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beskarandblasters · 6 months

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Me and My Husband

Chapter One: Lonesome Love

Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader

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Author's note: The first chapter is here. It matters to me.

Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: Din marries a fellow member of The Children of the Watch hastily due to peer pressure and wanting to commit himself fully to the tribe. He takes a bounty from Karga on Nevarro to support his family that leads him to Naboo’s capital city, Theed, and ultimately... you

Word count: 4k

Chapter warnings: a Mandalorian wedding, a face reveal, Din is a bad flirt lmao, masturbation, feelings of doubt/guilt, use of Mandalorian words/phrases (translations included after)

Din

“Din Djarin, repeat after me: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. (We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors),” the Armorer says.

Kriff, why did he agree to this? He could take out a thousand men; an entire Imperial fleet if he had to. But this, the riduurok (marriage), has him weak in the knees (and not in the good way), at a loss for words, and more anxious than he’s ever been.

“Din Djarin?” the Armorer repeats, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” he says, finishing with a shaky breath.

Thank the Maker neither the Armorer or May can see his face right now because if they could, they would see the face of a man who’s never been more scared in his life, coated with a thick layer of sweat.

“May Malric, repeat after me: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” the Armorer continues.

Without missing a beat, May repeats the vows, her visor shifting from the Armorer to Din, locked on his. Standing before him is his new riduur, in her forest green armor with lime green accents, her gloved hands joined with his. He gulps – no turning back now.

“Now you two are joined as one, in an unbroken bond just as your ancestors before you. By entering a riduurok you pledge your eternal commitment to not only each other, but Mandalore as well. Let the celebration begin! This is the way.”

“This is the way,” May affirms.

“This is the way,” Din responds. It better be the way, because he just committed himself to this woman for the rest of his life.

This day can’t go by any slower. How is he supposed to celebrate this? Marriage was the last thing he wanted. But ever since they reclaimed Mandalore, other members of the clan have been getting married left and right; finally feeling like they have a permanent place to live, it only felt right. And so that’s what Din did. He chose May, a fellow member of the Children of the Watch to be his riduur. He figured he liked her well enough; respected her well enough so she would be a fine riduur. Or so he hopes.

The Armorer leads the way back to the rest of the Mandalorians, a bountiful celebration ready to take place. All this attention on himself makes Din uncomfortable. But this is what he chose and now he has to deal with the consequences no matter how unbearable or overwhelming it may be.

It’s a lot, just a never-ending string of people wishing him well it seems. He does his best to be polite; these are people he’s known his whole life basically or new members of the recently intertwined community. But eventually it proves to be too much and he needs to excuse himself. He scans the room for Grogu, just to make sure he’s okay. And he is. Of course he is; playing with some of the tribe’s younglings. He is another reason Din did this, getting married and all. Din thought it was important for Grogu to have a “real” family. It’s a multifaceted issue. Between the peer pressure, the pressure he put on himself to be a devoted member of the tribe, and the pressure he put on himself to be the best father he can be to Grogu, he made this decision… This lifelong, unbreakable decision

…Maybe he should’ve given this a second thought. Because now he’s bonded to May for life. No getting divorced, no getting remarried… Unless he wants to become an apostate again – and he knows that feeling all too well, a feeling he’d never like to revisit.

He heads back to his new house; a simple utilitarian home made of stone, stone being one of the few resources here on Mandalore. It’s not like his home on Nevarro, complete with all the furnishings and a pond for Grogu in the front. The home on Nevarro also happens to be… a secret. Not on purpose. He just never told May about it. And now he thinks he’ll keep it that way. Not even because he wants to bring a flurry of women there, but because it’ll be nice to have a place of his own that only he knows about.

He senses a presence behind him. Turning around slowly he sees May, the visor of her helmet glued to her gloved hands, fiddling nervously.

“Got to be too much for you, too?” she asks softly.

“Just overwhelming… That’s all,” he says stiffly.

“Do you think…” she starts, taking a step closer to him.

“Do you think it’s time?” she finishes.

“...Time for what?”

“Time for… you know,” she says, visor still fixed on her hands.

“Oh,” he spits out, realizing what she’s insinuating.

Now that they’re riduurs they can show each other, and only each other, their faces.

“Now?” he asks.

“There’s no one else around. And we’re in our home…” she says, a smile evident in her voice, a smile Din would soon get to see.

Seeing your riduur’s face for the first time is arguably the best part of a Mandalorian wedding, most would agree. Except for the fact that Din is scared beyond words. He’s staring down the barrel of the rest of his life, the face he’ll wake up to everyday, the face of the mother of his future children.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath.

At the same time they both reach for their helmets, lifting them up from the bottom and hearing the hiss of the modulator. Din’s worried about what she’ll think of him, sure. But he’s also worried about what she’ll look like, if she’ll be attractive. He feels bad thinking that way but he’s a man, he has needs. He supposes it’s not an unreasonable request to have the woman he’s going to be married to for the rest of his life be physically attractive to him.

He holds his helmet against his side, closing his eyes until she’s ready.

“Din?” she asks softly.

“Hmm?”

“Are you ready?”

“...Yes.”

He opens his eyes to see May, standing in front of him. And to put it plainly, she’s just… fine. Not inherently ugly, not overly beautiful, just… fine. It could’ve been a lot worse. He was also hoping he would feel the spark when he saw her but he just doesn’t. Maybe it’ll happen over time but he also hoped he’d feel the spark for his own riduur on his wedding day.

Can this day go by any slower?

It’s been about fifteen rotations since the wedding. They’re in the “honeymoon stage” (if you could even call it that). Grogu seems to like May well enough which is good. Her and Din have found a happy medium of… tolerating each other. But he’s itching for some freedom, some time away from her as horrible as that sounds.

They’re standing outside their house, watching Grogu waddle around outside and get more accustomed to his new home planet when Din turns to her and says, “You know I’m still a member of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking I could go get a job or two… you know… to support us.”

“Okay.” she says, not questioning the idea.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s for us.”

“Right.”

“When will you leave?”

“This afternoon. Once I leave the atmosphere I’ll send a transmission to Karga.”

“Okay. Do you need any help preparing for the journey?”

“Not necessary,” he says curtly, scooping Grogu up into his arms.

“But take care of him when I’m gone?” he asks, passing him off to her.

“Of course. He’s our son now. Why wouldn’t I?”

The term makes him sick, “our son”. But he says nothing, offering a nod before walking to the Razor Crest to make sure it’s ready for the journey.

He takes off in the early afternoon, feeling a bit of relief he’ll be on his own for at least a little while. He bids May and Grogu farewell before getting in the Crest and taking off. He knows Grogu is safe here with the other Mandalorians. They’d all lay down their lives to protect him.

And now he’s alone in his ship, feeling like he’s in the days before he got married; before he even had Grogu. He sends Karga a transmission letting him know he’s on the way to collect a job before setting his course to Nevarro.

Din enjoys solitude during the few rotations that it takes to get to Nevarro, taking the time to reclaim a space of his own again and have a chance to feel “free”. Deep down he knows it’s only a fleeting moment but once that he’ll savor until he’s forced to return home.

Once he arrives at Nevarro he rests at his house for the night. The house is still bare bones essentially, not many furnishings inside. He’s been too busy on Mandalore with the others to make the journey here to complete his new home. But now that he’s going to be coming here more frequently, perhaps it’s time to make this house a home away from home… his home away from home, no one else’s.

In the morning he heads to Karga’s, feeling a little excited that he’ll be exploring the galaxy once again. If there’s something Din learned over the past few months being anchored down on Mandalore, it’s that he doesn’t like to be anchored down in one place too long. It’s one thing to have a home base, sure. But Din’s old life led him to explore all corners of the galaxy and he’s missed that lately.

“Well look who it is!” Karga says as Din walks in, his booming voice spreading across the room.

“Long time, no see,” he continues, “Where have you been? Thought I’d never see you use that place on the outskirts of town.”

“I’ve been on Mandalore.”

“I see. Where’s the little critter?”

“He stayed back… with my riduur.”

“Your what?”

Kriff, why did he say that? Din isn’t one for interpersonal relationships. Maybe it’s because he’s dying to let his frustrations out; dying to tell someone how he feels. But he fears Karga, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn’t get it; wouldn’t understand where he’s coming from. So he decides to explain to Karga what a riduur is and say nothing more.

“My… wife,” Din says.

“Wow, congratulations! Didn’t peg you as the marriage type. But it’s nice that your little green fellow has a mother now.”

“He’s very happy,” Din says through gritted teeth.

“Well, enough of the pleasantries. Let me get you your tracking fob,” Karga says, reaching into his pocket.

“Here,” he says, handing the fob off to Din, “Tannon Rene, just your typical low life. Owes a wealthy family here a large sum of credits but ran off once he realized he couldn’t pay them back. Rumor is he’s hiding at an inn on Naboo, in the capital city.”

“Got it. Shouldn't be too long,” Din says, turning and leaving.

“See you when you return!” Karga calls out.

Din offers a small wave over his shoulder and sets off towards the Crest. Walking through the streets of Nevarro has him feeling nostalgic for the life he used to live, back when it was just him and Grogu, taking bounties as they come. At least this way he can feel a small sliver of this old life with also a new place to call home.

It’s still relatively early in the morning, and it takes a little over a full rotation to get to Naboo. He should be there mid morning on the next cycle there, ready to hit the ground running on this bounty.

Naboo is just coming into Din’s sight. He’s never been here before but from what he can tell it’s a beautiful planet, very green and full of nature. He lands his ship on the outskirts of Theed, parking it in a grassy field.

He heads into the city, grass turning into sandy colored stones under his feet. Soon enough he’s met with ornate architecture, the buildings decorative and intricate. He feels out of place here. He is out of place here. He’s met with stares as he walks through the streets, but that’s typical for him. Some people aren’t accustomed to seeing a Mandalorian in their day to day life, much less one with the flashiest silver beskar you’ve ever seen. As he gets closer to the city center, the buildings start to be adorned with pastel green domed roofs – he’s getting closer to the palace. He walks past a cantina and does a double take.

This would be a good place to gain intel, he thinks to himself.

He goes inside and cantina was the wrong word to describe this place. It’s too… fancy. It’s more like a lounge, an upscale one at that, a far cry from the ones he’s used to on Nevarro and Tatooine. He’s met with more stares as he walks through the lounge, taking a seat at the bar in the center of the room. The bartender, a tall human male, goes to ask him for his order but Din puts his hand up and says, “No need. I’m looking for an inn.”

“There’s several. Are you looking to stay close to the city center or on the outskirts?”

“What’s cheaper?”

“The outskirts. I assume you’re going after a bounty.”

“Maybe.”

“Well I may have some information,” the bartender says.

“Oh?”

“The Star-Lux. Pretty nice for a budget inn. If you’re standing facing the palace, make a left, and keep going down. It’ll be the last inn on the outskirts of the city. The girl at the front desk is real pretty; a sweetheart. You think your bounty’s there? Talk her up and I’m sure she’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Thanks,” he says, rising from the bar stool.

The bartender offers a small nod of his head and Din walks away, feeling all the sets of eyes on him as he exits. He follows the directions he was given, heading to the palace before making a left. He thinks about what the bartender said about talking up the girl at the counter… Din is not good at that; not good at flirting… at all.

He eventually reaches the Star-Lux at the edge of the city, a building that matches the surrounding architecture with a modest sign written in Aurebesh. The tracking fob in his pocket is going crazy, beeping and vibrating strongly upon arriving at the Star-Lux. He heads inside and immediately spots the front desk situated in the back of the room. And that’s when he sees you for the first time. The bartender was right- you’re pretty, gorgeous even. He feels guilty for thinking that knowing he has a riduur back home but he can’t help it. You’re easy on the eyes and his legs feel like jelly as he walks closer to you. He’s cheated death numerous times and faced off with some of the biggest threats of the galaxy but just walking towards you, a pretty girl, has him weak in the knees.

You look up from your data pad and raise an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t blame you. A Mandalorian sauntering over to your front desk is a strange sight. The visor of his helmet trails up and down your form, what he can see from behind the desk anyway. He takes note of your name on the name tag you're wearing pinned to your dress; a dress in a color that suits your eyes with a low cut neckline... exposing your collarbone and your cleavage. He feels his cock twitch in his flight suit.

“How can I help you?” you ask. Five words. Five words is all it takes for his attraction to you to grow deeper.

“I’m… looking for someone.”

“…Okay?”

“I’m looking for Tannon Rene. He’s here.” he says, holding out the tracking fob and holding it out in his palm.

“I’m not allowed to just hand out information about a guest,” you say, folding your arms.

Kriff when you do that your breasts are pushed together, defining your cleavage even more. He rests his elbow on the desk, leaning forward towards you. It’s time to pull out the flirting.

“You… come here often?”

“…I work here,” you laugh.

Oh Maker, he’s so stupid. He’s not good at this. He’s not one to flirt. He’s not one to go after women… they normally come after him, as bad as that sounds.

“Right,” he says, letting out a nervous laugh.

“...Like I said, can’t give out any information about a guest.”

“You know… you’d look good with a helmet on,” he tries next.

“Excuse me?!” you say, face contorting into anger.

“I’m sorry- I meant- I’m-I’m a Mandalorian. It’s just part of our culture, it wasn’t an insult,” he says, the words coming out in an endless stream.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s okay,” you say, looking at him again.

It’s almost like you can sense how hard he’s trying (and also failing), almost like you’re feeling bad for him.

You let out a sigh. “Fine. He might be in room 122. But you didn’t hear that from me. Got it?” you say sternly, pointing a finger at him.

Din can’t believe his luck. It worked. His poor excuse for flirting actually worked.

“Th-Thank you,” he manages to spit out.

You gesture down the hallway and he follows your direction, nodding at you as he walks. He stops at a door labeled 122 and decides to knock, pretending he’s inn personnel.

Knock knock. “Mr. Rene? We have a question about your stay.”

He hears a voice cough behind the door. “Just a minute.”

Din takes a moment to get his blaster drawn and places another hand on the handcuffs attached to his belt. There’s some shuffling behind the door and finally, it opens. Karga was right… This guy is a low life.

“What the-” he starts but Din points the blaster against his chest.

He raises his arms and starts rambling. “Please, I mean no trouble. Is this about credits? I got credits. Hang on-”

Din sighs and pulls out the tracking fob, holding it out in front of him.

“Kriff,” he sighs, “Do what you gotta do I guess.”

Poor guy probably realized has no match in a fight against Din. This outcome is safer but… sort of boring. He lets Din cuff without so much as a scuffle before dragging him down the hallway and back into the lobby.

“Thanks again,” he says, turning his helmet to look at you. His visor trails down to your cleavage involuntarily and you pick up on it, giggling and offering a small wave.

“Anytime, Mando.”

His cock twitches in his flight suit again. But it doesn’t last long because Tannon is already complaining about how tight his cuffs are. He walks out of the inn, fighting the urge to turn and get one last look at you before dragging Tannon back to the Crest.

The journey back to the Guild is uneventful. Din ended up carbon freezing Tannon because he wouldn’t shut up, asking Din all sorts of questions about his ship and Mandalorians that Din just did not have the patience for.

He lands back on Nevarro and Karga’s guys unload Tannon from the Crest while he collects his credits.

“So you’ve still got it, huh?” Karga teases, counting out Din’s credits.

“Still got it,” Din affirms.

“Taking another?”

“No. I have to return to Mandalore soon.”

“Gotta get back to the wife, the old ball and chain, huh?” Karga chuckles.

“Something like that,” Din says, taking the credits from Karga and offering a tip of his helmet before leaving.

Din could go home right now… But he could also go back to the house he has here and crash for a few hours before leaving. He gives into his temptations and heads to the house on the outskirts of town, thinking he’ll get some much needed rest. However… he can’t stop thinking about you; thinking about your cleavage and your voice and the way you pointed your finger at him. Maker, why did that do it for him?

As soon as he gets to the house he heads for the bedroom, sitting on the bed and taking his cock out. It’s been a long time since he’s had any action to say the least. He hasn’t done anything with May yet. He really doesn’t have the urge to… but he knows he can’t hold her off forever. She’ll want to raise warriors with him.

He puts May out of his mind for right now and goes back to thinking about you, stroking his cock to the memory of his brief interaction with you. It doesn’t take long for his imagination to take control, imagining what you would look like underneath him, crying on his cock, whimpering his name.

Kriff, Din. Really? he thinks to himself.

The shame doesn’t last long, though. Because before he knows it his cum is spilling over his fist. He already came, and it was a hard orgasm, too. Except he now feels… guilty; guilty because he just stroked his cock to the thought of another woman when his riduur is waiting at home for him with his son. Maker, he feels terrible. But a small voice in the back of his mind is telling him to go see you again. He considers it briefly but ultimately that will have to wait. He goes to bed and of course, he’s dreaming of you.

It’s morning again. Time to go back to Mandalore, something he’s already dreading. He’s had his taste of freedom but it’s time to go back to reality now. He leaves his house and heads into the town center, stopping to get one last look at it before leaving and wondering when he’ll return. He stops at the market and grabs some supplies; some rations, blankets, pottery, and some scrap metal, before going back to the Crest. He takes off with a sigh, already feeling like the journey home will be long and dreadful.

He was correct, the journey back to Mandalore dragged on, feeling like it was twice as long as the journey to Nevarro a few rotations prior. He breaches the atmosphere and lands not too far from his house. As he unloads the ship May walks over with Grogu in her arms. He greets Din with an excited babble.

“How was it?” May asks.

“Not bad. Got us some supplies.”

“Thank you, Din,” she says kindly, “Where did you have to go?”

“Ferrix.”

He lies. It came out naturally. He doesn’t even understand why he’s lying to her. Sure, he feels guilty for masturbating while thinking of you but technically nothing incriminating happened.

“Hopefully the bounty didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“He didn’t. Surrendered quickly.”

“That’s good… I’m just about to make dinner if you want any,” she offers, walking back to the house alongside him.

“That’s okay. I’m pretty tired from the journey.”

“Of course,” she says softly, “I’ll keep some left over for you.”

“Thanks,” he says curtly, heading inside and going straight to the bedroom.

He collapses on the bed and already starts to feel sleepy. Once again, consumed with thoughts of you.

Chapter Two

End note: I hoped you guys liked the first chapter!! I’d love to hear your thoughts 🩵

Graphic by @nostalxgic

Banners/divider by @saradika

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 1 year

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Migraine

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

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: language

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

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

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

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

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

"Cut"! The directors voice boomed across set.

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fight scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like those odds."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pedro sighed, "I'll be back."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But the location-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just let me take care of you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wasn't hard."

"It was still a punch."

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

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

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

"That was a good day." He chuckled.

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

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

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

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

How long had you been asleep for?

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

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

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

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

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

"A bit better." You answered honestly.

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

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

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

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

"Shit, I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More like naturally annoying." You shot back.

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

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

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

"I'd like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I do." You replied honestly.

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

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

THE END.

MASTERLIST pinned to profile.

Commissions open! Link in bio & DM for enquiries❤️

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

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talesfrommedinastation · 2 months

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

LEEEEET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

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

These were all via text messages, btw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Episode 2: 'Night Elves and Neverland Ranch'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Episode 3: 'Blondie Got a Gun'

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blondie’s got a gun

Her whole world's come undone

Shooting droids is FUN!

GO MUTANT JIMMERS GO!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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themandaloriandaily · 1 year

Text

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

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

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

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

#the mandalorian #news #spoilers

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djarins-cyare · 2 months

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So it’s been a year…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I suffered from clinical depression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Checking for things like clichés, non-inclusive language

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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theetherealbloom · 2 months

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THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

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

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

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

Word Count: 10k

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

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

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OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

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

"Yes," he confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The IG-11 leaves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

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

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

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

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

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

"She's coming," Din insists.

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

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

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

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

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

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

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

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

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

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

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

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

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

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

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

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

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

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

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

"Yes," he confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

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

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

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

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

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

Still, there's silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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wackyart · 1 year

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"STEEL AND STARLIGHT" UPDATE N°5

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

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

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

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

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ravenalla · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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spacemagicandlaserswords · 11 months

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Feral Hunter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But oh, just imagine if we did.

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gingerlurk · 2 months

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 19: The Bloodied

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: In this time and place, as war descends, it all changes.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Big Epic Battle, return of the Razor Crest 💙, violence, blood, passing allusion to post-traumatic stress, ho so much action, and so much lore bullshitting just go with me here.

A/N: The walker described in this isn’t any specific canon version. Somewhere between an AT-AT and an AT-ST let’s say. I dunno, picture whatever you want. Thanks for reading!

The room fills for the final muster.

It’s a scene similar to the first time you’d been in here, but now you’re witnessing it from the other side. Armoured and armed soldiers file into the chamber, an audience gathering before the conflict begins.

This time though, rather than hiding in the shadows by the forge, you’re among the congregation, seeing the Armourer up front waiting as everyone files in. You stick to the back, find yourself shuffled along a row to stand uneasily by Fennec Shand. She leans a shoulder against yours, a gesture of staunch reassurance.

We got this.

Your eyes move over the backs of many helmets, scanning until you spot him. The man you miss more than you would breathing air must have been first in here. Front and centre, Din stands with his back to you and just a little side on. From your vantage point, you can make out the edges of the familiar heat sig sensor on his helmet’s right side. You can’t see any of the T visor, so he wouldn’t spot you staring at him unless he turned full to the right.

He must know you’re in here though. Whether he cares or not, you have no clue anymore.

Over the many broad shoulders between the two of you, you can’t tell if Grogu is with him.

Still, you whisper a silent entreaty, ‘please let them both be okay…’

Footsteps and shuffling whittle down to silence. Everyone waits. The striking figure at the front of the procession pushes her shoulders back, runs a gaze across the crowd, and speaks.

‘War is here,’ she says. ‘And we are ready.’

The room fills with the beating of wrists. You and Fennec join in, tapping your comms cuff to your new wrist guard. As the sound fades to quiet again, the honorary battle commander continues.

‘We stand on the frontlines to defend our homelands. Mandalore. Concordia. Every place Mandalorians have come together to build a future. Every place the old, dead empire has tried to take from us.’

You can tell her words are meticulously chosen, because the room swells with an earnest pride and a thrum of determined energy.

‘As the Watch,’ she continues, ‘we’ve nurtured foundlings, raised warriors, and preserved our cultures. We have long held true to the words of the Creed. And it has led us through the dark. Now, we each of us have stood in the Living Waters. By the miracle of liberating Mandalore, we grow brighter. The bonds we forge and the strength we gain from them will continue to lead us.’

‘And it is with this revival that we must learn to reach into new space. We honour the Creed, as it speaks of ourselves and our past.’

She reaches behind her and once again draws out that familiar device. The one containing the texts of the Creed, its originals, its translations. The controlling lore of the people collected here. She places it down on her table.

‘Yet we have come to learn that there is more to our ancient Way than we knew. Now we have learned that the Creed goes further. It speaks of our future. And with the royal Clan Kryze guiding us, we have the way forward to meet it.’

The air pulses like a beating heart. The flames of the forge dance across the ocean of beskar. Everyone holds.

‘Bo-Katan Kryze is our leader, and she is also our guide, it is time we followed her on the path to walk both worlds. Each and every world.’

You’re puzzling over what this reverent monologue could possibly mean – what worlds? – when the woman standing before her people does something that beats the breath from your lungs and sends dizzying electric shocks through your body.

The Armourer, the devout and steadfast leader of almost every person in this room, reaches up and – with a soft hiss that echoes over the hushed crowd – lifts her helmet up, and off. An angular face, large eyes and a wide mouth. She nestles the golden mask under an arm and watches.

It remains deathly quiet for a long, agonising stretch.

Slowly, just one at a time, and then a few, and then everyone in the place is lifting their hands to their own faces. The air is filled with the sounds of unclasping, pressure releasing. Beskar sings against itself as removed helms are cradled and caressed in gauntleted arms.

You look side to side with eyes wide and mouth agape, in crude contrast to the stoic and steady facial expressions of those around you. The unknown features of people you’ve lived and worked with for weeks are still and focused. Like they knew. Like they were prepared.

Then you’re searching. Over the arms raising and heads shaking out hair and sweat, you strain to see it. The helmet you’d held between your own hands and the man behind it. But he’s obscured. Too far away. You’re just not tall enough. Desperate, you raise onto your toes, craning your neck over the crowd.

‘Here,’ Fennec grabs your wrist and drops to a knee. You gawk for a second but she smacks her thigh with the other hand. ‘Up,’ she mouths.

This is ridiculous but you don’t even pause. You accept her boost, grasp her shoulder and let her hoist you up above the heads of the group. Fortunately everyone is distracted, some unspoken rule that no one looks around rippling across the congregation. They all stay focused front and centre, where the Armourer looks at each and every one of her people in turn.

Not at you yet though. From the very back, toppling a little, shaking violently, you sweep your gaze over to the spot you know him to be standing.

And you see it. You see him.

Dark curls. Damp and sticking to the nape of his neck and around his right ear.

Huh. He has dark, brown hair. The sight slots into the image you’ve tried to hold in your head all this time. The sketch you’d traced out with your hands.

Din is holding eyes front as well. All you can see of his face is the slight edge of a sharp jawline and nose. The fuzz of a scruffy beard. Hardly enough. Not enough.

Despite yourself, knowing it to be futile, you will him to look around. Look, I’m here, Din. Please, I’m here.

But you have to drop down before the Armourer, or anyone else, spots you. Giddy and a little nauseous. The grip on your forearm tightens as Fennec stands again. She leans in.

‘See what you needed to see?’ she asks.

You just let out the breath you’d been holding, hold up a trembling hand and stare hard at it. Try to steel yourself.

You hadn’t. Not at all.

A long, high-pitched siren cuts into the reverie that had engulfed the room, sweeps across the people who had just taken a step to change forever.

The Armourer speaks, clear voice projecting to every corner of the room, ‘Go, and bring glory to Mandalore.’

The whole room moves as one, helmets going back on and everyone proceeding to their assignments. Perfect, regimented, united.

Fennec Shand claps a hand to your shoulder and peels off, going to her mission, whatever that may be. Jolted back to reality, reminded of your mission, you cast about for Ari Wren, knowing you have to follow her into whatever comes next – no matter what. You spot her helmet first as it lifts up and over her head, spy just a hint of short cropped blonde hair as the mask locks back into place. She sees you too and strides forward.

‘This way,’ she instructs, fully composed like she hadn’t just uprooted her whole identity. ‘Stick with me.’

You let her guide you, all the while still looking back over your shoulder, just trying to get one more glimpse, one more look, just one.

You don’t see him again.

The first phase of the attack is nothing more than a battle of attrition. The enemy throws waves of ground troops at the Mandalorian defences. You stick with Ari Wren, barely holding onto awareness as pure adrenaline and instinct course through your veins and grant you unimaginable speed and strength.

‘Stay in step,’ she yells.

Shoulder blades pressed to the hot metal of her jetpack, you move as she moves. Your footwork is doing double-time to keep up with her rapid twists and lunges, the sword and shield seemingly featherlight in her hands. Each time laser fire comes at you, she’s there – shielding and deflecting.

In turn, you incapacitate anyone that gets under her guard. The close quarters lets you take soldier after soldier by surprise, sending them screaming to the ground clutching at ruined limbs.

The two of you make your way across what’s become the battlefield, move through the acrid air and across the ash-soaked scorched earth. Smoke rising all around, you position yourselves in the anticipated trajectory of their ultimate weapon. It hasn’t emerged over the embankment yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

You remain dimly aware of the rest of the battle – cover fire soaring overhead, the other fighters moving in your forward lines, and a pitched dogfight rending the sky above. But for all the chaos that has erupted since the imp forces descended, the world may as well be you and the Mandalorian yanking you out of the path of an oncoming pulse blast.

But then disaster strikes. It’s your fault. A trooper comes at your duo wielding a bayonet-clad phase rifle, the long nasty blade on its barrel glowing red hot with energy. They lay down attack fire on approach and, as Wren deflects each shot, move in to take a swipe with the sharp, searing edge. Your companion bats it to the side. She brings her own sword around fast, but the enemy manages to parry, twisting side-on.

Seeing an opening, you duck under Wren’s extended arm and take aim at a kidney. But she wasn’t expecting it and you’ve moved under her centre of gravity. You stagger each other and the split second of imbalance is enough for your foe to rend a long slice up Wren’s outer thigh, carving a line along the outside edge of her beskar.

She falls to a knee, then slumps back with an agonised cry. The assailant squares up as you stumble to regain balance. Before you can do anything, he’s drawing his rifle up to your face.

‘N--!’ Your cry is cut off by the soldier in front of you jerking sideways, a violent twist as he drops dead to the ground. Behind him, two more troopers are sprinting toward you, weapons drawn. But again, first one then the other jolts as if struck and falls.

Whirling and twisting, scanning the perimeter, your eyes finally look up and you see it. The long barrel of a sniper rifle and the curved sights of the assassin’s helmet peak over the far ridge.

Fennec Shand.

You stare for a moment until Wren barks your name. It pulls you back and you see you’re being surrounded by a rank of attackers, all sporting savage-looking shock batons. Some are already being taken out by Fennec’s pinpoint cover fire. But if you don’t fucking move soon, you and Wren are doomed.

One of the squad lunges in to attack.

Reaching back, the gaffi stick slung across your shoulders swings free and you connect it with the on-comer’s chest plate, the slugged end caving it in and sending him flying backwards. You spin to slice the barbed spear across another’s throat, blood making a crescent streak across the air.

Fennec hits one in the knee and, as he drops, your weapon rises to meet his face. The helmet shatters and your blood roars.

One after another, you never stop rotating. Cries of pain from your weapon and grunts of shock from the impact of a rifle blast work the group circling you down to the ground.

When it’s clear, you look back to Fennec, hoping she can see your nod of acknowledgement through the scope. She raises an arm to you.

Then you fall to Wren’s side, where she’s gripping her wound and cursing in fury.

‘Wren,’ you start, dropping your weapon and trying to assess the damage. ‘Hang on—'

An ear-splitting siren rips the air apart. Its meaning runs your blood cold. The walker is incoming. Wren tugs at your arm, a ‘help me up’ gesture. But you shake your head, lay your own hands over hers at the top of her thigh where blood spurts from the edge of the armour plate.

‘No, no,’ you urge her back. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Have… to…’ she grits through her helm. But even the small movement she just made causes red to well between your fingers.

‘Shit!’ you cry. ‘Gods, Wren. Hang on… Help!’ You look around frantically, yell into the deafening chaos of battle. ‘Help!’

Hells, think clearly, would you? You shake yourself and smack your comms. ‘I need help! Wren is down.’

Within moments, two Mandalorians have landed on either side. One, in medic garb, shoves you aside and begins to tend to her leg. They tap the ground to indicate she needs evac and you hear her grunt in abject frustration. Tries to wave them off.

‘No…’ she moans. ‘Need to…’ She tries to sit up but jolts with a cry of agony. She grips a fist tight before shaking herself and slapping her own comms, muttering into her helmet. You can’t hear who she’s talking to – why is she on a different comms channel?

Another siren has you whirling, then craning your neck up, back. A huge mechanised leg raises over the first fortifications only hundreds of feet in front of you, stomps down with a thundering crash.

You cradle your ears. Terror shoots through you. Whipping around, you look for another jetpacked fighter who could get you up there. Someone, anyone. But they wouldn’t know where to place the charges. How to time it. You sense your plan being blown to hell and panic sets in. This is it – that thing is going to wipe you all out.

Another gargantuan limb brings the monster closer and sends a garrison into full retreat. The horrifying sound of the thermal cannons warming up fills your ears with a sickening buzz. There’s no way to stop it. You look up to the heavens with defeat heavy on your chest.

That’s where you see it. A pinprick at first, but growing larger. The gorgeous old gunship streaks across the sky, threading the needle through cannon fire and laser blasts. In a sharp nosedive, the Razor Crest is on full burn on its approach to you. It turns to make a low bank and passes over your heads. A figure drops from the hold, in a rapid descent to the field of battle not far from you.

Din hits the ground with a forward roll and releases a salvo of his whistling birds into the waiting war troopers. He’s incapacitated them in a matter of seconds as you sprint toward him. Up and fighting any and everything between the two of you, he makes his way to meet you in the middle. You can’t stop yourself from barrelling into him.

He just plants a hand on your waist and pulls you close, ‘Hang on!’ he yells.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to stifle your cry as his jetpack engages and rockets you both upwards, soaring toward the body of the walking terror. Nothing but empty air below and laser fire raining all around, you bury your face into his neck. Through the haze of fear and adrenaline, you feel him pull you tighter.

The underside streaks toward you. He manoeuvres to ascend up the thing’s body but, just as you come level with it, the rockets on Din’s pack cut out. Suspended in the air, weightless for one terrifying moment, a scream begins to bubble up as you anticipate a precipitous drop.

But Din fires his whipcord ahead, planting its grapple at the top and swinging your bodies into the side of the massive unit. He twists his weight so he lands squarely against the side, shielding you from impact. Dangling together from the façade of the stalking, swaying machine, he nudges at you.

‘Climb!’ he yells, urging you upwards.

‘Your jetpack!’ you shout back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got it, just climb now,’ he pushes. You reach up and grab the whipcord. His free hand helps you along, grabbing your legs and heaving upwards to give you purchase. You don’t know how his shoulder isn’t being torn from its joint, but he seems to be holding on. So you grit your teeth, ignore the cord cutting into your hands, and climb.

You hand over hand with the cord and plant your knees into the vertical surface. Push every shred of fear away and focus on what’s in front. Halfway up you glance back and almost scream again. Hundreds of feet below, the monstrosity steps through more barricades, nearing the centre of the fray. But you also see Din, who’s holding fast, looking up, watching you. You turn around and keep climbing.

The second you reach the top, the whipcord whizzes back. You’re already scrambling toward the pilot hatch when Din’s voice crackles over your comms piece. ‘Just like you planned – you take the personnel, I’ve got the undercarriage.’

Gods, so he had been listening.

Wind whips your face and the roar around you is deafening, but you get to the hatch and pop a thermal charge into the lock. Crawling back and shielding your head, you wait for the ‘croom ’ then leap forward, grip the edge of the opening, and swing yourself inside. The smoke and noise from the explosion has stunned your cabin buddies. They only manage a short shout of alarm before both find their necks snapping at unhappy angles.

You surge onto the portal, jabbing at controls and resetting target maps. The walker groans under the strain of turning 180, but the cockpit’s sights swing around until the advancing forces come into view. You set the target locking system and throw the lever into full drive before sending a quick blaster shot into the control panel. The guns below the cockpit begin a continuous barrage. You watch for a moment as squadrons scatter and tanks implode.

You back away and make for the hatch. Scrambling up onto topside, you hit comms.

‘Din!’ you cry. ‘We gotta go! Din?’

Instead of a reply, the Mandalorian rockets up over the edge and plants his feet metres from you. He strides forward, holding one hand to his helmet, shouting at R5 to bring in the Crest, and reaching his other arm out to you.

You don’t pause, moving in and resuming your grip on his shoulders. He holds for a second, then you’re fighting panic again as you launch upwards. This time though, you manage to keep your eyes trained down.

You see the walker, marching back into its own lines, sending explosions into troopers and hovercannons. Then, perfectly timed, the detonators Din planted on the underside go off, buckling the legs and sending it tumbling into the central armoured column.

Good.

Then your vision is obscured and your momentum arrested. You start in alarm before making sense of the scene. The Crest has sailed elegantly into your line of ascent and Din has cut the jetpack, landing you both on the aft entry of the old gunship. It’s a heavy impact and the only reason your knees don’t collapse is the strong hold he has on you. You both stumble back into the hold of the ship.

As soon as you’re steadied, he lets go and makes for the cockpit. You give in to a brief moment of uninvited despair when he looks over his shoulder and barks, ‘C’mon!’ Then you’re following.

You allow yourself little beats to revel in being on the Crest again, but not for too long. The janky locker door that never quite shut all the way. The peeling paint on the ladder. The access panel that always flickered and whirred. Gods, you’d missed it so much.

As you enter the cockpit, Din is taking his seat and engaging the controls from R5. You spot Grogu tucked in his pod, which is securely strapped into his flight seat. He looks over at you and waves his arms, burbling in excitement.

The seat on the other side, your seat, sits empty.

Your heart aches at the sight.

As if the ship senses it, the Crest groans and lurches nose down for a moment, forcing you forward. As Din rights its moorings, you flop back into the chair.

‘Get strapped in,’ he yells over his shoulder. He punches at the controls and brings the ship around to witness the skirmish taking place in the sky. The cockpit’s windows afford you a view of the aerial battle, so high up you can see the curvature of this moon and the combat below looking like a crawling insect colony. The fighters up here are intercepting and taking down enemy craft on approach, preventing any from breaking through to attack ground forces.

‘Just in time,’ Din says. ‘The Guild has arrived.’

‘Oh shit,’ you say, pulling the straps around and craning your neck out the window. You spot it. A hefty old transport frigate, Leaf Ghogal’s little army of bounty hunters, plugging a descent toward the edge of the fray, getting ready to drop a mess of bloodthirsty fighters right into the thick of it.

But Din seems unfazed. It puzzles you for a second before he flips the cockpit comms on and speaks to someone on the other end.

‘You’re up,’ he says.

‘Copy that, Mando my man,’ comes a reply – a painfully familiar voice. ‘Our frenemies will be taking a one-way jump to buttfuck nowhere in 3- 2- get goin’ hahaha.'

Still eyeing the transport a ways off, you have a perfect view of it shuddering for a moment – the hyperdrive straining in the high atmosphere. With a massive shockwave, it shooms into nothingness. The energy fallout from its rapid departure collects the edge of a soaring tiefighter, taking its portside wing and sending it careening to the ground.

‘Woo! Two fer one!’ The disembodied voice hollers and it hits you.

‘Wha— Torre? ’ you sputter.

‘Hey dove,’ Torre’s voice echoes around the cockpit. ‘You made it.’

‘What are y-- what is-- what?’

‘Making up for my bullshit, hon,’ he says. ‘Or a little of it, at least.’

Din interrupts, like you aren’t in a full tailspin over this little fucking alliance going on right now.

‘Another mercenary outfit inbound,’ he says.

‘On it,’ Torre chirps, the clacking of keys being hit in rapid succession accompanying the transmission.

You start to say ‘where?’ but Din just points. Another transport carrier trundles just behind where Leaf’s ship was. Your eyes track it as the Crest banks across the range. Huge, fit to carry upwards of two hundred combatants. Worlds, you think. If they land it’ll be a bloodbath.

But Torre’s counting down again and the boat – blip – bends out of existence. Just like that.

‘That’s cleared,’ Din says.

‘Roger, roger,’ Torre responds.

This is too surreal. ‘Torre,’ you shout. ‘ What-- why are you doing this?’

A long sigh slips from the speakers.

‘Your Mando came and got me,’ he tells you over the comms. ‘Told me about how that fucker Cephlate used me. And how he got to you. Fuck. For that, and for the rest… Well, ‘m sorry.’

A beat of quiet as you absorb that. Then the Crest chimes in with its alert system, alarms blaring around you.

‘And speaking of the Devil,’ Torre says. ‘His craft is inbound.’

‘What?’ you yelp. ‘Cephlate is here?’

‘Indeed,’ Torre answers you. ‘Got his private little army in on this shitshow.’

Ice slides up and down your spine and sends cold shards to your extremities. The freeze of a carbonite unit crawls over your skin. Him. Your side aches right where your scar has steadily faded away. But it now throbs as if fresh. Your face, where he’d held onto your chin and threatened you, burns.

The only thing stopping you from succumbing to wild panic is the T visor that’s swung round to stare at you.

‘He’s not gonna touch you,’ Din snarls low. ‘Ever again.’

You lean into your chair, breathing deep into your belly as he turns back to the ship’s controls.

‘What can you do about it?’ Din asks.

‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve tried hacking in but he knows my tricks. All I can give you is something to aim for.’

A string of data rolls across the Crest’s targeting system, forms into a ship holo. An ugly, heavy-duty gunner-craft. Cannons and railguns weigh the beastly thing down. The holo rotates to reveal a glowing patch on the underside. Small and tucked against the exhaust latchings. You lean forward to get a good look at it.

‘The stitch that will unravel his shields,’ Torre explains. ‘Aim for that. And he’ll be done.’

‘Okay,’ Din says. ‘I think you’re good then.’

‘Copy that.’

‘You gonna cause trouble?’

Torre’s chuckle rumbles over the speakers. ‘No worries there,’ he says. ‘Old mate Greef here hasn’t taken his pistol’s sights off me for a single second.’

‘I’ve got him, Mando,’ the high magistrate’s voice follows on. ‘We’ll take him back when the fight is over, won’t we IG?’

‘Bye then, dove,’ Torre’s voice sinks into you. ‘I’ll always be sorry.’

The transmission cuts.

Distracted by the insanity of what just happened, you miss Din’s question. He’s fiddling with settings on the HUD and, at your silence, looks back.

‘Huh?’ you ask.

‘I can’t aim for something like that and fly at the same time,’ he says. ‘So which do you want to do?’

‘Which do I--?’ You notice for the first time an addition to the instrument bank next to the flight chair you’re buckled into. A set of ship controls, twins to the ones Din’s got a hard grip on up front. Protruding just within reach.

‘Had to get another ship mechanic to help install it, ‘m sorry,’ he says, watching you. ‘It was fiddly. The Crest did not want to cooperate. But we did it.’

‘Wh--,' you’re speechless. You reach over and they glide easily outward so you can orient them in front of you. Giving each an experimental twist, you feel the hefty tilt and take in the trigger buttons just by where your forefingers rest. ‘Oh wow… Din. But- I can’t--’

‘You can,’ he says. ‘I know it.’

Aware you can’t waste time on doubt, you heave a deep sigh. Looking at the ship holo, at the tiny opening Torre’s given you, your fingers hover over the triggers. Something inside you makes the choice.

‘Aim,’ you say. ‘I’ll aim.’

Nodding, he spins back around and flips a switch. The controls under your palms hum with energy and a HUD blinks in front of you. The Crest shudders as its weapons system primes itself.

Hells, how are you going to fucking do this.

‘I’ll draw him onto us, tell me when you’re ready and I’ll give you an opening,’ he says. Without further ado, he pulls his own controls back and the Razor Crest soars.

How are you going to do this.

The Mandalorian pilots his ship through a mess of crossfire and the occasional spacecraft trailing smoke and plummeting to the earth. The menacing looking ship of the outer-rim warlord comes into view and Din positions the Crest right in front of it, racing ahead and catching the enemy crew’s attention. Pulls serpentine manoeuvrers to dodge the laser fire that begins a bombardment.

How are you—

Static crackles over the comms and the sickly, savage voice of the figure you’ve had nightmares about fills the space. Delighted, arrogant and bloodthirsty. Cephlate waxes lyrical about finally having the opportunity to ‘destroy you Mando, and all you hold dear’.

But you’re barely taking it in, fixated on the targeting system and trying to fathom how you’re going to do this.

How, how, how—

Spiralling thoughts are interrupted by a feather-soft tendril of energy nudging at the edge of your mind. It swirls against your consciousness and seems to await permission.

You look over at Grogu, whose eyes are shut tight and hands twitch with power. The sense of connection within you grows brighter, promises aid. Begs entry.

‘Ready?’ Din calls.

‘We have this,’ you shout. Looking at the child, you let him and the Force flood your mind, whip through your senses and snake into your arms and hands, held firm on the controls. They hum harder, some awareness deep in the bowels of the ship slips into you, a quiet there you are, where have you been? You set your shoulders and shout, ‘Now!’

Din hurls a lever back and reefs on the controls. The Crest drops into a free fall. The rear thrusters cut and tip the boat so you’re looking up into the sky. Laser fire passes overhead as does Cephlate’s ship. The glint in the underside, the break in the shield, is plain as day to your heightened senses.

You, Grogu and the Crest lock onto it and your fingers move of their own volition, releasing a single pulse that streaks ahead. Where it hits home, exactly on target, a burst of crackling, festy grey energy widens from the spot, shimmering over the whole ship. The entire shield system drops away in a few heartbeats.

‘No!’ the warlord bellows. ‘You--!'

Din smacks the comms to another channel over the top of his cries. ‘Move in,’ he commands whoever’s on the other side. To you, ‘Keep firing!’

You’re already setting up to unleash an angry broadside along the bottom of the vessel. He hauls the thrusters back on and gives you a perfect bank for the barrage to take out its engine array. When the Crest clears the front of the ship, it wheels around and you can take aim at the top-mounted cannons.

You see several other Mandalorian jets and fighters move in weapons free, your little T-Wing among them. It and the rest send explosions to impact on all sides of the vessel. Your ship makes another turn and you get to pass again – feeling feral, you zero in on the bridge and send the bow of the ship up in flames.

It’s not long before the monstrous dirigible is listing, tilting away from the centre of the fight, toward the chordal coast where the imps’ forward party had been encamped. It disappears over the rim of the small mountain range bisecting the landscape. Moments later, a spectacular explosion reaches toward the skies.

You watch it as the Crest’s trajectory evens out, sails across the cleared air. You scan the radar, friendly craft soar around you.

Only the roar of wind and the groan of the ship fill the cockpit. You loosen your grip just slightly on the controls as a wide grin spreads across your face. You glance up at Din, seeing his shoulders steadily drop as he relaxes. You laugh.

‘Well that, felt incredible,’ you say. He starts to turn toward you.

A burst of static covers what he says back. A boisterous voice thunders over the speakers, declaring glorious victory and the imp forces scattering like baby womp rats, the jet-packed Mandalorians running them down with ease.

You listen, fidgeting a little as a weird pang starts to bother your side.

The comms cuts to reports of mopping up but Din turns it to low, moving dials and flipping the landing gear into standby.

You keep your hands on the gunner grips in case any last-minute moves are needed, but try to sit up a little straighter to stretch out the tightness that is drawing your abdomen into a knot. The tension of the fight setting in, maybe?

Din leans back. ‘Guess we can head in,’ he says, moving to turn to you again. Your heart beats harder, damn near straining against your chest. ‘And maybe we can t—’

‘Ebbe!’

The tiny, panicked shriek from Grogu causes you both to whip around to him. Your concern twists your guts. A strange nervous vibration is working its way up your spine, into your skull and clouding your vision. Your mouth is filling with icy shards and your ears start ringing.

‘Grogu?’ you say. ‘Baby, wha—’

‘No!’ Din surges from his chair.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Oh Gods, no, no, no!’

That’s when you realise that he’s not lunging at Grogu but toward you. And Grogu is fine, but he’s pointing to your middle with fear-filled eyes.

Din kneels before you and chants your name. ‘Hang on. Please just, hang on, love. Stay, stay with me, hey! Stay with me!’ His confusing demands grow fuzzy and further away as he talks.

You finally look down. The haze and hot tendrils clawing at your eyes make it hard to see, but that’s definitely something sticking out of your stomach. You move a hand to it. It’s hot, and vibrating with a quiet menace. Your fingers come away bloodied. ‘Ohhhh wha…’ You fade out.

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Forgive me.

Thank you so much for reading this weird little story.

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandaloria/reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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