulder. The fabric is scrunched from sleep and lands dangerously high on the thigh.  

And maker, that could’ve ended Din right there. 

You’d been asleep in his bunk. A room where custody rotated around the clock. Where you slept at night while Din flew the Razor Crest and he slept mornings into the afternoon on sheets scented with you. Where he’d imagined sleeping beside you on more than one occasion. And usually more than sleep entertained his mind.

Din’s heart thumps against his chest and can’t focus on the intruder. He watches you wield the force. When you lift an arm the bottom hem lifts just enough to see a thin, tight line of fabric just beneath. He has to tear, rip his eyes, like a lion from its meal, away from the sight. But Din’s claws dig into the memory, and even when his eyes land elsewhere they’re clouded from the thought.

Din imagines that this is how you always looked in his bed while he was only feet away in the cockpit. In his shirt. He only has a few and knew a couple were missing, but if he’d known this is where they’d gone he would’ve given them all. 

Giving into temptation, Din disappears into his own fantasies. He imagines you curled up on his cot, your breast making mounds in the fabric as the rest curves around your frame. He pictures himself climbing into bed, the small cot too small for the both of you so he settles on top of you, exploring your soft skin, tugging that pesky piece of underwear, leaving you solely in his shirt. Bunching up the material, gripping it in the palm of his hand as his flesh met yours-

Din shouldn’t imagine you like that. Grogu’s teacher, a Jedi. 

Well- someone strong with the force. You didn’t like the term Jedi. But when the occasion rose, you had the intruder flush against the ship’s walls, tightening your grip around his throat. A very un-Jedi-like thing to do. But Din didn’t mind.

You would do anything to protect Grogu. Your commitment drew Din in, and your personality sealed his fate. And now your physical… attributions made Din’s armor grow tight. And he hoped, prayed that you were too occupied to notice.

This was not the time. He should be helping, instead of standing there like a womp rat. But you had the problem handled before Din’s boots left the ladder. 

The ramp lowers and Din anchors himself back into reality. The bounty hunter drops to the floor with a clank sure to wake the child.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, but his eyes remain on the hunter. 

“Go.” You ignore Din, directing the impromptu order towards the bounty hunter. “And tell everyone that the child is not only under the protection of the Mandalorians, but also the Jedi.”

It takes a second or two. The man's eyes dart between the night sky and you before sprinting into the forest and disappearing into the night. 

Din no longer has an excuse, he has to look at you. And you were just as breathtaking as you were moments before. Maybe more. “Why did you do that?”

“I really didn’t feel like disposing of a body right now, and I think you have other things on your mind.”

Din’s jaw slacks. Though his face is hidden he feels as though you can see right through the beskar. 

“I can sense what you feel, you can’t pretend that I don’t,” you stalk towards Din. The dark look in your eyes make Din feel like prey. “It’s the same way that I can sense when you think about me in the cockpit all alone at night. ”

“I shouldn’t, I’m sorr-”

“You think I wore this,” you pinch the shoulder of the sleeve. “by mistake?”

Din blinks. He feels like an idiot. 

Your eyes shift for a moment before Din sees something mischievous in them. “Grogu is still asleep. You can show me what you were thinking about, if you like.”

Maker, you would be the end of him.

#Din Djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Din Djarin Fanfiction #Din Djarin Fic #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin Fanfic #Din Djarin/reader #Mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian Fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #Mandalorian Fic

[spctrsgf]

Hello. I have this idea for a fic, you don't have to write ofc if don't want.

So, reader is a bounty hunter, so on a mission they run into Din, who is also on one. They help each other, and go their ways. After some time they again run into each other, and it happens a few times. But this time, they get job, but don't know much about the person they have to get, and it turns out they have to get eachother. When they realise that, they kinda start fighting but don't really want, so when one say it, they stop. They like sit and talk it through, realise that for some reason (I can't think of any) they have to kill their boss. And they start their journey together. They get into his ship and theres Grogu, and reader's like wtf is that, and he explains it, so after they deal with the boss, they kinda 'have' to take Grogu to jedi together (definitely not cuz they like eachother) so they continue to work together. Also reader kind of wears a helmet/mask to hide most of their face, and they are gn.

I'm so sorry this is so long. Idk if it even makes sense. Thank you so much if you do write this, and if not, thank you anyway.

bounties and hunters • the first encounter

next

word count: 3k

warnings: language, canon type violence, kind of slow at first im trying my best to set up the scene for the fics to progress on my apologies (i also have never written a series before!!! kind of nervous)

a/n: when i tell you, anon, that you are a genius, i mean GENIUS. i love love LOVE this idea, so i decided to make this a series!!! updates might be slow with everything i have going on in life rn, but tune in for that if you'd like:)

The first time you met Din, it was under the weirdest circumstances. The meeting was sheer coincidence, really— if you had waited one more minute in your bed, you would have missed him entirely. If Grogu hadn’t simmered as long as he did eating his soup, Din wouldn’t have bumped you either. If you both hadn’t had a bounty to catch, the interaction wouldn’t even have been possible. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the circumstances weren’t weird at all. In fact, they were just perfect.

—------—

“How much does it pay?” You question, barely tilting your head to further accentuate the words. The man sitting in front of you, Atla Vyk, lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You always were about the credits, weren’t you?”

You opt to stay silent, holding the Vyk’s eye contact over the fabric of your mask. 

He sighs. “50 Socorran credits.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to do with Socorran credits, Vyk?”

“Use it on Socorro, I don’t know! You’re resourceful.” 

“I can’t be resourceful with Socorran credits!” You snarl at him. “Where’d you even come into contact with those?”

“Well actually—”

You hold up your hand. “I revoke my sentence. Just give me my damn pucks.”

Vyk sighs, grabbing the pucks from his pocket and sliding them across the table.

You snatch them immediately, the cold of the metal biting at your exposed fingertips. “Thank you.” You nod at him.

He chuckles drily. “Always a pleasure.”

Your loose pants boom a loud swish! as you stand up and turn around briskly, exiting the cantina as quick as you had entered it. As you walk, you flip and twist the pucks in your hand subconsciously, your brain already mapping out a way to meet all of your bounties on the least amount of fuel. 

When you reach your ship, all tuned up by the person who owns the landing dock, you toss them a few credits and walk up the ramp. The next few minutes are spent checking all of your hiding spots, just to make sure nothing was stolen. Once you satisfy that nag in your brain, you slide into the worn leather of the pilot seat, pressing buttons and flicking switches to plot coordinates to your next stop. Your ship's engine is sputtering awake in no time at all, and then you’re up and maneuvering the thing up and into hyperspace.

You settle back into your chair as soon as you're comfortable enough to take your hands off the controls, huffing out a breath and letting it settle in front of you. The heater had yet to kick in, causing you to shiver slightly in your thin attire— which was akin to the weather on Tatooine. The cushion of your chair hugs your frail body in a feeble attempt to help keep you warm, but yet you still rock with shivers. Your mind, disregarding this fact, decides to buckle up to begin its nightly wander.

Sometimes, you think, the serene silence of hyperspace is inviting. The way that the colors swirl in an insatiable, never ending twist is fascinating, and you could look at it for hours, wondering what planet you’re passing at the moment. Was that reddish brown streak Socorro? Was that icy blue one Hoth?

Other times, though, it feels as though it’s squeezing your head tight and pulling beads of sweat up and out of your skin. It’s painful to sit in the deafening silence, to even be able to hear the creak of your knee as you extend your leg to stand up. 

No matter which way you deem the endless tunnel to be swirling, it always forces you to think, to be stuck in your own head. It forces you to internalize, to feel effortlessly alone despite the epiphany of people and expanse of space to fill in front of you. 

And, just like the feeling of the silence around you, your reaction to it is also versatile. Sometimes, the silence harbors a lovely tune, rocking your tired body to sleep, but other times it’s like a mudhorn rearing its mighty horn straight into the side of your head. Which is, admittedly, not a lovely tune to fall asleep to.

Right now? It’s the latter.

The swirls of dancing light are no help to the persistent pounding in your brain, no help to the steady churn of anxiety in your stomach. The way the colors dance across your closed lids and the hum of the heater— that must’ve finally turned on— are no match for the powerful mechanics of your brain, leaving you at the mercy of nightmares in your own wicked head.

•••

When you wake, it’s not in cold sweat nor a swift jump from dream to reality in fear, no. It’s from a not so gentle jolt of the ship as it jumps from automatic hyperspace flight to manual maneuvering. Your fingers, while your brain is still groggy with sleep, leap to the controls and stabilize the ship in no time at all, the notion as natural as breathing. 

The subdued yet vibrant colors of Yavin VI’s body  greet you with a glare, shaking any lasting effects of sleep out of your head. Your grip tightens ever so slightly on the controls as you shoot through the outer atmosphere and into the puffy clouds below, mapping out a plan of action in your head. 

Get to the landing doc first. You tell yourself. One step at a time. You maneuver over to the landing pad covered partially by the dense forest, exactly where it had been when you had left it. You hum some foreign tune excitedly, happy that the bounty you’d picked up had chosen Yavin IV and inadvertently allowed you to visit an old friend. They slide out from underneath the overhang, surely after hearing the roar of your engines, a few maintenance droids barreling ahead to start with your ship as you touch down. 

You scramble to open the ramp and start walking down it before it’s even touched the ground, bouncing on your toes. Your friend stands a few feet away from the ramp, hands on their hips and a big grin hung from invisible strings on their face. “Hey— oof!” You slam into them before they can even exert the rest of their greeting, wrapping your arms around their torso.

Their body shakes with laughter, returning the gesture split seconds after you. “Nice to see you too, but did you have to toss all the air out of my lungs?”

“I missed you so much, El.”

“Missed ya too,” they release you and hold you at arm's length, doing a quick scan. “How you holdin’ up these days? It’s been a while.”

“Can’t complain. How about you?” 

“Same here,” El brushes past you, turning their expert gaze to the ship that had been swarmed by droids. “Business has been doing well, so that makes my heart happy.”

You tilt your head with a smile. “I’m glad.”

“You better n’ be smilin’ at me,” they call over their shoulder, the speech slurred from distraction. 

“Oh, I’m way too serious for that. I’m a bounty hunter, after all.”

“Even the high n’ mighty bounty hunters smile, an’ living thing does.”

“How do you know I’m alive?”

“Because if ya were dead I’d already have cried.”

“What if I’m not dead but not living,” You inquire, enjoying the banter. “What if I’m a droid?” 

“Well that's n’ true because you’d be a shit droid even if you were trying. Hand me a wrench, please.”

“Even though I’m not a droid,” you grab the said tool from El’s basket. “I think I’d be a great one. You wouldn’t even be able to tell, contrary to popular belief.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve spent too much time with you not to be able to tell.” They grab the tool from your hand with a smirk, and this time your smile reaches your eyes as they roll playfully. 

“Maker, El, that was cheeky.” 

“Shoulda expected as much from me. Though we were close, guess not.”

“We are close, first of all,” You smack the back of their head in frustration, yet a laugh shoves its way out of your mouth to counter that notion. “But yeah, I guess I should’ve.”

More doses of laughter bubble up into the crisp air of the approaching night as the booming red of Yavin Prime descends further towards the swoops of trees, piercing through the light breeze. You’d missed this. You’d missed this so much. 

It was nice to be carefree, to not be watching your six with a hand on your blaster. You spend hours, even days on edge, constantly distrusting people and tracking any sign of movement. It’d been so long since you’d been able to visit El that you’d nearly forgotten how much you ached for this easy going, stress free life. You’d even forgotten how to live it.

You’d have to leave tomorrow morning, probably before dawn to meet your bounty before they woke up. The inn you assume the bounty is hiding in is a rough four or five hour walk away, two at least if you take El’s speeder. The thought is ever present in your head as you relax into the cool evening, blinking in and out of the front of your thoughts like a strobe light. 

You’re sure El is able to tell. The tell of your hands, which are wrung together almost painfully— not that you’re able to distinguish the pain at the moment— is evident even for someone who isn’t your closest friend. With that in mind, they do their best to distract you, even getting you underneath your almighty ship to “learn how to fix this old thing so you can do it yourself.” 

It’s nice, and it works, in due time. You let your shoulders lower and the coil in your stomach unravel to let the copious amount of tension you hold flow away and into the air that is now strung with quiet music and the offbeat hum of your companion next to you. 

And it goes. And it feels wonderful. It’s like there was beskar on your shoulders, encircling your head and infiltrating your lungs, and now it’s been released, and now you’re free to taste the crisp air and smell the sway of the trees. The feeling carries you effortlessly through your evening, letting you drift easily into a restful sleep, lulling the nightmares far away from the forefront of your mind. 

Yet, when you wake the next morning, from some sort of alarm clock you must’ve installed unintentionally after all the years of hunting, the beskar was back on your shoulders again. It pulls you efficiently to full consciousness and to an upright position. You then move with vigor, gathering the few things you needed on your trip: your pulse rifle, your trusty dagger (for when thungs go south), and an ounce of the calm from the room around you to center your thoughts and get you going. 

After a quick goodbye to El— which was more of a whispered ill be back soon from you and a slurred mhm from them— plus a trip to their dusty garage to grab the speeder, you’re off. The engine is loud and dodging trees and branches is hard at first, but you soon get the hang of it. Just like at any given moment of silence, your mind starts yet another wander. 

You’re surprised you still have stuff to think about that this point.

You’re thinking about it, actually considering it. Considering what it would be like to live with El, not hunting all the time. You liked the calm that it brought, and spending time with El sounded like the best thing ever, honestly. You could wake up every morning not worrying about raiders or bounties or anything. Hell, you could even have a normal sleep schedule! But the longer you let that thought simmer, the more you realize that you like the fast pace that your life moves at, you like the adrenaline boost and the way each bounty is like a new puzzle just waiting to be cracked. 

You’d never be happy with a calm life, at least not now. You’d be bored, you’d lose interest in the midst of all of the trees and monotone days. The way you live now, every day is a new adventure, a new world to conquer and a new bounty to find. And, you’re really fucking good at it, bounty hunting. You’re not one to say stuff like that about yourself often, but hunting was the one thing that you’d honed to near perfection, so to give it up would be like starting your life over again.

The calm life? Not a fucking chance. 

You’re so caught up in the swarm of your thoughts that you fail to see someone in front of you, despite the shiny beskar updo they wear. You manage to let out a loud yell of both surprise and warning before you steer the speeder sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding the mandalorian and the floating orb next to them. The edge of your speeder scratches against the bark of a tree as you yank it sharply again to the left, slowing the speeder to a stop in the small clearing you and the warrior reside in. 

As soon as you slow, you’re hopping off the bike and over to them in an unusual notion of worry. “Are you alright?” You offer a hand, and though you can’t tell because of their helmet, you assume they’re just staring at it. You teeter awkwardly there for a second, unsure of what’s going on, before the smooth leather of their glove is sliding into your hand and you’re yanking them up. They’re surprisingly light for someone who's wearing a shit ton of beskar, but you assume they must be pulling some of their own weight.

The mandalorian tilts their helmet at you, the only show that they’re actually alive and breathing at the moment. “I’m fine.” The smooth, modulated baritone lends you to believe that it's a man underneath the beskar, and the richness of his voice surprises you. “Good,” you swallow thickly. “Sorry about that, I should've been looking.” 

The helmet bobs up and down in agreement. 

You shuffle from one foot to the other, contemplating whether you want to continue the conversation. Something about the silence of the man in front of you told you he wasn’t one for chatting, but there was a mystique about him that intrigued you, it pulled you in like a magnet. 

“Are you lost?” “Me?” You ask dumbly, his voice catching you by surprise. “Oh, no, I know where I’m going. Are you?”

“No.” The firmness of your voice lends you to believe that your question hurt his feelings a little bit. 

“Okay,” You say slowly, as if savoring each word on your tongue before it leaves your mouth. “Good luck on your adventures.” 

You turn then, not really wanting to go but hating the way it felt like you could barely breathe under his gaze– and you couldn’t even see his fucking eyes. The intrigue that simmers in the back of your brain is urging you to turn around and offer him a ride, but your natural distrust of new beings keeps you placing one foot in front of the other. 

You’re already comfortably seated on your speeder before he speaks again. “Wait.” The one line punch has your fingers pulling abruptly away from the ignition and your head whipping towards him. “Yeah?” your voice punches through the fabric of your mask, awkwardly eager. 

“I…” The modulator accentuates the puff of frustration and how adamant his tone is as his voice trails off. “I actually am a little confused about where I am.”

You smile with a tilt of the head. “Well, where are you headed?”

“I have coordinates, is that helpful?” 

“I could try. Do you really not have the name though? Most people don’t give coordinates when they tell you where to lie low–”

“This is all I have,” He cuts you off, and his natural unwillingness to engage in conversation peeking through the words. “Can you make it work?”

“Yeah, but…” Your head tilts in confusion as you put the pieces together. “Wait. Are you a bounty hunter?”

“Why?”

You snort, getting the answer even without him explicitly giving it to you. “Because I’m another bounty hunter. Let me see your fob.”

He grabs the said thing, but doesn’t move. “I'll just tell you the coordinates.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.”

He gives them to you, and using your limited knowledge of the planet and your own coordinates, you're able to triangulate a certain direction. “Should be that way,” you point to your left, veering slightly off of your own path. “An hour or two tops, I think. I’ve been there before, but it was a long time ago.”

He nods, pressing a button on his vambrace to move the metal case closer to him. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be in your debt.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Call it even. I nearly ran you over, after all.”

The way he stops and turns around, tilting his head and clenching his hands together tells you that he might not actually listen to what you just said.

“It’s even.” You reiterate without even thinking, feeling compelled to repeat yourself just so the words would actually slip underneath the thick beskar that crowded around his head and embed themselves in his head. 

He just turns around and walks away, his cape swooshing aggressively despite the lack of wind in the dense forest. 

You stand there for a long moment, just watching his figure recede into the distance, never once faltering, never one looking back. The way he holds himself, with such confidence and rippling power, tells you that he’s an excellent bounty hunter, probably even better than yourself. It’s exciting. As you turn back to your speeder, a new sort of lightning lights up your veins, a new form of adrenaline.

You really do hope you’ll see him again. 

#this was admittedly the hardest yet most fun fic ive done yet #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #star wars #star wars imagine #bounties and hunters

[firstofficerwiggles]

Grogu's Teacher, Part 6

Part 5 | Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Rating: T

Word Count: ~2900

Warnings: hand-to-hand combat, insults

Author’s note: Hello all! I’m finally back with more of this fic. I was not expecting to take so much time off between chapters, but my life has been very busy and I am in the middle of writing a book for work so that has meant less time for fic writing. After this season of the Mandalorian, the idea of Mand’alor Din is more of an AU than before, but we press on because this is the story I want to tell. Also, of course, we never know what the future holds for Din and his darling son.

“My heart is not a prize to be won,” Din’s voice is gruff with certainty.

“Oh you are wrong there, cyare,” she says mimicking your voice nastily, “Today is the day that any woman may challenge your intended for your hand. Now that you’ve announced your cyar’ika as your official consort, I am free to challenge her as per the laws of this celebration.”

She looks over at you, “So if this social-climbing trollop wants to secure her place at your side, she’ll have to fight me for the privilege!” Bo-Katan’s voice rings out across the ballroom.

Din moves the Darksaber into an attack position and steps in front of you, shielding you with his body. You clutch Grogu tighter to your chest as you feel your blood run cold.

“If she will not fight as is our tradition, she will be branded a hut’uunn, no one will respect her," Bo-Katan declares. 

You swear you can hear a pin drop in the grand ballroom after Bo delivers her biting insult to you. You swallow hard, feeling a rush of emotions: anger, distress, and sheer surprise at her audacity. Still though, your desire to stand up for yourself and your own pride won’t let you back down from her challenge. Carefully, you place Grogu in a nearby chair and then move out from behind Din to face Bo-Katan. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Lady Kryze,” you reply, “I have great respect for Mandalorian tradition, and while I might not come from a royal family such as yours, I am equally a Mandalorian.” You tip your helmet up, “You may call me all the nasty names you like, but those who know me know the truth.”

“Such a pretty speech,” Bo-Katan mocks you, even going so far as to clap her hands sarcastically, “It’s fitting for a little decoration meant to liven up the Mand’alor’s arm, but we all know that the throne needs the support of a strong riduur, one who doesn’t just teach our traditions but who practices them too. So unless you're going to accept my challenge of combat, you’ll stay the scared weakling you are.”

You stand perfectly still, and then nod your head once and in a clear calm voice you announce, “I accept.”

Din immediately tugs at your arm, turning you back towards him, “No, cyar’ika, this is not the time nor the place for combat, you don’t need to fight her. I’ll protect you.” His voice sounds deeper than normal and you can feel his concern for you.

“I know you always will, cyare, but I need to do this,” you drop your voice so only he can hear you, “Even if I lose, I have to know that I tried, I want to show everyone that I’m willing to fight for you, that you mean that much to me.” 

“I know that and if it were me, I would fight for you too,” Din whispers to you, his helmet dropping down to touch yours in a Keldabe kiss. 

As a warrior, he knows he needs to let you fight your own battles, but as the man who loves you, everything in him is urging him to hold you close and keep you far from harm. He sighs, there is no right choice here, but he needs to make the one that shows his respect for you. Stepping back, his shoulders are set and his movements are deliberate. He reaches down and takes a vibroblade from its sheath and places it in your palm. In a voice that carries across the hall, he tells you with reverence,

“You honor me by being willing to compete, but know that you already have my heart, now and forever.”

“And you have mine,” you reply softly, your voice sounding calmer as knowing you have his support grounds you. You raise your chin and project your voice louder, “Thank you, cyare, I will do my best to bring honor to you and my clan.”

You hear a small shuffle of feet and realize there are others gathering by your side. Your cousin, Saka, reaches out to place a hand on your pauldron,

“You already honor our clan with your spirit and your dedication to the Way,” he says, his words are punctuated by the bow he gives you as he places his fist over his heart. His wife and their sons also bow to you, adding to their familial show of support.

“Your training will serve you well,” the Armorer has come over too, “Remember all that I have taught you and you will succeed in showing everyone that you have a warrior’s heart.”

“This is all so touching, but are we going to fight or just stand around sharing platitudes all evening?” Bo-Katan snarks at you.

You ignite your glowing shield and take the attack stance the Armorer has taught you, “Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur (Today is a good day for someone else to die),” you state the Mando’a saying clearly.

“Bold words from such an untrained warrior,” Bo-Katan snorts. 

She makes her first move which you manage to evade. You keep your feet moving as you’ve been instructed, deliberately but not too quickly or you will tire yourself out too soon.

“You shouldn’t make assumptions that I am untrained,” you reply calmly.

You continue to take the position of defense, and manage to outmaneuver her next attempts to land a blow. 

You hear Din mutter, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You bring your attention back to Bo-Katan. Din’s words bolster you and you try your own move to strike her with his blade. She avoids it though, turning on her heel and then setting up to attack you again. This time you are not fast enough and she connects with your armor, causing a loud clang and startling you with its ferocity. You’re not hurt though, but it does shake your confidence. You try a few more attack moves of your own, but you fail to connect. She manages to connect again though, a hit with her vambrace against yours. This time you feel a sting of pain, but you shrug it off and break away from her.

“Look at you, playing dress up in your shiny new armor,” Bo-Katan’s sneer can be heard even through her modulator, “You know, Miss Consort, just because you put on the armor doesn’t make you worthy of it.”

She rushes forward attempting to land a blow with her vibroblade, however this time you easily deflect it, dodging the way the Armorer has instructed you.

“I am worthy of my armor, and, unlike you, I understand that there are many ways to be a Mandalorian,” you respond to her clearly, your voice projecting calm even though you are a tangle of emotions right now. 

You take a deep breath, and then deliver your own verbal blow to her, “My armor may be new, but at least it isn’t stained with the blood of my people, or that of my sister.”

“You bitch,” Bo-Katan roars at your comment. She barrels towards you, her anger making her movements sloppy and predictable.

With Bo-Katan off-kilter, you land your first strike with the vibroblade, your aim better than hers as you manage to slice through her flight suit just between her pauldron and vambrace. You can see a thin line of blood on her arm. She screams,

“You’ll pay for that!”

You watch as she steels her shoulders and resets her feet. There’s a determination in her that you don’t like. She attacks you again, faster this time and more sure-footed and it’s overwhelming. You do your best, fighting as hard as you can. You kick at her, try blocking with your shield, and stab at her again with Din’s vibroblade. You manage to hold her off for a bit but she keeps coming at you and your blows aren’t doing enough damage to her. But then, her fist connects hard with your wrist and she knocks the blade from your hand. It startles you and you lose your concentration just long enough for her to sweep your feet. At the last minute you grab onto her arm and you both crash down in a startling bang of armor against the ballroom floor.

Bo-Katan lands heavily on top of you, and while you try to shove her off, she maintains control and forcibly pushes you harder into the ground.

“You should have stayed in your place, teacher,” she taunts you, as she brings her vibroblade up to your neck in the soft space between your armor and your helmet. 

You gasp, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” she asks, mockingly. She pushes the blade in closer to you and for a moment you think she might actually harm you.

Suddenly her arm is yanked backward by some unseen force and the blade is ripped from her fist. It flies up and across the room, to land in Grogu’s small outstretched hand. 

You breathe a sigh of true relief, “Way to go, buddy!”

You turn your head and realize that Din is right there, having run to your side the moment he felt you were in real danger. He lifts Bo-Katan off you and shoves her aside, and then reaches down to help you to your feet. His arm goes around your shoulders protectively,

“This fight is over,” he declares.

“You can’t deny that I won!” she shouts at him.

“I’m not denying that,” Din replies, his voice deadly calm, “But I am stopping this before you take it too far.”

“It’s not my fault she couldn’t put up a better fight, but she should have known that I am the superior warrior,” Bo-Katan states smugly.

Your shoulders sag a touch at that, and despite feeling that you did your best, the feeling of loss permeates your body. 

“I had to try,” you say, your voice is just above a whisper, “I did the honorable thing.”

“Yes, you did, cyar’ika,” Din tells you, his arm hugging you to his body.

You hear the sound of little feet, pattering across the floor to you. It’s Grogu, a welcome distraction, toddling his way over to you and Din, and waving Bo-Katan’s vibroblade like his own small sword. 

“Patu!” he announces with a flourish of the blade.

“Oh buddy, let’s be careful with that,” you say, picking him up and reaching for the knife.

“He can keep it,” Din states, his voice full of pride, “He earned it.” 

You notice your cousins have moved closer too. The younger ones nod along with Din’s comment and it makes you smile in spite of yourself. Seeing that they’re still here, coming up to you even after your defeat is a comforting sight.

“You have brought honor to our family with your determination to fight and your willingness to accept a challenge. We are all proud to have you as a member of our clan,” Saka states, “And this clever little foundling too. The way he magically yanked that blade from Lady Kryze’s hand was most impressive.” 

He reaches out a hand to pat Grogu on the head and you hear the little one coo happily in response and reach out to him to be held. Saka takes the baby and presents him with a scabbard for the vibroblade. 

“For you, little warrior,” Saka states.

“Grogu knows how to protect the ones he loves,” Din remarks, “As do I.” He leans down then to give you a Keldabe kiss, but just before his helmet can make contact with yours, a tsk-ing sound interrupts.

“Uh-uh, there will be none of that now,” Bo-Katan admonishes with a wag of her finger, “Mand’alor Djarin, not only did I show everyone that I’m the better warrior, I have also claimed you for my own.”

She sidles over to Din, holding her hand out, “Come and take the hand of your future bride.”

With reluctance, Din steps away from you, and turns to face Bo-Katan fully. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and your throat feels tight. You had not thought through what losing to Bo-Katan truly meant. You watch as the space between you and your love grows larger and your heart aches. Tradition is profoundly important to Mandalore and you know that Din comes from a sect that believes in upholding the old ways. 

Din stands proud, he brings himself up to his full height and with his arms planted on his hips, he seems to be larger. He speaks to Bo-Katan but loudly so that everyone in this great hall can hear him clearly. 

“You can only claim the Mand’alor,” he says, “But that is no longer me.”

He unclasps the Darksaber from his belt, and tosses it at Bo-Katan’s feet. 

“Traditions have their place and they honor those who have come before us. But traditions should not continue at the expense of the people who have to live with them. I will not remain the Mand’alor if it means giving up the one that I love, and I certainly will not accept Bo-Katan Kryze as my riduur.”

He turns and walks back to you, taking your hands in his, “I love you, cyar’ika, you are my choice.”

“I love you too, Din,” you reply, your voice cracking with emotion, “All I want is to be with you, but I don’t want to make you give up so much.”

“It isn’t worth it, ner kar’ta,” he tells you, “Without you, I don’t want it. It means nothing.”

“Such a sickening scene,” Bo-Katan mutters, “The role of Mand’alor was wasted on you, Djarin. I, on the other hand, know exactly what our people need. A true royal.” 

She leans down to scoop up the saber, igniting it and waving it above her head with a victory whoop. She turns towards the crowd, awaiting cheers. But she is met with silence.

You look across the crowd to see many clenched fists and people standing rigidly as they watch Lady Kryze try to celebrate. A low muttering begins to sweep through the room, sounding like the dull rumbling of thunder. You catch bits of comments here and there.

“She doesn’t deserve the Darksaber!”

“Her challenge was unfair!”

“Kryze is a mean-spirited bully!”

“Mand’alor Djarin is still the true leader!”

“Someone should slap her!”

“I want to slap her!”

“Disgraceful! She dishonors the true Mand’alor!”

“Djarin is the best for us!”

“Djarin has done so much!”

You begin to hear Din’s name more and more as it echoes through the crowd. Others begin to say it too and soon it grows into a chant. You even hear a few shouts of your own name in the mix. Din acknowledges the crowd with a nod, but says nothing.

Instead it is the Armorer who takes action, she walks purposefully to Bo-Katan,

“The people have spoken, Lady Kryze. No special weapon, even a sword as rare as that one, can withstand the will of our people.” 

Bo-Katan looks around at the people cheering for Din and for you, she hears the jeers and threats being made against her, and her shoulders sag in defeat. Without a word she turns off the Darksaber and drops it into the Armorer’s outstretched hand. She looks towards Din and you one more time, and then slowly walks away, navigating her way through the throng of people.

“Mand’alor, I believe you may have dropped this,” the Armorer says to Din, holding the powerful sword out to him.

Din looks at you, and tilts his head. You know his question without him having to say it.

“It’s your choice to make, Din, but whatever you choose, I’ll be here by your side,” you reassure him, giving his hand a squeeze.

He nods and takes the saber from the Armorer. A loud, joyful cheer goes up from the crowd. The noise is deafening and you’re impressed by the dedication everyone has for Din and his leadership. It fills you with pride for him. 

Din raises his hand to silence the crowd, and when relative calm has settled once again, he addresses them,

“I am honored by your faith in me, I will do all that I can to serve you for the better of all Mandalorians.”

He places his fist over his heart and bows his head to them. You watch as people in the ballroom drop to their knees and return the salute to him. It humbles you to see everyone’s loyalty and you’re about to drop to your knees too, when Din pulls you to him. He takes you in his arms and touches his helmet to yours. 

“I’m honored by you too, cyar’ika. You fought for me and showed me more loyalty than a hundred warriors on their knees.” Din’s voice is gruff and low.

“I tried my best to fight and honor you, but I lost,” you tell him, honestly.

Din chuckles, “Did you, cyar’ika?”

Grogu coos loudly at that in apparent agreement. He waves his hand at you and makes the brrr sound he’s become so fond of lately. 

You look at the happy baby in the arms of your cousin, surrounded by the rest of your new family. Then you turn back to his father whose hand reaches out to hold yours again. 

“You know, you’re right, Din, it wasn’t a loss,” you say, “In fact, I think I may have won it all.”

Note: I hope you enjoyed this! I have one more epilogue chapter planned for you!

Mando’a: 

cyare = beloved

cyar’ika = sweetheart

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur = Today is a good day for someone else to die

ner kar’ta = my heart (my love)

Tag list: @onabouteverything @startrekkingaroundasgard @writeforfandoms @kazthedestroyer @elinedjarin @pinkiemme @vaderthepotater @jewfro24@grogusmum @imabeautifulbutterfly @dindjarinsmut @daedricprincessorigin  @jaguarthecat @loverofclones @a-side-of-kiki @literallydontlook @the-good-shittt @the-scandalorian @kristinainspace @beskar-candy @a-lil-bit-nuts @princessxkenobi @adancedivasmom  @mandosmistress @fennccshand  @green-socks @ashotofspotchka @tech-depression-inventory @kreadsfic  @let-them-hear @beskarprincessjenny @boomtowngirl @fandumbug @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @beskarmermaid @avatarkanemi @tazmbc1  @justanothersadperson93 @bruxasolta @chaoticgeminate @1800-fight-me  @dumfanting @witchisenpai @vanitysfairr @smell-my-twisted-shadows  @moonstrider9904 @misogirl828 @starlite41 @ladykatakuri​ @noodlesfics​ @electric-bloo​ @mandos-cyarika @littlemisspascal

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mand'alor din djarin

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 48 - Upwards

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 48 - Upwards

----

All of the breath left Lysa’s body as she plummeted over the edge of the bridge….

…falling down…

…down…

…into the abyss.

Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion.

Her own heartbeat echoing through her ears.

She could feel death creeping closer and closer as she fell…

…with no way to stop it.

A sorry end for a sorry life filled with nothing but pain and hurt.

That was until she had met Din and Grogu of course

And it was their faces she wanted to picture now, before death took her away under its dark wing.

The two people who had filled her life with hope and warmth in the short time she had known them.

The two people she loved more than anything else.

Lysa’s eyes were squeezed shut.

Crix had taken her over the edge with him, but he had fallen first. And Lysa did not want to see where he had gone…where he ended up ahead of her.

She prayed now, that if she found an afterlife beyond this one, that Crix would not be there with her. 

That she could finally be free of him.

Lysa felt herself hurtling down at an astonishing speed, her stomach in her throat…

…waiting for the impact…

…bracing herself…

…ready…

But all of a sudden, Lysa felt a strong arm grasp her around her middle…

…slowing her descent almost instantly.

And that arm pull her flush into a firm body, with a hard crash of her limbs against theirs.

Lysa snapped her eyes open, hearing the sudden whoosh of a jetpack.

And gasping out a ragged breath, Lysa stared up into the beskar-covered face of Din Djarin.

This unbelievable man.

The man who she had thought had saved her already in so many ways. Doing so again, when she had lost all hope of rescue.

She scrabbled to grip onto him, her sweaty palms sliding against his beskar. As her hands finally wrapped themselves around his neck, suddenly taking in a breath for the first time since she had fallen.

Lysa wanted to cry, closing her green, tearful eyes again, as Din accelerated, fighting against gravity, and pulling the pair of them suddenly upwards…

…upwards…upwards…

Until they landed on the metal bridge they had come from with a thud…Lysa’s legs immediately giving way beneath her.

But lucky for her, Din’s grip on her was strong, and he held her in place, slowly lowering her down, until her bottom hit the floor beneath her.

And unable to control herself any longer, Lysa let out a hard sob, her entire body shaking with relief.

She looked up through shimmering eyes filled with tears, to see Din knelt on one knee before her, his gloved hands still holding onto both her forearms gently.

She could tell that behind his beskar visor, his eyes were searching hers, but Lysa couldn't control herself at this very second.

The sheer relief was overwhelming.

After all that had happened, she had been certain that this was the end. That there was no one who could save her. And perhaps that she didn't deserve to be saved.

The last words Crix had muttered into her ear as he had thrown her over the edge with him, still ringing in her ears over and over-

“Even more blood on your hands now, ‘ey, Lysa…”

She knew of course that Crix had had no rescue. And with the blaster shot she had put through him, that he was dead somewhere far below.

And yet despite all that, he still managed to haunt her, even now. The ghost of him still here.

His poisonous words, seeping into her mind. Never to leave again.

“Are you ok?” came Din’s voice, as one of his hands slipped down, grasping at her bound wrists, and cutting her free with a knife from his belt. While the other one of his gloved hands, he lifted to her cheek, swiping away at the tears as quickly as they fell.

But Lysa couldn't say a word, not even able to mumble out a thank you to the man who she owed her life to. 

She gave another loud and painful sob, bowing her head and hitching in a sharp breath. Her tears, no longer tears of sorrow. But tears of gratitude and relief.

For she was safe.

She was really safe.

……………………..

Din stared at Lysa, a deep frown settled between his eyebrows, watching as she sobbed, her entire body trembling beneath his grasp.

He could see the pain coursing through her, almost visible now, as the seconds ticked by up on the windy platform.

For a moment there he was certain he had lost her. Watching as Crix had dragged her over the edge of the bridge with him.

And even now, despite her being safe here with him once more, Din’s heart seemed to be taking its time in resuming its normal pace within his ribs.

Lysa had been mere seconds from hitting the ground below by the time he had reached her. And the relief he had felt once he had her body firmly held against his, had been like nothing he had even experienced.

And so he understood now, Lysa’s tears and her upset. For the times that Din had been close to death, it had taken him a long time to recover. 

And even now, there were moments from his childhood, that fateful day on Aq Vetina just one of them, that Din still found himself suffering nightmares about, from time to time.

For the pain and the fear he had experienced in those moments, had cut a fault line deep inside him, and buried itself there.

He watched as Lysa, almost doubled over before him now, sobbed, her tears falling fast. Knowing there was nothing he could do to stop them at this very moment. And nothing he wanted to do either.

These were Lysa’s tears to cry. And he would not deny her them.

But Din suddenly remembered that despite Crix falling over the edge and Xi’an far below, there was still Ran.

But lifting his head over to where the bearded man had fallen, he could see now that there was no body there. Ranzar Malk obviously having survived his injuries and dragged himself somewhere whilst Din had been distracted.

Din knew that this wasn't over.

He still wanted to taste revenge for what his old comrades had done today…

…but right now, that could wait. For his focus was now on one person and one person alone…

He waited until Lysa’s sobs became shallower, running his hand gently down the side of her head comfortingly, until she lifted her face to his.

Her green desperate eyes meeting with Din’s.

She looked exhausted beyond belief, and Din knew there was nothing in this world now that would keep him apart from her again. No force that strong.

She didn't say anything, but she allowed Din’s hand, that was lingering at the back of her head, to pull her into him. Settling herself against him as she cried endless tears into the tunic at his neck. Din wrapping his strong arms around her. Letting her know wordlessly that she was safe here now, at last.

And like this they remained. Just the two of them. For how long Din wasn't sure.

Until a sudden voice broke through their well-needed silence.

“MANDO!”

And for a moment, Din was almost sure that it was Ran, back for more…

But as Din turned his head instantly to look. He was met with three figures stalking quickly across the far end of the bridge, furthest from the hangar, towards them.

Din’s frown deepened. But more from shock than anger…

…at the sight of Greef Karga pacing quickly towards him. Followed by Grogu in his hover pram and the Marshall of Nevarro- the IG-11 droid.

Karga was coming at them at a slight jog, looking mightily out of breath, his face a picture of concern.

“We saw what happened, we couldn't find a landing spot, and-” said the High-Magistrate, very much out of place in the cess-pit that was the moon known as Nar Shadda.

“How did you find us?” asked Din gazing first at Karga and then at IG-11 and, of course, Grogu who brought up the rear, coming to a harsh halt beside Din. At once cooing at his father and looking him up and down as if checking that all was well.

“What? You didn't think I wouldn't have a tracker put on that new ship of yours the moment it landed in Nevarro?” uttered Karga. His eyes at once falling to the visibly upset and trembling Lysa, still sobbing quietly in Din’s arms. “She- uh…she ok?”

Karga’s tone was serious and as far as Din could tell, full of genuine concern.

Din placed his hand to one of her shoulders, carefully peeling her from him, her weary gaze barely able to meet his own.

Din could feel a heat emanating from her now, he feared had nothing to do with the tears that were falling.

For he could see that Lysa’s pale forehead was now beaded with perspiration. And from here he could see that the blaster wound on her shoulder had started losing blood again.

“Did you bring a med-pack?” said Din quickly to Karga, ignoring his friend’s question. 

But Karga pursed his lips together.

“Oh I can do you one better than that,” he replied, stepping aside as IG-11 stopped forward.

“Upon reprogramming, several of my previous protocols were put back as they were,” came the monotone voice of IG-11. “These protocols include medical care. Stand aside please.”

And with that, Din shuffled back as IG-11 crouched down beside them both on long metal legs, scanning Lysa immediately. A bright green light skimming quickly over her face and body.

“You have suffered blood loss and are at risk of infection to your shoulder wound,” came the voice of the droid again after a long couple of seconds. “We need to get you on board and start treatment with immediate effect.”

At the Marshal’s words, Din gave a frown, before he looked at Lysa, wanting nothing more than to fling off his helmet right now and provide her with the comfort of his expression. Of his eyes conveying so many things that words right now could not. But he refrained, moving a hand to Lysa’s waist and helping her to standing once more.

She leaned her weight onto him, feeling, to him, unsteady on her feet.

Grogu beside them gave a chirp, looking at Lysa hopefully. But right now, she seemed to be keeping her tearful gaze fixed firmly to the floor, focusing on walking straight.

“How did you all even get here? asked Din, staring around, before looking back to Karga who smiled knowingly.

“The Stinger. I told you…it’s a great ship,” he said simply, pointing to the ship that Din had agreed to borrow from Karga just a day prior, stood at the far end of the bridge, far beyond his N-1.

In all the commotion, he had not even noticed it land.

Karga gestured with his head. “Come on, let's leave this hole before we run into any more trouble.”

And with that, the High-Magistrate turned and headed back toward the ship they had arrived on.

Din, giving one last look towards the hangar behind them, scanning the area for any survivors one final time. Before he turned, pulling Lysa with him carefully as they walked down the bridge towards the awaiting ship.

Their pace was slow and after a moment or two Grogu, IG-11 and Karga were several feet ahead, leaving Lysa and Din walking quietly side by side bringing up the rear.

“I’m so sorry, Din,” came Lysa’s hoarse voice, in what was barely a whisper. She sounded tearful and distraught.

Din glanced her way, tears visibly slipping from her eyes as they walked.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Din with a deep frown, shaking his head.

Lysa turned her face, staring his way. Her sad, lost-looking eyes meeting with his, behind his beskar.

“Din…” she said, her green eyes desperately trying to search his, hidden behind his visor, a warmth filling her gaze now as she looked up at him. “I-”

But her expression suddenly changed to one of confusion in front of his very eyes.

“...I don't feel so good…” she managed to mumble out, blinking several times in quick succession and giving a hard swallow.

And before Din could do anything, he watched as Lysa’s eyes rolled back in her head and her feet gave way beneath her.

Din tightened his grip on her waist, but was barely able to keep her upright, as his eyes darted back and forth over her ghostly pale and clammy face.

Din’s heart began to pound faster and faster within his ribcage.

“Lysa?” he said quickly, rousing the attention of Karga and IG-11 up ahead.

“Get her on board…hurry,” said Karga to Din instantly, his expression full of worry.

And so manoeuvring her within his grasp, Din bent his knees a little, before hauling Lysa gingerly up into his arms.

He could feel that she was hot to the touch, burning up, looking far paler now than she had a moment ago. All colour drained from her face.

Din hitched in a sharp breath as he strode ahead, making hurriedly for the ship.

Knowing one thing for certain…

….he couldn't lose her. Not now.

…………………………………….

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[fulcrum-art-fox]

Bo-Katan in episode 2 just making conversation and asking Grogu how strong he is in the force and saying he must be pretty strong if he got to her all on his own and then watching him hold back the explosion of a massive star ship that’s crashing into them from orbit and the sheer shock on her face of “I thought you were strong but I didn’t realise you were this strong holy shit”

#star wars #the mandalorian #bo katan kryze #din grogu #grogu djarin #the mandalorian spoilers #mando spoilers

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Seven point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C     

word count: 4 K   

chapter summary: Din's foster father, always quick with axioms, had this to say about being face-down: don’t forget, your ass is wide-open, kid. 

warnings:  head injury, severe bodily injury, blood, sexual abuse, physical abuse, violence towards women, torture, allusion to rape, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing    

You Were Marked: Masterlist    

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter  

Din awoke to find himself completely disoriented with his head and neck in terrible pain.  His first instinct was to panic, but he took a shallow breath — which was all he seemed to be able to manage — and remembered to follow the steps his buir, his foster father, taught him. 

What can you see?  The quick answer to that was fuck-all but he wasn’t sure if that was because his visor had no power or if it was nighttime. 

What can you hear?  What he could hear were whispered voices.  The voices were shrill and panicky and sounded like women.  Three, perhaps four.  They seemed to be behind him, but close by. 

What can you feel?  This was easy: he felt like hammered shit, and he believed he meant that literally.  To be more specific: he was face-down, on the ground, more than likely under a tree, since it seemed a knobby root was poking his upper thigh.  His foster father, always quick with axioms, had this to say about being face-down: don’t forget, your ass is wide-open, kid.  His head was splitting with pain, and it seemed as if there was a heavy sofa lying on him, pinning him to the ground.  Why the shab a large sofa would be anywhere near where he happened to be made no sense whatsoever, but then very little made sense to Din anymore. 

Din started to lift his arm, to check on his helmet settings, when he felt a hand gently push his arm back down.  “Be still, Bounty Hunter,” quietly said one of the voices. 

“Marathel?” asked Din, confused. 

“No … no.  She is still in the Hold.” 

Din groaned.  Everything must have gone wrong, and he must have fucked up royally.  “Olba?” 

“Yes, it’s me.  No, don’t move, you were hit very hard with the marchwyl.” 

“Is that the big hammer?” 

“Yes.  It dented your helmet, split your skull, and addled your brain.  You’ve been mostly sleeping all day.”   

The only thing to dent beskar is … beskar, thought Din.  That hammer is made of beskar.  How did it get here? “Did you …” 

“No, Bounty Hunter, we did not remove your helmet.  You were very adamant about that during the moments you were awake.  I did reach under your helmet, though, to dress the wound as best I could.” 

“Why can’t I move?” 

“You were fighting us when we were trying to help you. There are three women sitting on you.” 

“Could they … not?”  Olba motioned for her companions to get off Din, and with her help, Din slowly got to a sitting position.  “Thank you for tending to me.”  Din checked his helmet and found that the vision function on his visor was completely knocked out, and it was full dark now.   

“Where is the child, Bounty Hunter?” asked Olba. 

Grogu! Haar’chak! How could I forget?  Din began to struggle up, but Olba held him down. 

“Be still, Bounty Hunter!  Is the child in your flying ship?” 

“How did you know …” 

“Times I have been outside the Hold, I have seen you and the child with Marathel.   She must have been so happy to care for a little one again.” 

“She … she was.”  Din tried to raise the comm.link on his helmet, but it seemed his helmet no longer functioned at all.  “I must … must check on the kid … I need to get Marathel …” Din tried to stand, but he had no sense of balance, and his head was pounding fit to explode.  He fell back down to his hip. 

“You need to rest, Bounty Hunter …” 

“I need to get in there and get Marathel out!” 

“You can’t.  You can’t, Bounty Hunter.” 

Din swallowed, which made his head throb painfully into his jaw. Any tears that might have threatened his eyes remained there by sheer will. “They’re going to kill her, aren’t they?” 

Olba sighed.  “No, not directly.  But she will die from … what they do to her when they make her a Belwhyn.” Olba spit out this last word with disgust. 

Din got up to his knees, but still could not stand.  He looked down at the ground, his fingers tearing at the grass beneath his hands. “I can’t let them do that.”  Olba put her arm around Din’s shaking shoulders. “I can’t let her sacrifice herself, Olba.” 

Everything she has ever done was out of love, thought Olba.  How she must love you and the child.  “Bounty Hunter … do you have healers where you come from?” 

Din sat back on his heels with a groan.  “Doctors, medics, yes.”  

“If … if we can get her out, will you take her with you?”  The other women tittered at this in protest, but Olba shushed them.  “We can get her, you can take her to a healer, and she might survive.  If not … you will take her to somewhere beautiful, so that she may die in peace, with you and the child, away from this hell place.  Will you do that?” 

“You have my word.”  Frith help her, please keep her alive. “But … can you also get that hammer?” 

“The hammer?” 

“It belongs to my people, Olba.  It is made of the same metal as my armor.  It has no place here.” Olba looked at Din, frowning.  “Please, our beskar was stolen from us, we must have it back.” 

One of the other women leaned forward.  “Olba, we cannot!  The Elders would strip us dead!” 

Olba took a deep breath, and said to the woman, “Are we not already dead, Tymfy?  We are Diwhyns.  We are nothing anymore. If they kill me, my only regret is that they would get pleasure from doing so.”  To Din, Olba said, “I will do my best.  Stay here.  If we can get Marathel out, we will bring her to you.  The hammer, too.  Frith help us all.” 

Din nodded weakly. “Thank you.”  His eyes had adjusted to the dark some by this time, and he looked at the older woman.  She had removed her veil, and her hair was dark, curly, threaded through with grey.  Her eyes were dark and filled with a lifetime of sadness.  “Olba, tell me … are you Marathel’s mother?” 

Olba dropped her eyes and shook her head.  “No.  She is ap Bishop, I am ap Captain.”  What does that mean? wondered Din.  “But I was at her birth, and her mother died as Marathel was born.”  Din could just see her tears fall in the darkness.   “I was her mam in all ways that mattered.”  Olba stood.  “You stay here, we will bring her out if we can.  If not … I will close the door.”  The women moved in a small, somber group to the heavy door. 

“How long will it be?” asked Din.  “When will you bring her out?” 

“When they’re done with her.”  The women disappeared inside. 

Din no longer had a sense of time.  Between his head wound and the damage to his helmet, time stretched out and compressed in a completely non-linear way.  His concussion and his apparently addled brain came up with the phrase time has gone wibbly-wobbly, not that he really understood what the ever-loving kriff that meant.  He knew that he slept some — or just passed out, really — as he leaned up against the tree, but he spent most of his waiting-time staring, unblinkingly, at the heavy, ajar door, willing it to open more.   

Din thought briefly, several times, about running to check on Grogu, but he feared that the moment he would leave would be the exact moment the women would reappear.  He felt certain that Grogu was relatively okay.  The kid probably had eaten all the rations, including the secret stash.  He had told Grogu in no uncertain terms to not come out of the ship, but Grogu had never been one to follow directions, except in the case of his beloved Mahr. 

Please stay patient, kid, I’m doing my best here, and we can only wait.  There is no other way. 

He had heard two bursts of activity inside the Hold walls: once to call the young children in from the garden, and once when Diwhyns were called to come to the round building.  Din hoped that the second call meant the end to whatever was happening to Marathel.  Olba refused to elaborate what would happen there, but Din had too much knowledge of how brutal people could be.  He had no idea what a Belwhyn was, but he knew it must be a horrible thing. 

He tried to keep his mind clear and ready for what may come.  Instead, he wondered if he should have made a trip back to the ship just to get some weapons … at least his favorite blaster.   

He wished he’d gone to reassure Grogu, just to see him, and just to get reassurance himself that everything might be okay. 

He wished he’d removed his helmet as Marathel had requested — what honor was there in denying a woman like her, when all she wanted was a simple kindness? Instead, he had volunteered so quickly to have a chance to just … fuck her when he knew, he knew, she was not fully in her own mind and body.  What kind of Creed permitted that? What kind of honorable man did that? 

He wondered why Rodanthe had left Marathel when she did, where she was now, if she knew that Marathel was suffering now, alone.  Damn you, Rodanthe, she begged you for one more day, and you abandoned her.  Did you think I could be a substitute for the love and affection Marathel deserves?  Did you know what Marathel intended to do today? 

He wondered why he didn’t anticipate Marathel’s actions, why he could only stand there like a hu’tuun when osik went sideways, why he didn’t consider that the bounty wasn’t for the damn eggs at all, but for her.   

He cursed himself for getting besotted with her in the first place, for letting his dick get in the way of protecting his asset, for allowing Grogu to run the damn hunt when the kid held on to the woman’s ankle that very first afternoon, begging Din to let them stay at the hut. 

Din’s head began pounding again, and what vision he had was getting wavy around the edges.  He had to get Marathel and get the Crest in the air soon, otherwise he wouldn’t be fit to handle getting the ship into hyperspace. 

Focus, focus, focus.  The door will open, or the door will close.  Until one of those things happens, you just need to be ready. 

He could not stop his mind from wondering, however: what if that door closes? 

The thought nearly brought Din back down prone to the ground.  If that door closes, then … He could not carry on with that line of thinking.  He closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull; he flexed his fingers to keep blood flowing into his hands.  He breathed in, he breathed out, he breathed … 

“Bounty Hunter!” A sharp whisper came from just behind the door.  “Help us!” 

Din leapt to his feet and ran to the door, head injury forgotten, and he pushed open the door just enough to let the four women back through.  Each woman held a corner of a woven blanket, and in the middle of the blanket lay a still female form, wrapped in red shrouds from head to foot.  Din dropped to one knee and gathered the shrouded woman in his arms, knowing just by the woman’s shape and weight that it was Marathel.  “Oh, mesh’la,” breathed Din, but Marathel neither moved nor made a sound.  Din got back to his feet, turned, and ran as fast as he could manage through the woods back to the Crest, leaving the women to follow. 

The four women were nearly as fast and nimble running as Marathel.  Each one came up short, though, as they arrived at the Crest; Din had already set the ramp to lower by the time they caught up with him, and he began running up even before the ramp hit the ground.  The outer hatch opened, spilling light into the clearing, momentarily blinding everyone, and in the middle of the doorway was Grogu, calling out, “Patu! Patu!  Mahr!  Mahr!” 

“Gangway, Grogu!” shouted Din as he carried Marathel into the ship’s narrow side passage.   Olba, braver than the rest, was on his heels; the other three women were reticent to come up the ramp into the strange metal hulk before them, as well as approach the little child who had large ears and happened to be green.  “Where should I put her, Olba?” 

“Somewhere she can have privacy, Bounty Hunter … some dignity.” 

Din slapped the control to open the tiny room he used as sleeping quarters, leaving a bright red handprint on the metal wall, stopping him in his tracks.  He looked down at Marathel in his arms, now visible under the garish bright light.  His initial assumption that she was wrapped in red shrouds had been incorrect; as he shifted her, the pleats of the fabric around her shifted as well, revealing that the shrouds were the same blue of the veils she had been wearing earlier … and were now soaked with blood.  Din couldn’t help it; he gasped at the sight of her and how much she resembled the floating body of his dream.  He moved slightly to his left to allow Olba access into the little room, and one of Marathel’s braids slipped out and hung down towards the floor, leaving tiny drops of blood as it swung back and forth.   

“This will suffice, Bounty Hunter.  Hurry, lay her down here.”  Din squeezed into the room and followed Olba’s instructions, laying Marathel’s limp form on his sleeping pad on the floor.  Marathel made a low whine, the first sign she had made that she still lived.  Din reached to remove the shroud from her face, but Olba stopped him.  “Roll her over; she cannot be on her back.” 

Din began to shift Marathel, and her cries became more intense, her features only slightly obscured by the veil on her face, stuck to her skin with her blood.  He got her over on her stomach, and Olba gently turned Marathel’s face away from Din.  “Scissors,” she said.  Din looked up at Olba; Olba was holding her hand out to the other three veiled women who huddled in the doorway.  One handed a pair of scissors to Olba, who used them to cut the shrouds off Marathel’s back down to her waist.  As Olba peeled back the fabric – now resembling the wings of flesh from Din’s nightmare -- Din could see one reason for all the blood: she had been whipped mercilessly, and her skin, her magnificent flawless skin, was split laterally practically every half-inch from the base of her neck down to her lower back, and probably beyond, but Olba was not willing to expose her Marathel any more in front of the armored man.  Blood slowly seeped from every split, unceasingly, without clotting. 

Din let out a shuddering breath.  “M’mwch ha’laa,” he whispered. 

Olba looked up at Din, surprised by hearing her Oldtalk spoken by the Bounty Hunter.  “You need to step out now; let us do our best by her.”

Din swallowed.  “What can I do to help you?” 

“Gather anything we can use as bandages, any water and toweling that we may have.  We will do what we can as quickly as we can, so that you may leave here, and get her help.  And put the child somewhere; this is something no child should ever see.” 

Din nodded and opened the storage bins in his quarters that he knew had towels.  He didn’t have many — he never had needed many — but he handed them over, as well as his one spare set of sheets.  Then he left the room, in search of anything else that would be useful, including the bin that held a pitiful few bacta sheets, spray, and injections.  He doubted that the women would even have heard of bacta, much less knowing how to use it.  He searched out all spare clean fabric on the ship that would be appropriate for bandages, of which he had precious little — another thing that he was always meaning to do; he should have more in the way of first aid now that he had Grogu. 

As if on cue, Grogu came up to him, holding out a soft blanket from his pram.  Din knelt, and stroked Grogu’s ear with the back of his glove, not wanting to transfer blood to the boy.  Din’s voice stuck in his throat for a moment before he could speak. “No, Grogu, I can’t let you do that … that’s your favorite blanket.  Marathel wouldn’t want you to give up your favorite blanket.  I need you to go back to the cockpit and wait there.  The women need to help her, and I need to help them right now.  Please, buddy, you’ve been so brave, can you be brave a little longer?”  Grogu’s ears drooped, but he nodded, and turned to the ladder, hopping up in two bounds, dragging the blanket.  Din shut the cockpit hatch for good measure.   

He turned back to his sleeping quarters, and left the fabric he could find, along with what water he could spare, next to the open door.  Through the doorway, he could see one bare foot and ankle, the pale skin somehow even more white than he remembered.   

One of the women stepped out, without her veil.  She was a pretty woman, wearing a gown of green, her blond hair streaked with white.  Her light brown eyes were narrow with disdain as she looked up at the much taller man before her.  “I have what you asked for,” she said.  She reached into one of bags the women brought with them and handed the large beskar hammer to Din.   

The hammer was forged in one large piece, and had a long handle, as long as Din’s forearm and hand. The heavy head was flat on one side and pointed on the other.  The flat end was smeared with blood, and there were splashes of blood on the handle.  Din supposed he should be thankful that the Captain’s flunky didn’t use the pointy end to cave his head in. 

“You should know, Bounty Hunter, that hammer was not only used to bash your skull, but to destroy Marathel’s hands.  The under-Captain smashed every one of her fingers, one at a time.   Make sure to return your stolen hammer to your people.” The scorn in the woman’s voice was unmistakable, and she returned to Marathel’s side. 

 Din unclenched his hands from around the handle, which was now marked with his handprints in Marathel’s blood.  He turned robotically and stepped back down the passageway to where he stored his weapons cache, placing the hammer within.  Din looked at his gloves, saturated with blood, and he stripped them off, leaving them on the floor, but blood had soaked through, staining his bare skin.  Over his shoulder, he could hear the women speaking. 

“Did they … did they use the Dilimgau?” 

Din lifted his head.  What the shab is a Dilimgau? 

“They did.  Hold her leg higher ….” 

Why do they have to hold her leg higher?  What are they doing to her? 

“Hold her still … I’m so sorry, my little Godynferth …” Din turned at Olba’s use of Marathel’s pet name for Grogu when he heard Marathel’s ragged scream fill the air, and the four women cried out as well, as if trying to take some of the burden of pain away from Marathel.  He took several steps back at the sound; the scream was even worse than the shriek Marathel uttered when she lost Rodanthe.  This scream was filled with the greatest pain anyone should have to endure and still live, and Din hoped, he wished, he begged whatever holy entity there ever was or ever could be that Marathel somehow survive whatever caused her to scream like that.   He held his breath as the scream continued and finally faded into a low wail before ceasing.  There was a clunk of metal hitting metal, and the women wept for a few moments before Olba spoke again.  “Hurry now, she needs our help, not our tears.”   

Olba’s words spurred Din back to action.  Hurrying to the door — but not looking within — he said, “What else can I get you?” 

A different woman stood up and filled the doorway.  “Come no closer, Bounty Hunter,” she said, her voice filled with hate and spite directed at Din, and he was sure he understood why.   The woman, wearing the same color blue as Marathel, removed her veil and untied her sash.  She had hair of purest white and eyes of pale blue that were red with tears.  “Have you no other fabric, Bounty Hunter?  Blankets?  Anything?” 

“No.  You have …” The woman looked at him with disgust and reproach, turned her back, and appeared to be cutting away whatever she was wearing under her gown.  Din saw a flash of white as she tore the undergarment over her head and off.  “Look in the bin just to your left.  All my spare clothes are in there.  Take whatever will work.”  Din stepped back, leaning against the ladder, letting his head throb for a few moments before he remembered he needed to get the Crest running before he could lift off.  He climbed the ladder and opened the cockpit door.  Grogu was right behind it.  “Gangway, Grogu,” he said listlessly.  He gently pushed Grogu to the side so he could enter the cockpit, and automatically placed the child in the rear seat.  “Stay there.  Don’t leave the cockpit.  Mind me, now.”  Grogu dropped his head to his chest, curled his little arms around his knees, and remained silent.  Din set the switches and levers, priming the engines for a quick takeoff.  One of the propulsion units made a grinding noise, and Din punched the gauge, breaking the cover over the dial.  He felt rage threatening to overtake him, and he gripped the edge of the control panel with his bare fingers until his knuckles turned white.   

Olba’s voice came from below.  “Bounty Hunter?” 

Din jumped from his seat and leapt down from the cockpit, ignoring the ladder.  His bad knee protested the rough landing, but he ignored it.  All four women stood before him, without veils or sashes, and two of them had ripped the bottom foot or so from the hems of their gowns.  All four had bloodstained hands and clothing, and all four looked as hopeless as he felt. The hatred in three of the women’s eyes was unmistakable in its vehemence, and he knew that it was directed at him, and that as far as the women were concerned, he was to blame for Marathel’s plight, even obliquely.  “Marathel …?” 

Olba took a breath.   She had no hatred in her eyes, only that certain weariness that comes with continuous suffering and sadness. “She lives, for now.  She has ia’chau leaves on her wounds, but they are not working very well.  She … will not stop bleeding.  Still, keep the leaves soaking in water and replace them as they fall apart.  If nothing else, it will slow the blood flow.” 

“I will.  I know of her … condition.” 

“You must know beautiful places, coming from somewhere else.”  Olba was openly weeping now.  “You promised me.  Tell her I loved her as my own.” 

“I will, Olba, and … thank you.” 

“Go now.  We must get back before we are discovered missing.” 

Three of the four women turned to leave, save for the one in blue, who was glaring at Din in fury.  She bared her teeth and snarled, “Her blood is on your hands.  Our blood, too, for we are good as dead, bringing you the hammer you demanded.”    The woman in blue spit with startling accuracy on Din’s right boot, throwing a bloodied rag-wrapped object at his feet, making a heavy thump against the metal floor.   The women then left the ship, their bare feet sliding on the steep ramp.  Din raised the ramp and shut the hull door.  He took a deep breath and cast a quick look at whatever the woman in blue had thrown at him, then at the open door where Marathel lay motionless.  Her bare feet, facing downward, were in view.  Not now, you hu’tuun.  Get flying.  Din quickly ascended the ladder and hoped the women were clear, because he was taking off right the shab now. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

#the mandalorian angst #mandalorian angst #din djarin angst #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin series #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x oc #mando x female oc #mando angst

[guess-my-next-obsession]

The Mandalorian and The Corellian

Chapter One: The Deal

pairing: din djarin x corellian!reader

summary: needing repairs for his new N-1 ship, Din emergency lands on Tatooine. by sheer luck and coincidence does he stumble upon you, a master mechanic from Corellia. he accepts a proposition from you in exchange for fixing up his starfighter, and just like that—it begins.

warnings: star wars stuff, takes place after BOBF so spoilers for that?? sorta??, all in all just a cute little first chapter. all of the feelings to come eventually.

words: 1.9k

series masterlist | my din playlist

Din wasn’t happy. His speed rocket of a starfighter taking an unexpected hit from an asteroid forcing him to land on one of his least favorite planets—Tatooine. Though he’d more than earned his respect in the outlaw desert-world of a planet, it still was never a smooth trip.

“What do you say we pay our friends a visit?” Mando landed the ship near Mos Espa, sighing as he thought about the long and hard fight he helped fight in order for Boba Fett to remain unchallenged. “Remember last time we were here?”

The child cooed as his father-figure raised the roof off their pods, lifting him from his seat and holding him in one arm as he hopped down from the jet. He slowly marched into town, studying the peacefulness carefully as he made his way to the palace.

“Mando,” Fennec greeted as she hung outside of the palace, a smirk on her face as she walked up to the Mandalorian. She lowered her eyes to the kid and smiled at it, watching its big eyes as they blinked at her. “Just visiting?”

“No,” He began following her as she walked to the Cantina, placing Grogu into his satchel and hiding him behind his cape. “My N-1 needs some work. I don’t imagine you know anyone that knows how to work on a Galactic-era starfighter?”

“It must be your lucky day, Mando.” She turned around while they stood at the bar, pointing over at you sitting in a booth all by yourself, tossing back your drinks with ease. “Y/N is new to town, but she’s Corellian, so anything she touches turns to gold.”

“Is she…can I trust her with the kid—with Grogu?” He asked, slightly hating the way he hadn’t been able to hide his emotions since the kid came into his life. Fennec nodded and gave him a sincere look, making him take a deep breath. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Should I let Fett know you’re in town?” She called out as he strutted away.

“I’ll make my way over,” He replied as he reached your table. You eyed him carefully as he stepped over, standing tall by your table. “I’m told you know how to work on a N-1.”

“I’ve never seen an N-1.” You replied, lowering your drink from your lips and giving him a once over. “Although, I’ve also never seen a Mandalorian.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He quipped back, taking a seat in front of you. “Listen, I’m prepared to pay…if you can give it a shot.”

“Alright, I’ll take a look…but,” You sat forward, resting your elbows on the table and crossing your arms. “I need an escort out of the Outer Belt.”

“Where exactly?” He asked begrudgingly.

“Corellia.” You gestured at yourself and answered dryly, as though it was obvious. Din rolled his eyes inside his helmet and sighed.

“That’s a long trip. My ship…it’s too small.”

“I have my own ship, Mandalorian. I just need an extra set of eyes…or two.” Din reached to cover up Grogu, but when he reached for him, he wasn’t there. He panicked and looked around, only to see Grogu climbing onto your lap. “Well, hello there. Is this your…food…pet?”

“He’s…listen, I’ll escort you on your trip. Just—go and look at the ship.” You chuckled at his fluster and handed the kid back over, standing up.

“Lead the way.”

•••

“Dank ferrik…this can’t be the original model,” You complimented as you ghosted your fingers across the perfect chrome exterior.

“No, it was a rebuild by myself and a friend.” He stood still as he watched you lean into the wounded turbine, getting a better look. Your brows laced together as you reached in, pulling out debris and throwing it into the desert behind you.

“Peli?” You asked over the sound of asteroid rocks being ripped out.

“Uh, yeah. Do you know her?” He stepped forward, joining you by the wounded turbine to watch what you were doing more carefully.

“I do. She’s a friend.” You sighed as you extracted the final bit of shrapnel from the turbine, spinning it and watching it move with ease. “Why didn’t you go to her?”

“It always ends up costing me,” He tried his hand at a joke but you only looked up at him with a squinted expression, your hand covering your eyes from the brightness of the suns. “And mostly because she’d blast me if I brought it back in this state.”

“Yeah, she’s a feisty one. Well, Mando—can I call you Mando?” You asked, watching his helmet tip down in a subtle nod. “Mando, I won’t blast you or charge you for this. Should be a relatively easy fix. I only ask that you keep your end of the deal once I get this baby back up in the air.”

“You have my word.” He nodded again and held his gloved hand out for you to shake, you accepting it with an amused smirk.

“So who’s the kid…your kid?” You asked, walking back into the town and over to your little hut/shop to grab tools. Mando followed closely behind, the kid cooing to be let free from his secure hold.

“Not…not biologically. But yes, he is a foundling trusted in my care.” You chuckled at his attempt at sounding stern, hearing his words laced thick with concern for the child.

“I was going to ask how you managed to…procreate given,” You turned back and looked him up and down with a grin. He looked good, granted you didn’t even know if he was human. “Everything.”

“There are ways.” He defended quickly, earning another surprised laugh from you. “Not—not that I’ve…I just know that it is possible. For Mandalorians.”

“What’s the fun if you can’t even see your lovers eyes as they make love to you?” You pondered romantically, clutching your heart as you spun around and walked backwards through the desert-town. You couldn’t see a thing past his helmet, but somehow you could almost feel his lip twitch in response, your eyes dropping to watch as his fingers clenched into a fist before releasing. “Though, I suppose it may add to the whole experience.”

“Will it be this way the entire trip to Corellia? If so, we may need to renegotiate our terms.” He was so serious, and you were so…not. It was funny to make him flustered, but you truly did need to return home.

It had been far too long since you’d been back. The moment your cousin, Han Solo, left the planet, you decided that you wanted to, too. You were only 14 when you stowed away in his ship, waiting until he was deep into space before making your appearance, scaring both him and his Wookie friend. Somehow, he’d agreed to let you stick around, and you’ve been floating around the Outer-Rim ever since. Now, ten years later, you felt a calling to go back to your home planet and reconnect—if there was anyone still left to reconnect with.

“No, I’ll stop.” You turned back around as you approached your door, it’s metal sliding open as you stepped up to the identifier. The Mandalorian stood still outside of your home as you entered, causing you to turn back. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, I’m fine.” You raised your hands in apology and continued inside, grabbing your toolkit and a few parts you noticed needed replacements. Throwing the heavy bag over your shoulder and grabbing your toolbox, you headed back out, the door locking behind you. Din felt guilty watching someone of your size have to carry so much, and reached out his hand for the bag. “I can help,”

“Believe it or not, I’ve got it.” You shot him a smirk over your shoulder and continued walking. Din took in a sharp and subtle breath as he watched you carry on so independently. He’d never met a woman so…stubborn. “Have you always been so stoic?”

“Have you always been so nosy?” He countered, watching as you grinned in shock at him, nodding in approval.

“Fair.” You chuckled and shrugged the bag off your shoulder as you reached the ship. You set your toolbox down by the turbine and watched as The Mandalorian stood still, watching you. “Are you…going to stay here and watch me the entire time?”

“I figured.” He responded, mimicking your dry tone. You chuckled again and shook your head—you were certainly in for an interesting time on the way to Corellia.

“Well, make yourself comfortable.” You gestured at the dry sand around the ship, Mando remaining still. “Or…not.”

“Is there any discreet lodging in the town?” He asked after a moment.

“Didn’t I see you with Fennec? I’m sure if you’re good with her, you can stay anywhere.” You spoke over the sounded of clunking.

“If I show face too much around, somebody will ask for my help. I don’t have much desire to help anymore than I need to.” You chuckled at his words, imagining the stories the Mandalorian must be able to tell, though you couldn’t imagine him sharing any.

“You can stay at my place. As long as the kid doesn’t try to kill me in my sleep.” You joked and walked around the turbine to watch as the Mandalorian sat in the sand with the child, watching his green friend as he stumbled around. “So what’s a ‘foundling’?”

“As a Mandalorian, I’m sworn in creed to care for him. But…he means more than that.” He replied, watching as the kid walked back to him and onto his lap.

“He seems to love you.” You spoke softly, dropping your usual sarcastic and flippant tone. Mando’s helmet tilted as he looked up at you wiping the grease off your hands. “Uh, it should be fixed.”

“That fast?” He stood up with Grogu cradled in his arm, walking over to inspect the turbine. “This looks brand new.”

“It’s in my blood.” You shrugged and gestured to the cockpit. “Start her up.”

“Do you mind?” He offered you the kid and you hesitantly accepted him, holding him on your hip as Din climbed into the cockpit and turned on the engine, it running flawlessly. He shook his helmet and grinned behind it, impressed and, if he was being honest with himself, a bit attracted to your skill. He shut it off and climbed out, nodding and accepting the child back. “Are you sure I can’t pay you?”

“No, no. Just remember the deal. We leave first thing in the morning.” You wagged your finger at him and watched him tip his helmet in agreement. “Well, let’s get you two settled at my place.”

“Let me drop the ship off with Peli…now that she can’t scold me for wrecking it.” You could’ve sworn he laughed, but it must not have came out through his modulator. Either way, you chuckled and nodded. Watching as him and the kid took off towards the hangars.

At least you now had time to tidy up your hole in the wall, hating yourself as you jogged back into town for wanting to impress a man of all things. If Han taught you anything, it was to never try to impress a man—they’re far too undeserving and stupid to notice. Though, something in your gut told you that perhaps this man—this Mandalorian—was different. Perhaps he was neither undeserving or stupid, and perhaps that was the scariest thing about him.

#din djarin #din and grogu #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

[philtstone]

for the prompt list, how about #16 for the Star Wars characters of your choice? 🪐✨

#16 -- our life was one block wide this is definitely a very abstract interpretation of the prompt and also one of the more incoherent au concepts ive run with but here u go <3 <3

"But I'd say your best bet will be homeschooling," Qui-Gon Jin is saying. "I had to switch myself, back when the kids were school age. It is a commitment, but a worthy one."

His long biker style ponytail is offset by the very lumpy and quite frankly ugly knit sweater he wears, and the thick plastic rims of his glasses. His kitchen door, which he had to duck a little to step through, stands open to let in the pale fall air and also to enhance the acoustics of the relative chaos running through the rest of his house. It seems to be full of people -- not too hard to guess who, given the line up of lopsided family photos lining the wall next to the ancient rain poncho and the three mismatched cars in the driveway -- which is … unexpected. When Din met Bo Katan's old college friend at the most recent political rally she’d dragged (read: blackmailed) him into attending, he had opened up out of desperation; even Bo Katan’s referrals were worth following up on when he had no other options. Except all Ahsoka Tano said, sipping the juice box she’d pilfered from the drinks table while Paz droned on about clan solidarity at the podium, was, You know, I think you’d do really well to talk to my dad. 

And now here he is. Drinking apple tea out of definitely-homemade clay mugs and discussing educational philosophy with a total stranger, who looks like someone spliced Sons of Anarchy with like, an English teacher (Cara has been making him catch up on modern media). At least Greef and Cara were okay to babysit Grogu for the hour; otherwise Din wouldn’t know what to do at all.

Ahsoka’s foster father is still talking, it seems.

“Now, granted, it can be overwhelming. You could always try an alternative Montessori type institution – my eldest Obi-Wan’s working in that these days, though I can’t say I completely hold with their methods. But a boy with his ability and constitution, he might do fine in that sort of environment.”

“He’s just,” Din tries to come up with the words, “I don’t want him to feel like -- out of place.” Omera said nonverbal at six wasn’t unheard of, especially given none of them knew, really, what had happened before Din found him, but –

“Always tricky at that age,” Qui-Gon agrees wisely. He takes a long sip from his cooling cup while a loud thundering of footsteps sounds on the staircase just outside the kitchen door and one of the voices that had been going on in the background becomes more clearly audible, saying,

“Well, I wouldn’t have lost it if you didn’t leave all your old things in my room!”

“You own a literal apartment with your literal wife and children, Anakin!” calls back a second voice, in cheerful, overloud tones. This voice, at least, Din recognizes, “And I can use your old room for storage if I want to, Qui-Gon said so –”

“Please tell Snips to use Obi-Wan’s room for storage next time!” calls the first voice, matching that same easy cheerfulness and somewhat more directly aimed at the kitchen. 

Amidst all this a teenaged girl with too much hair wanders in, picks up and bites into one of the leftover apples on the counter beside the stove, then says, proclaimative,

“Dad lost his screwdriver again.”

Qui-Gon gives Din a complicatedly fond look, like, Kids.

Din sweats. Grogu is a kid, his kid, but increasingly he is realizing that he has no idea what that means – the depth and implications of a child in his care. He probably wouldn’t even be here if not for the sheer dumb luck of his lovely widowed neighbour and Greef and Cara from the bar, and now homeschooling – Din never finished high school! He’s diplomaless! It doesn’t matter what Boba Fett says about corrupt institutions in the quiet moments between running security during happy hour, he can’t leave Grogu without opportunities in this economy –

“Hey,” says the girl, interrupting Din's mental doom spiral. “Wait a second. You’re the guy! From the afterschool program.” 

“The – the afterschool program?” Din manages.

“Yeah, my brother Luke volunteers there. By Temple road? You were there last week to pick your kid up and he wanted to keep playing with the blocks.” She grins, a combination of cleverness and genuine care in her round cheeked face. “The adorable Dumbo ears, right?”

“He –” Din clears his throat. “Yes. My neighbour says he’ll grow into them.”

“I saw him run over to you at pickup time,” says the girl. “It was so sweet. You should’ve seen him, Grandpa, this guy’s a natural.” 

“Leia’s an excellent judge of character,” says Ahsoka’s sudden voice, in time with her braided head poking into the kitchen. “You should listen to her. But later, because she’s late for soccer practice.”

“We’re late for soccer practice,” Leia says, though allows herself to be led out of the room, not before catching a second piece of fruit in her hands, this one tossed gracefully across the room by Qui-Gon himself. “Dad’s our coach. You’re assistant coach. The whole extracurricular is an enterprise in nepotism …”

The front door slams distantly behind them.

“I,” Din says, and then just sits there, for a moment, in total silence. He does remember the other day, at the after school program. He remembers the huge grin on Grogu’s face and the warm sticky feel of his cheek and his little fingers tangled in Din’s scarf, which was slightly singed because Greef had just introduced flaming cocktails to the menu and only total idiots drink flaming cocktails in the mid afternoon. He takes a deep breath and tries again. It never hurt anyone to try, Omera keeps reminding him, on the off days they have these weirdly deep chats when they take the garbage out at the same time. “Maybe – maybe if you had some of your … curriculum materials. To share.”

Qui-Gon looks immensely pleased. “That I do, Mr. Din Djarin. I’ll just go fetch them from upstairs. I’m sure your boy will take to them in no time.”

#just realized I made the critical error of not making it ABUNDANTLY clear that shmi is happy healthy and alive in this verse #for the record she is #i have no idea what this is or if its even remotely in character #im having feelings abt the disaster lineage #but also ... din my beloved #star wars #qui gon jin #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #din djarin #din x grogu #the mandalorian #anakin x ahsoka #din x omera #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #leia organa #luke skywalker #taylor swift prompt meme #anidala #my writing

[loveoaths]

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓.

lio, he/they,  20+. i write fic and talk about the mandalorian, star wars, and other shit i like here. sometimes that shit is nsfw.  follow at your own discretion. AO3: waterdeaths.

star wars content you’ll find here: mauldin, darth maulposting, ANDOR ANDOR ANDOR, cassian/din aka cassidin, din djarin’s sad little life, star wars meta, jedi love, mace windu, kit fisto powerhour, maulsoka, anadin (anakin/din djarin), quinobi (quinlan vos/obi-wan), lots of love for the star wars ladies (reva, padme, leia, ahsoka, luminara, asajj ventress, etcetera), dinluke, star wars: visions, and much more.

other content you’ll sporadically find here: hades (game), interview with the vampire, barbie (2023), poetry, and more.

core writing concepts:    the sins of the father as the backbones of their sons, selfish sacrifice, unearned forgiveness, thriving in spite of trauma, self-destruction as a survival mechanism, degradation of the human spirit, destruction necessitating change, what makes a man a monster, and love as the question and the answer.  dark subject matter is present; this blog is not for everyone. again, follow at your own discretion.    

on fic:  reblogs, likes, and commenting on my fic in the tags are all HEAVILY ENCOURAGED. i love to see everyone’s thoughts on what i’m writing. don’t be shy. let me be nosy. 

i accept writing prompts and requests! i have the right to decline requests as well. this is for fun, people.

in-progress fics 

Attachment Theory (Rating: E) Din is a Mandalorian, but when Luke comes for Grogu on Moff Gideon's ship, he acts like a Jedi: he selflessly gives the child up.  Grogu is a Jedi-in-training, but he acts like a Mandalorian: he is territorial and attached to his buir, and his protectiveness easily manifests as violence. Luke is supposed to be Grogu's Jedi Master, but how is he supposed to teach Grogu how to let go, when he himself struggles not to hold onto parts of his past?

The answer: the trio go on stupidly a dangerous cross-galaxy road-trip in the rebuilt Razor Crest to a lost Jedi library in search of Jedi training tools. Pairing: Dinluke, DinMaul(ish).

The Father, The Son, and the Unholy Ghost (Rating: T)  Luke likes Din. Din likes Luke. Din is less crazy about Luke's insane, evil father who keeps trying to kill him from beyond the grave. Pairing: Dinluke. Now featuring art by @its-not-a-pen​!

Fate Lays Her Heavy Hand (Rating: T, Eventually E) Darth Momin, heretic of the Sith and galaxy’s greatest hater, time-travels to the Republic Era to end Sidious’ reign before it begins. Why? Because he hates Sidious almost as much as he loves the Force. Pairing:  Maul/Padme/Momin, Vader/Krismo Sodi

Nothing is My Name (Rating: T/Gen) An exploration of Din Djarin’s life, from his childhood on Aq Vetina to his early years as the Covert’s lead hunter. Pairing: Mild Din/Armorer, Din/Paz Viszla, unrequited!Din/OC

The Devil’s Red Right Hand (Rating: T, Eventually E) Through sheer orneriness and force of will, Maul rejects death, rips a hole in the Force, and propels himself back in time to destroy Sidious by stopping the Clone Wars from ever happening. First stop: Naboo. Pairing: Potentially Maul/Padme

In the Shadow of the Valley (Rating: T, Eventually M) AU. The first Mandalorian Jedi was Tarre Viszla. The second was Din Djarin. AKA, the one where Din is a padawan, and everything is terrible. Pairing: Potentially Din/Padme/Anakin

The Bitten Hand Holds the Bounty (Rating: M for torture and graphic death) Someone hires Cad Bane to kidnap Grogu. Din sets the galaxy aflame to get him back. Pairing: DinCobb

Negative Space (Rating: T, Eventually E) Nature, they say, hates a vacuum. Which explains why Din, someone who is force negative or totally cut off from the Force, touches the Force beacon on Typhon and screws up the time-stream so bad he winds up in the Old Republic Era.

finished fics

creature of desire, you’ve a fever for the fire: (Rating: M, graphic animal death | Wordcount: 3000) In which godhood is a thing with teeth, sainthood was made to block the light, and Kimimaro is just a man looking for divinity in the flesh.

patches make the quilt  (Rating: T | Wordcount: 5633) The war is over. Haku and Zabuza rebuild their lives on a farm, and find themselves growing in the process.

death of a bellflower (Rating: T | Wordcount: 1238) Even for a Kaguya, Kimimaro is especially out of touch, with a naivety that seems incongruous with his family name. Privately, Kimimaro’s milky, wide-eyed stares remind Haku of a newborn kitten’s: seeing without discerning. Zabuza thinks he's a liability. Haku thinks he’s cute. Pairing: Haku/Kimimaro, first crush

death is a friend of mine (Rating: T | Wordcount: 5676) Haku’s never feared dying; he’s done it many times. It's finding something to live for that's the hard part.

blood under the bridge  (Rating: T | Wordcount: 1302) Zabuza dies during the battle for the bridge. Haku dies with him, though his heart yet beats.

a kicked dog still bites (Rating: T | Wordcount: 600) Yamato is assigned surveillance duty over a Yuki, of all things, and he’s 100% certain the next six months are about to be cold and miserable. Pairing: Gen

din djarin posting

force negative!din 

fic about din and grogu time traveling in the stupidest way possible and meeting anikin and obi-wan

dinluke

padawan!din au (wip)

cassadin

fic and rarepair tags

all fic tag.

rarepair tag.

rarepair of the day tag.

oc content

clone trooper cake.

gen oc tag.

ryogi tag.

writing stuff

words/writing i like.

yearly writing recap

2021 + 2022

#pinned. #walkie talkie. #fic tag.

[fanfictasia]

Comfortember Day 14

Encouraging 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Mandalorian Effect

“How old is he?” Mando questions, still holding Grogu in his arms. He’s looking after Anakin, seeming pensive.

“Nine,” Shmi answers, “Soon to be going on ten, I think.”

“He’s so… small,” the man admits quietly as he sets the child in his arms down on the floor. “I thought he was younger.”

“He has not gotten proper nutrition,” she replies, shaking her head. “It was not easy. I did the best I could, but…”

“You did good, to have kept him alive and – and a child for so long.”

His words are surprising, or at least they take her off guard, and she looks at him for a few moments before nodding. “He is… a special child.” She doesn’t know what else to say, and perhaps, there is nothing to say.

Mando makes a quiet noise. “Grogu is, as well.”

“Mm. Anakin has… special powers,” she admits. Shmi doesn’t know why, exactly, she’s saying this to him, to someone who is a stranger, but she has heard stories of Mandalorians, and she trusts Rex. Rex would not have let Mando stay here with him if he might harm them.

His helmet jerks towards her and away from where his child is wandering around, exploring the hold of the starship. “Grogu, too.” He sounds a little surprised. “He can move things with his mind. He… saved me that way. Several times.”

“Anakin did that once, and that’s when I realized what it meant. I had to stop him. I impressed on him the importance of never doing it again.” Words cannot describe the sheer terror that Shmi had felt in that moment, so many years ago, when her son, who was a toddler at the time, had taken a fruit from Gardulla. Thankfully, no one had noticed because it would have been bad if someone had; they both would have suffered.

It had been hard for her to deny Anakin the fruit he had wanted – he was a child; he didn’t realize that it wasn’t hers to give him and that it wasn’t his to ask for – knowing that he was hungry and knowing that she was unable to provide him enough nourishment herself, given that she had not been given adequate food. It had been even harder to scold him for what he did, but had Gardulla learned… Shmi already knows what Anakin’s fate would have been, and she would have done anything, anything to spare him from that fate.

Mando nods, as if he understands what she means, and perhaps he does, to a point. Rex told her a little more of the future, and she knows that the Jedi fell. She did not have the courage to ask what happened to Anakin, and Rex had not told her, his expression distant, almost haunted. Being a Force sensitive, in the future, was a dangerous thing from what she knows. It… helps that Mando has dealt with that as he tried to keep Grogu safe as best he could. Perhaps they have more in common than she realizes, despite that they have had very different backgrounds, lives, and experiences.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #comfortember #comfortember 2022 #comfortember day 14 #day 14 #din djarin #din #shmi skywalker #shmi #din and shmi #grogu #hurt anakin skywalker #anakin #comfort #day fourteen #encouraging #family #friendship #the phantom menace #time travel #din time travel #grogu time travel #shmi needs a hug #shmi is awesome

[ethanreedbooks]

In a thrilling revelation, "Star Wars" has just unleashed news of an upcoming blockbuster titled "The Mandalorian & Grogu," directed by the visionary Jon Favreau! Brace yourselves for this electrifying development that catapults the cherished characters from Disney+'s "The Mandalorian" onto the grandeur of the silver screen. Set to kick off production later this year, the film not only signifies a monumental leap into the cinematic universe but also marks an exhilarating expansion of the awe-inspiring "Mando"-verse crafted by the maestro Favreau.

Let's rewind a bit and bask in the excitement! "The Mandalorian," initially a groundbreaking Disney+ series, thrusts us into the riveting escapades of a helmet-clad bounty hunter portrayed by the charismatic Pedro Pascal. At the heart of the narrative lies his noble quest to safeguard the utterly adorable and enigmatic alien named Grogu, fondly referred to as Baby Yoda by an adoring fan base. While the exact placement of this impending cinematic masterpiece within the live-action series timeline remains a tantalizing mystery, the sheer prospect of witnessing the Mandalorian and his pint-sized apprentice Grogu on the colossal canvas has sparked an eruption of exhilaration among fans!

And who better to helm this cinematic voyage than the genius himself, Jon Favreau! Overflowing with enthusiasm, Favreau exclaims, "I have loved telling stories set in the rich world that George Lucas created. The prospect of bringing the Mandalorian and his apprentice Grogu to the big screen is extremely exciting."

Prepare for lightspeed excitement as "The Mandalorian & Grogu" emerges as the first major "Star Wars" film in the works since the epic conclusion of "Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker" in 2019. After the resounding success of the original nine-chapter saga, subsequent planned installments never materialized, leaving fans on the edge of their seats. In the interim, "Star Wars" took a quantum leap into the realm of Disney+ with triumphant series like "The Book of Boba Fett," "Ahsoka," and the much-anticipated "Skeleton Crew."

Fueling this cinematic juggernaut are the creative powerhouses Jon Favreau, Lucasfilm president Kathleen Kennedy, and the mastermind behind "Ahsoka," Dave Filoni. As they shepherd this monumental project, Filoni, a true luminary in the "Star Wars" universe, will also lend his creative prowess to the second season of "Ahsoka." Kathleen Kennedy lauds the dynamic duo, stating, "Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni have ushered into Star Wars two new and beloved characters, and this new story is a perfect fit for the big screen."

Hold onto your lightsabers, as the upcoming Lucasfilm feature-length development slate promises a dazzling array of "Star Wars" films directed by the likes of Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, James Mangold, and the unparalleled Dave Filoni. The anticipatory fervor for these cinematic gems is palpable, given the stratospheric success of "The Mandalorian" and the vast storytelling potential embedded in the ever-expanding "Star Wars" universe.

As "Star Wars" embarks on its multimedia odyssey, Disney has strategically positioned untitled "Star Wars" movies for May 22, 2026, December 18, 2026, and December 17, 2027. While specific details are shrouded in secrecy, the mere prospect of these cinematic adventures has fans counting down the moments in feverish anticipation.

But that's not all! In an enthralling parallel revelation, Lucasfilm drops the bombshell of the ongoing development of "Ahsoka" Season 2, courtesy of the creative genius Dave Filoni. This revelation, coupled with the announcement of "The Mandalorian & Grogu," underscores Filoni's pivotal role in the ever-expanding "Star Wars" universe. Season 1 of "Ahsoka," which concluded on October 3, thrust Rosario Dawson into the limelight as the iconic Jedi on a galaxy-saving mission. Filoni, with his multifaceted contributions to "The Mandalorian," "The Book of Boba Fett," and "Star Wars: The Clone Wars," remains an indomitable force propelling the franchise into unparalleled success.

The intricate narrative tapestry woven in "Ahsoka" Season 1 introduced a host of new characters, delving into the post-Galactic Empire era and seamlessly intertwining with the broader "Star Wars" narrative. With the official confirmation of Season 2, fans can brace themselves for an encore of riveting adventures and earth-shattering revelations in the continuing saga of the beloved Ahsoka Tano.

Hold onto your helmets, fellow enthusiasts, as the "Star Wars" universe embarks on an unprecedented expansion across various mediums, with Disney+ at the forefront. The pièce de résistance? Filoni's directorial prowess in a feature film that promises to elegantly tie up the loose ends of his TV series' storylines. The future of "Star Wars" is a tantalizing blend of cinematic spectacles and episodic wonders, ensuring an exhilarating journey for fans worldwide! May the Force be with us all!

#ahsoka #the mandalorian #star wars

[h0wdyydee]

based on this post from @correct-mando​ ! grogu was crying because din wouldn’t let him eat the frog

#i just think that #drawing low quality grogu and din is funny #reduced to the most basic of forms #unsuspecting boba #poor poor din #that poor man #local single father tired of losing child #din has to use a fraction of his strength when pulling back grogu #if he's not careful that child is gonna be FLUNG #grogu is holding on by sheer will #howdy draws #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #boba fett

[feraldabi]

i’ve been reading some the mandalorian fanfics as one does when they become weirdly attached to a piece of media but ANYWAY i like when pple write “din took grogu’s hand” or “grogu reached up to take din’s hand” cuz it’s such a funny image like y’all grogu is tiny,,,he smol,,,minuscule if u will. the kids the definition of ankle-biter and to read that is so funny cuz i just imagine din reaching so low and walking so slow and awkwardly so grogu can walk at his regular small pace or like he’s squatted down and does a duck walk lmfaooo

#OMG DONT GET ME STARTED ON GROGU REACHING FOR DINS HANDJDJDJ #it’s so funny too cuz like din wldnt even be aware that grogu wld want to hold hands unless he says something #so here’s grogu teaching as high as he can desperately trying to grab his dads hand but bitch keeps MOVINg #he wld have to go on his tippy toes and even then the kid can’t reach plsjxjdjdj #like I love reading those lines in fanfics like this isn’t criticism but it’s so funny the sheer size difference between them #like THEY RLLY CANT HOLD HANDS N IT BE COMFY WHICH SAD BUT WHATEVEJDJDJDKD #anyway authors pls keep writing those lines cuz they give me seratonion imagining how the hand holding is going #omg wait imagine like din forgets how small grogu is and he’s just fucken draggin this kid along by his little hand kdjdjdjd #grogus like father why #i can’t with this jdjdj #txt #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #baby yoda #feel free to ignore me im just amusing myself with this #i see these lines a lot on dinluke fics too #iconic #dinluke

[gffa]

#LUKE SKYWALKER BEING JUST FUCK OFF POWERFUL IN THE FORCE #THIS SCENE WASN’T JUST FOR FANSERVICE #THOUGH HNNNGHHH IT WAS AMAZING FANSERVICE #BUT TO SHOW JUST WHAT FUCKOFF POWERFUL FORCE SENSITIVES ARE CAPABLE OF #THEY SPENT TWO ENTIRE EPISODES BUILDING UP THE DARK TROOPERS #AND HOW TERRIFYING THEY WERE #THE SHEER IMPENDING DOOM LOOMING ON THAT BRIDGE WHEN THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE FUCKED #TWO SEASONS TO ESTABLISH DIN DJARIN AS AN INCREDIBLY SKILLED FIGHTER #WHO GETS BRUTALLY WIPED ALL OVER THE FLOOR BY ONE DARK TROOPER #EVEN WITH FULL BESKAR ARMOR AND THE SPEAR #AND NOW THERE IS AN ENTIRE SQUAD OF THEM #AND HERE COMES ONE FUCKOFF POWERFUL JEDI #WHO DOESN’T EVEN BREAK A SWEAT #THE DUDE ISN’T EVEN BREATHING HARD BY THE END #TO SHOW US JUST WHAT FORCE-SENSITIVES ARE CAPABLE OF IN THIS GALAXY #AND GROGU IS JUST LIKE HIM #LIKE HNNNGHH FANSERVICE THAT SERVES A NARRATIVE PURPOSE? #HOLY SHIT WHEN STAR WARS GOES FOR THE THROAT IT DOESN’T HOLD BACK

#swedit #sw edit #mandalorianedit #themandalorianedit #luke skywalker #dark troopers #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #flashing gif