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psychedelic-ink · 3 years ago

Text

— watch.

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

genre: ex lovers reuniting, hurt/comfort , smut, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

summary: You're one the brink of dying. Your stomach restless with hunger as you come back to Nevarro after months to find a job but instead finding a warm meal, you have a run in with your ex: Din. Oh joy.

warnings: reader almost starving due to lack of credit, reader being insecure about whether or not din had feelings for her in the past, arguing about why they (din/reader) broke up, vaginal fingering, possessive din, fingers in mouth, rough s.ex, dirty talking, piv, creampie, oral (receiving), mentions of aftercare

a/n: first of all a special thanks to @inklore who beta-read this for me, thank you so much again loves! <33 also this takes place after the season 2 finale but in an au where nothing happened to the razor crest-- I loved that ship so much damn you gideon

The dust of Nevarro settles in your lungs. Grains of sand sticking to your throat and choking you out. You never would’ve thought of coming back here again. Too many memories. But as you began to live from hand to mouth, you had no other choice to seek out the guild and ask, or beg, for a bounty to hunt. Even now your stomach rumbles, body low on fuel. A sigh breaks away from your lips. A little bit more and you’ll be reaching the city. You shake your head, trying to remember the last time you’d been here. A familiar silhouette of a shiny helmet flashes in your mind. Mando. Din. Your heart sinks further in your chest, lips parting as the city grows closer.

Maybe coming back here isn’t the best idea after all but you’re certain that you’ll die of starvation if you didn’t pick up some kind of job.

As soon as you enter the city everything feels different but also the same. The air that circulated the grimy, yet bright, city feels…cleaner. You look around, eyes skimming across the buildings. The people seem happier, children of all species laughing and running about. You raise an eyebrow. This certainly isn’t the Nevarro you expected to come back to. By memory your legs head for the guild, still slightly in awe as you walk past the people.

Nothing could’ve prepared you to see a twenty-something number of children being taught by a droid when you slam the all too familiar door of the guild wide open.

Your mouth hangs wide when fearful, young eyes turn to you and you quickly slam the door back shut, heart pounding loudly in your chest. Where the hell is the guild? Panic courses through your veins and you take two steps back, normally you would’ve been happy but the fear of not being able to find work was all you can think about. You groan when your stomach rumbles again. You feel faint. Head starting to spin. Nevarro was your last hope. If the guild was gone–

A kid bumps into you and you stagger back, almost falling. The world spins. Stomach rumbles again. Death looms over you, you can feel it, taste it thick against your tongue. Perspiration coats your skin in a thin layer, you feel a tiny hand on your thigh and you look down. You’d forgotten about the kid.

“Are you okay?”

Such a simple question yet it makes you want to bawl your eyes out. Nodding, you move away from the kid and head further into the city, Karga had to be somewhere around here right? Dank farrik.

Ears ringing and eyes blind, you fail to see the person in front of you. This time you’re the kid as you bump into the taller figure. Hard metal clashes with your face, a pain filled groan echoing from your lips as you jump back. Your hands immediately cover the part that hurts the most, which is your nose. Between squinted eyes, you look up, shiny armor the only thing you can see. Your face falls, eyes going wide as a meek whine escapes your lips.

The Mandalorian.

You’re not sure he remembers you. He only looks at you and tilts his head, face unreadable thanks to his helmet. Shit, your nose really hurts.

He says your name, it’s silent, silent enough that it might’ve disappeared with a sturdy gust of wind but you manage to hear it. You perk up immediately. You try not to look too excited but fail miserably.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,”

“You sure?”

He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. Your nose still throbs within your palms, luckily you can’t feel any blood. He stands still, the prolonging silence uncomfortable between the two of you. Words attempt to make their way out of your lips but the words die on your tongue. You’ve really missed him these past couple of months. You missed his intimidating looks, his husky voice– Every part of him basically. You swallow and bite your bottom lip, you need to get yourself together.

“Well,” he breaks the silence, his tone uncertain of what he’s about to say. “I’ll see you around then,”

God, you didn’t want him to leave.

Just as his shoulder brushes against yours you turn and grab his wrist. You feel him tense at your touch, his instincts kicking in as he reminds himself that you’re not the enemy. He doesn’t turn to face you and you’re glad for it.

“Do you know where the guild is?” you ask, voice desperate. “I–I need a job,”

Your hand still holding his wrist, he turns to you. In that moment you realize this is the first time he’s actually looking at you since your run in. You imagine his eyes moving across your body; Observing your hollowed cheeks and parched lips. The thought alone makes you avert your eyes with shame, the hand that clutches his wrist slightly trembling.

“The guild is gone,”

You let go of him, fear of the future striking your heart as you stare at him wide-eyed. A short moment passes and the fear is replaced with anger.

“Great, just great,” you kick the ground, ignoring how you hurt yourself instead. “What am I supposed to do now?”

For a while you forget that Din is there, you continue to mutter curses and rub your palm across your face. This is the worst, the absolute worst.

“You can come with me if you want, I have a bit of food on the ship,”

Great charity from an ex lover, just what you need for your pride. You angrily shake your head.

Of course your stomach decides to be a dirty snitch and growls at the same time. You ignore the chuckle that echoes from within his helmet.

“Fine, let’s go.”

You accept the familiarity of the Razor Crest with open arms. It’s good to know that some things never change; the sound of machinery whirring away, the scent, the thick smell of fuel that lays heavy in the air. You take a seat and Din disappears for a while, you thought it would be awkward coming here again but you feel completely at ease, which might be a problem on its own. Din hadn’t said a word on your journey here, and you doubt he’ll say anything. You expect him to feed you and send you on your merry way.

The feelings of the past clutches at your heart, squeezing it softly as you look down to your hands. You have so much you want to say to him but you know you can’t. Maybe that was the problem. The constant bottling of emotions on both of your parts. Din was used to keeping everything inside, his beskar reminding you the coldest of weathers. And you…well you were a mess to begin with, emotionally hungry and in constant need to feast. He was bad at showing emotions, you had little self worth. A very bad combination indeed.

Soon, Din returns with a bowl of chowder. He places the luke-warm bowl onto your lap and sits across from you. Your hand trembles as you dig in, mouth watering at the smell of it. The thick meal coats your tongue, normally it doesn’t taste like much but to you, at this time, it tastes like a five course meal. Your hand stills after the first bite, your eyes go wide and you just bring the rim of the bowl to your lips, downing the rest in maniacal hunger. A bit of it slips from the corner of your lips but you’re too occupied to care. You finish the meal in five minutes at most, your eyes flutter closed as a sigh parts your lips.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, placing the bowl on the metal floor. “I appreciate it,”

“Your welcome,”

Leaning back, you open your eyes, staring at him. Embarrassment starts to settle in your now full gut. You don’t know whether to leave or say something, he just sits there, helmet on, unreadable. Averting your gaze, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Maybe talking wouldn’t be so bad, it could provide some type of closure for the both of you. You aggressively start to chew on the inside of your cheek and take a breath.

“So…how have you been?”

“Good.”

Smooth.

“How’s the child?”

“I handed him over to his people, he should be happy now,”

Your lips tighten and form a thin line as you attempt a smile. He’s definitely not making this easy for you. The damn modulated voice not offering even a sliver of emotion.

“That’s good. I…” the questions you want to ask die on your tongue. With a broken sigh, you bring your hand to your face and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult Din?”

You fail to see how he jolts upon hearing his name, he tilts his head to the side.

“I’m not doing anything?”

“Yeah that’s the problem,” you snap, hand falling back to your lap. “You find me at the brink of starvation after months and say nothing, did…did I mean that little to you? I know we weren’t the best together but I just assumed you cared, even a little– I guess I was wrong,”

“That’s not–”

You cut him off by getting up, your foot accidentally hits the bowl and makes it tumble to the side, the voice echoes.

“Thank you for feeding me, I’ll be on my way now,”

As soon as you turn you feel his iron grip clasping around your wrist. Pain shoots out from where he holds, a hiss leaving your lips as you turn, eyes furious.

“Let me go!”

“No,”

Your eyes widen, he actually sounds angry. A shiver climbs up your spine, it feels like nails raking across your skin: Unsettling.

“You don’t get to accuse me of not feeling and just leave without waiting for me to rebuttal. If you’re so scared to hear the answer then don’t say anything at all,”

His grip tightens around your wrist, your gaze follows, eyes glued to his gloved hand. A forceful puff of hair leaves your lips, heart thudding madly in your chest.

“Fine,” you try to convey annoyance in your voice but you fear it sounds more meek rather than angry. “What are you going to say then? Come on, spit it out.”

“I–” his anger seems to fade, now sounding more lost than ever. “I do care for you. I’ve never stopped since you left, but why would I try to stop you when you’ve already made up your mind back then? Was I supposed to lock you up?”

“You were supposed to ask me to stay,”

“So what was that? A test? You’re telling me you sacrificed what we had because of your ego? It seems like I was the one who meant little to you,” he raises his voice. “You act like you have everything figured out but you’re the one who ran off as soon as things got tough,”

“That’s…” you whimper, averting your eyes. “That’s not true,”

Your breathing quickens, chest raising up and down similar to a sick child’s. You do want to run. You want to run as far as you can from this conversation. It wasn’t a question of ego, you just wanted affirmation. You wanted to know that he would burn the world for you just so you would stay and when he didn’t…you left. You begin to shake your head, you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to feel the same pain. You try to pry your wrist away but his grip is the same material of the armor he always wears. When he doesn’t let go your emotions collide like thunder clouds, lightning striking your core in the form of anger, hurt and desperation.

“I just needed some proof that you wanted me around,” you hiss, voice dripping with venom. “You made me feel like I was just around because you were stuck with me rather than it being a choice. I wasn’t trying to flatter my ego, I was trying to see if you cared!”

Shit you’re crying–

“Just let go of me please,” you try to blink them away but it only speeds up the process of the salty tears streaming down your face. “I get it alright, it was all my fault, you made your point.”

Suddenly your world spins and you find your back flushed against his chest, strong beskar covered arms wrapped around your waist. He breathes heavily, you can hear it. Your head falls against his shoulder, sniffling as you close your eyes and let the tears flow down the apples of your cheeks. His one hand slides up your chest, gripping your chin in a firm yet gentle way.

“Seeing you today was about the best and worst thing. You could’ve died if you hadn’t bumped into me. Do you realize how terrifying that was? To see you again after so long only to find you about to faint from hunger, I didn’t mean to blame you for anything. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”

“You should be angry at me,” you take a sharp breath. “You’re right, I’m the one who let this spiral. I accuse you of not talking about emotions but I did the same, I should’ve opened up– I should’ve–”

“And I should’ve stopped you from leaving,”

The other hand that lays on your stomach snakes down, palm resting right above your pelvis. His thumb starts to draw slow, languid circles around your clothed skin, your breath hitches.

“We both made mistakes. I’m just glad I found you when I did instead of later,”

His fingers begin to rub between your clothed folds, you press further against him, your head spinning from the mere touch. Legs trembling, your hand slides down his arm and covers his hand. You feel the way his fingers tense under the gloves whenever he strokes you, a moan vibrates in your throat, you’ve missed him. Din presses his helmet against the side of your face, the coolness of metal providing the perfect contrast with your burning skin. He swallows.

“Can I?”

You nod and with one swift motion he tugs your pants down, the fabric pooling at your feet right before you kick them away. You shiver when you feel the coolness of beskar against the back of your thighs, he gives you little time to think about it as his fingers dip under the thin fabric of your underwear. Gloved fingers immediately finding your clit, you sigh happily, parting your legs further without even noticing. His fingers gather the moisture and you’re positive your slick seeps through the fabric.

“You’re already so wet,” he purrs, you can almost hear the smugness in his voice. “I barely touched you, did the argument turn you on?”

“N–No,” Lie. But you would rather die than admit your impure thoughts about your heated debate. “It’s just been a while,”

“How long?”

His covered fingers continue to stroke you, more slick dripping down your thighs as you begin to slowly rock your hips into his touch. The heel of his palm presses against your aching clit, a moan ripping from your throat in the form of a gasp. Your thoughts are scattered.

“Tell me when was the last time you’ve been touched,” he growls. “Tell me who it is so I can rip their hands off,”

Shit. Fuck. You think you’re about to cum from his words alone. His grip on your chin becomes tighter, his fingers now moving slower as they begin to trace the rim of your entrance. Your breathing is heavy. Your entire body trembling as images of what brutality Din could possess against another overtakes you. Swallowing, you move your hips faster, whines falling from your lips when his fingers stop moving completely. You don’t want to tell him that the only person who’s been touching you was yourself. You want him to simmer in his jealousy, in his rage. But you also can’t afford him to stop, especially not after being reminded of how good he feels.

“No one,” you blurt out, a bit more desperately than you anticipated. “I couldn’t bare the idea of someone else touching me so if you’re adamant on breaking hands I guess you’ll have to break mine,”

Din takes in a sharp breath, his chest heaving as he pulls his fingers away. He takes a hold of your hand, fingers sticky. Meanwhile the fingers that were grasping your chin slides up, pushing two fingers between your already parted lips. You moan around the digits, tasting the leather as he presses them against your tongue.

“Maybe I should,” he keens, squeezing your hand enough to send a mild jolt of pain. “You should know better than to touch things that belong to me,”

A rush of happiness surges through you. Despite wanting to be his once more, you want to fight it. You want to be snarky and say that you belong to no one. But instead your body trembles, pussy clenching around nothing as you hump the air. He takes notice of this. A chuckle rumbling throughout his chest, his hand slides around yours and gently pushes your hand down beneath your underwear. You gasp when he moves your fingers as he pleases. Like a puppeteer, he makes you touch yourself. The tip of your fingers slowly rubbing your clit with his guide, a moan echoes from your throat. When you push your ass back against him you feel the outline of his cock, your mouth waters. He pulls his fingers away from your mouth, a bit of saliva trailing after the digits.

“Din…”

“Did you think of me?” he breathes out. “Did you imagine me fucking you as you cum around your fingers?”

Since when did he have such a filthy mouth?

“Did you?” you ask back with a moment of clarity.

“Nearly everyday,” his breath stutters. “I imagined the way your pussy used to tighten around my cock when you came, the little desperate whimpers of my name falling from your lips. I bet you imagined the same. My cock– Stretching you out– or maybe you thought about my tongue buried deep inside? Which one is it?”

Your brain is completely numb, skin tingling. Devoid of any kind of thought. You just nod, mouth hanging loose.

“That doesn’t answer my question,”

He presses your fingers between your folds and you cry out, upper body lunging forward as you start to grind against both yours and Din’s hands.

“I imagined it all,” you moan out. “I’ll do anything you ask for– Just please– I’m– I want to cum!”

“And do you think you deserve that?”

“Yes,” you’re not even thinking at this point. “Yes, I deserve it. Please, please– I’ve missed you so much. I can’t take it,”

You feel joy radiating off of him but you’re not sure why he’s so happy about your admission. His hands leave your body, you feel cold without his presence and whimper. But instead of leaving you, he takes your hand and leads you to his sleep chamber.

“Get on your hands and knees,”

Without missing a beat you do as you’re told, pressing your face into the pillows, you groan at his scent overflowing your nostrils. He gets behind you, hands kneading the flesh of your ass. You wait with anticipation for his cock and nearly faint when you feel a pair of chapped lips, facial hair tickles your skin as he drags them across your backside.

The feeling is such a shock to you that you almost get up, face hovering only an inch above the pillows before a firm hand pushes you back down.

“Don’t look,” he groans, nibbling your flesh. “Be a good girl and stay just like that,”

His mouth presses greedily against you as his tongue slides between your folds, the sweet taste of your slick coating his tongue. His strong hands parts your cheeks, burying the soft muscle further inside so that the tip reaches your throbbing clit. You shudder, his tongue feels like velvet across your tender heat. Mouth agape, you breathe heavily, a trail of spit dribbling down your chin and wetting the pillow. He eats you out like a delicate cuisine; Slow and savoring every bite. He groans into your cunt, the vibrations making you see stars. You’re whimpering his name over and over again just like he said, his tongue delves in deeper.

“What’s wrong baby? Tell me what you need,”

His tone is mocking but you’re too far gone to actually care, you just moan out his name, begging him for release. Din flattens his tongue against your folds, giving you one last lick before pulling back. A string of saliva follows his lips, his eyes are glued to your quivering body and suddenly you just look so small to him, so afraid, his cock throbs with excitement. His, now bare, hands slides against your back, nails raking across your skin as his cock pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Tell me, come on now. What do you need from me?”

Every nerve is electrified by his mere presence, tears prick the corners of your eyes, you just can’t take it anymore.

“I want to kiss you– I want you to hold me while you fuck me– I want to feel you everywhere,”

Your sudden reply takes you both by surprise, his eyes widening. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as you begin to shift uncomfortably, the bed creaking under your weight, despite not seeing him you can feel his gaze burning your skin. You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t have said anything. The silence is deafening and it lasts until he shuffles behind you, you expect him to tell you to leave but instead a click echoes. The doors close and all you can see is pitch black.

He turns you over so you’re laying on your back and crashes his lips against yours. He tastes exactly as you remember, sweet with your essence on his tongue. Din licks the inside of your mouth, tongues moving alongside each other as he grinds his cock against your dripping cunt. Moaning into his mouth, your hips shudder, your skin tingling as he cups your breast.

He grinds his hips, “You just keep saying all the right things, you’re making it hard to be upset with you,”

“You can be upset with me later,” you moan, pussy dripping. “Right now all I need is you,”

Din’s lips find yours once more, drowning out your whimpers as he fills you up inch by inch, the amount of slickness makes it easy. You froan into his mouth, cunt fluttering around his length. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth as he starts to move his hips, his pacing slow yet fierce. Every time he languidly moves out and pushes back in, your eyes roll back. He makes you feel every curve and crevice of his cock, making you moan into his mouth.

Din’s hand slides up your torso, gripping your chin and keeping it wide open as he breaks the kiss. He’s only an inch away, mouth agape, your breaths mingle with one another. You can feel the ghost of his lips, yearning for his tongue to be pressed against yours once more. Waves of pleasure wash over you as heat builds between your legs. His pace becomes quicker, harder. Every snap of his hips makes you cry out his name. Din’s head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping the sensitive skin as his hips move relentlessly.

“Can I cum inside?” he groans, hips beginning to stutter. “Please, please say yes– Fuck,”

You pull at his hair, legs pressing against his hips as a silent affirmation. He shakes his head, lips still pressed against your damp skin.

“No– I need to hear you say it– Say you want me to cum inside– Say. It.”

“Cum inside–” you finally cave. “I-I want you to,”

Before he does, however, his hand slides between your writhing bodies, his fingers find your clit and start to play with it. Your eyes go wide but all you see is his darkness, your mouth parts wide, inaudible groans ripping from your throat as he twirls the sensitive nub between his fingers. The coil that’s been tightening in your stomach for a good while finally snaps, body going still and then shaking furiously while you cum, cunt gushing around his cock. He moans at the way your insides squeeze around him, tongue lapping your skin when he thrusts once– twice–

Din bites into your skin as he comes, thick ropes of cum filing you to the brim as his hips twitch uncontrollably. Your body echoes with pleasure, mind completely incapable of thinking anything else except for the fact Din is above you, continuing to fuck his cum deeper inside by grinding his hips. He peels his face away from your neck and plants a soft kiss against your lips, when he moves away you chase after him into the darkness.

“Needy,” he hums, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” you let out a deep breath, still unable to form a thought. His cock begins to soften inside you and he pulls out, you whimper when cum drips down your thighs. “I’m a bit dazed to say the least,”

“You should rest,” the bed creaks as he moves away. You hear the familiar sound of a helmet being placed back upon his head, a soft hiss echoing in the tiny room. “I’ll bring you water and some more food,” then he adds. “And a washcloth,”

“Don’t we need to talk about this?” you call out, a slight tremble in your voice.

“We have all the time now that you’re here,” the doors slide open and he hops out. “And this time, no matter what you do, I’m going to tell you to stay.”

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum and turn on notifications✨

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #mando x you #mando fanfic #din djarin/reader #mando x f!reader #mando x female reader #mando x y/n #mando x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin fanfic

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divinetheatre · 4 years ago

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Hannibal’s Last Dinner

“Punch Romaine, a cocktail created by Escoffier. Served to first class guests on the Titanic during their last dinner.”

Hannibal’s choice of Punch Romaine is on the surface a witty clue to Sogliato’s impending death, however, it’s also an indication of Hannibal’s downfall and imprisonment. In the final shot of the scene, he is seen sipping the Punch Romaine as Sogliato did only moments before his death. The guests of the Titanic no doubt sipped it while the ship had already begun to sink. Hannibal likewise, while admitting the eventual chaos of Florence, has no idea just how truly this will devastate him. This scene may very well count as his last dinner. What Hannibal is seen actually consuming on screen until his imprisonment hints only at his eventual capture by Mason who intends to eat him and his self-inflicted imprisonment in which he will not able to feed himself as he desires.

So what is Hannibal seen eating on screen up until the end of 3b?

“Coratella con carciofi. Purple artichokes served with spring lamb’s liver, lungs, and heart... I first prepared this dish in honor of my sister when I was very young.”

While this may also be labeled as Hannibal’s last real dinner on screen, he is never actually shown taking a bite, and I believe the scene is more symbolic. All of Hannibal’s hubris is on perfect display in this scene -- tricking his guests into eating human meat, fattening Bedelia with the oysters, flaunting his ego -- but what he is serving is the meal that he first made of Mischa’s body. This is Hannibal’s end seen in his beginning. By the end of this episode, Bedelia convinces Hannibal that he has to eat Will like he ate Mischa. As Bedelia states in “Dolce,” “All our ends can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we cannot escape.”

“To the misfortune of the snail.”

The imagery of the snails is very apparent throughout the s3b beginning with the flashbacks of Hannibal and Gideon in “Antipasto.” Considering the snails, Gideon says, “The snails are certainly having a lovely experience, fattened on me in a red-wine marinade. They have no idea they’re going to be eaten.” In Hannibal’s’ first scene in “Contorno,” he shares a plate of snails with Bedelia and talks of how firefly larvae eat snails to fuel their transformation in relation to Will. Little does he know that Will’s transformation has already begun and that he has already created the firefly man. Will will be Hannibal’s downfall, the firefly consuming the snail. It won’t be long until someone is taking a bite out of Hannibal indeed.

“A beautiful pear with a single bite taken out of it.”

Also in “Contorno,” Hannibal eats a pear when Pazzi comes to see him in an attempt to gather his fingerprints. So begins the fattening of Hannibal. As noted on the show, Romans fed their animals a very specific diet in order to improve their flavor for the ultimate eating experience. Among the fattened animals were thrushes who were fed, among other things, berries and fruits. Later in the scene, Hannibal tells Pazzi, “I haven’t had a bite all day.” The pear does not represent Hannibal’s typical eating habits, but an indication of the process of his being “eaten” already beginning. Also in Contorno, Hannibal is seen slicing and eating a fig during Alana’s presentation of Hannibal’s tastes for Mason. Figs were also used for fattening (see same link) and since the image is connected to Alana’s keen observation of the Vera dal 1926 purchases and his subsequent capture by Mason, the fig can also be interpreted as indication of Hannibal’s own fattening.

“CLOSE ON A BEAUTIFUL TRAY OF OYSTERS...

Hannibal slips an oyster into his mouth with his free hand.”

As “Digestivo” opens, there is no questioning now of Hannibal’s demise. He is being fed the very same dish that he has been fattening Bedelia on for weeks with the intention of eating her. Ironically -- or perhaps unironically -- Hannibal does not resist. “Everyone gets et.” “Be he fat or be he lean.” Like Gideon, he knows he’s going to be eaten, yet Mason cannot truly cannibalize him. They are not equals. He accepts the oysters, unaware that his true equal will very soon destroy him.

#well this got way longer than i intended #hopefully it makes sense #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #txt :my thoughts are not often tasty:

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 4: The Bounty ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2400>

Warnings: allusions to male masturbation, protector!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist

Maker, you were beautiful.

The way you slept was so peaceful, basking in the moonlight. Din was surprised you could even sleep that well on top of the rock hard slap he called a bed. He thought the child was cute when he slept, but as Din watched you, revelling in the way your chest rose and fell with every breath, he swore he had never seen such heavenliness in his life.

He’d gotten lucky, he had to admit that. You were the Manda’lor, and you could’ve been a Gungan or a Rodian or who knows what… but you weren’t. You were a human who looked distinctly similar to the illustrations of angels in the fairytale books Din grew up reading. You were brave and fierce, but you were still the same girl who burst into tears only minutes after meeting Din. You were special, different. And Din had never let himself feel this way about anyone before. Truthfully, it scared him.

And Din didn’t get scared either. He was a scarred, battle hardened Mandalorian warrior. Very little affected him... but already, his heart ached for you. He was yearning. He saw the way you were with the child, and the love you had in your heart. He was a fighter, and the way the creed had brought him up, he’d never known any different, but you were a princess. You showed him that you didn’t need to win your battles through violence, but you could do it through peace and love. Just like your mother; duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.

Din sighed, and raised his hands to remove his helmet. You were asleep, so it was okay. Just for once he wanted to look at you with his own eyes. And somehow, it was even better. Din discarded his gloves and quietly took off his beskar armour and boots, preparing to settle himself down for bed, but as he undressed, he didn’t take his eyes off you once. So so beautiful.

Maybe you and Din were more similar than you first realised, because Din was throbbing by the time he went to the refresher. He leaned against the cool wall and closed his eyes, palming at his erection through his pants. He felt so confined and he was desperate for some kind of relief. But when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t seeing the usual darkness. All he could see was you.

-----

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep for. But it was the distinct smell of bone broth that woke you up. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and it took you a few moments to focus your vision, getting used to what was about to be your temporary (yet still new) home. You stretched your body and yawned, bringing your fists to your face to rub your eyes.

“You're up,” Din commented, his modulated voice stating the obvious. You jumped when you saw the beskar clad figure standing at the edge of the bed—just watching you. How long had he been watching you? “There's a bowl of bone broth waiting for you.” he informed you and you scrunched up your nose at the unpleasant smell. “What? You don't like it?”

No. Was there anyone in the galaxy who actually liked bone broth? You assumed it was just something the settlers on Sorgan ate because they had no other choice, and it was cheap. Did the Mandalorian really drink bone broth? He’d already sounded irked and you had just woken up.

“Uhm…” your voice trailed off, your gaze flicking between the bowl of soup and the Mandalorian. "Do you have any fruit? Sourberries, maybe?" You tried your best to dodge his question and sound polite, but judging from Din’s reaction, you mustn’t have done a good job.

Din scoffed, before taking his rifle out of the armoury and attaching it to the holster on his back. What did he need a rifle for? "No. You think I have the credits for that? Sorry princess." He grumbled. And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the ship.

You felt bad. You didn't mean to offend him, although you could completely understand how your comment came across. Ungrateful. You weren't ungrateful, it was just… bone broth was what you fed to the palace bluurgs. It wasn't something you ever voluntarily chose to consume. You looked back over at the steaming bowl of soup and sighed. Why did you even feel bad? You barely knew him. You were the literal princess of Mandalore and - no, you wouldn’t feel bad for a child of the watch. If anything he should feel bad for the actions of his people and what they had done to yours. What they had done to you. You slipped out of Din’s bed and picked up your bowl of broth before heading down the hull of the ship, wanting to find him and apologise. He’d given up his bed for you, he was making sure you were well fed, the least you could do was say sorry.

But he was nowhere in sight. You’d noticed the ramp of the ship had been lowered, and a stream of natural sunlight was blazing into the ship. You had landed. Were you on Nevarro? Had he… had he left you without saying anything? Surely not. You padded into the cockpit only to find Grogu sitting in the pilot seat, playing with a small steel ball. He threw it between his three clawed hands and giggled every time he caught it.

“Hey kid,” you sighed, slipping into the co-pilot seat. “Where did your dad go?”

Grogu garbled a long winded response and you listened closely. No way. He was a bounty hunter? Kriff… you’d somehow managed to tie yourself into a bounty hunter’s affairs. You cursed yourself but continued to listen to the child’s explanation. Din had gone out to earn some quick credits, goodness knows what for. And he’d left Grogu on the ship with strict instruction to watch over you. You couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. He’d asked his child to make sure you wouldn’t get into trouble.

“He can’t just leave me on the ship and not say anything,” you laughed to yourself in disbelief, letting your head fall in your hands. The birds outside the ship tweeted and for Din to have left the ramp open, you knew that Nevarro must have been a safe planet. At least for the most part. “Do you come here much?” You asked Grogu, who nodded his head in affirmation, You hummed, picking up the child and nursing him on your lap. “Does your father always expect people to follow his rules?” you asked slyly, and even Grogu giggled. “Come on. Take me around Nevarro little one. I wish to explore.”

It wasn’t like you gave Grogu a choice, but you learned that he was practically just as mischievous as you were, and Din was wrong to leave a child in command of you. He was wrong to leave anyone in command of you. You’d lived on Mandalore your whole life, not once ever leaving the planet. Now you were finally further into the outer-rim than ever before and Din just expected you to stay on the ship? Not a chance. You picked up the child and carried him outside and oh stars - it was beautiful. The golden sunlight radiated warmth and you overheard the happy sound of children excitedly chirping away. Din had parked the Crest dead centre in the middle of town, it seemed, with stalls and vendors on every corner, peppering the streets. You hummed in contentment, and sat down on the edge of the ramp with your bowl of broth and Grogu.

“Do you like this?” you asked, mixing the broth with the spoon Din had provided you. Grogu nodded his head happily and you laughed. “Does Din eat it?” Grogu nodded his head even more and his lips curled into a smile when he realised you were about to try the soup. If both Din and the child ate bone broth regularly, then it couldn’t be that bad…

And it wasn’t, not really. You could get used to the taste. The odorous smell was more off putting than anything else. So, without fuss, you ate the bubbling brown substance and discarded the finished bowl back inside the ship. You weren’t going to be gone too long, just long enough to meet the townsfolk and get a feeling off the planet. You hadn’t been this excited about anything in a long time.

-----

This was never part of the plan, but in the 24 hours of knowing Din Djarin, you had softened him considerably; more so than what the Mandalorian would like to admit. He didn’t plan on being gone long. But he still wanted, no, he needed, to get on your good side if he planned on asking you to marry him. The thought of winning you over through a façade of lies didn’t sit right with him. He never had a strong moral compass but he believed that you should at least marry for love. But then again, love was a foreign concept to him. He’d seen it before, in his parents, but that was just a distant memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, and if the Armorer told him to marry you, he had to do it.

It wasn’t a choice. It was his duty as a Mandalorian.

“I need a quick job.” Din announced, sliding into the booth opposite Karga.

“Mando! Good to see you. Kid not with you today?” Greef Karga, esteemed magistrate of Nevarro asked.

“He’s on the ship,” Din shrugged casually, knowing that the child’s safety - and yours - would be guaranteed as long as you just stayed put. “I need a quick job. Something simple and on Nevarro.”

Karga scrunched up his eyebrows in bewilderment. “Coming from the hunter who normally takes four pucks at a time, this is new,” he chuckled. “But I don’t have anything of the sort. What’s it for?”

Din hesitated, having no reason to be dishonest but yet not wanting to explain more than necessary. “Sourberries.”

This was a foolish plan, but if you wanted sourberries then Din would get you sourberries. He had this primal urge in him to appease you. To win you over.

Karga blinked before erupting into a fit of belly laughter. Din shuffled around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sourberries? Let me guess, is that code for something? I get it Mando. Us men have needs!” Karga laughed. “I do have one puck on Nevarro. Brand new. High paid. Imperial bounty," Karga hissed once his laughter settled down, but a smirk still played upon his lips. "You could buy a whole sourberry forest with the credits from this bounty.”

“You’re doing Imperial work, after everything we’ve been through?” Din frowned, shaking his head in disappointment. “Does Cara know?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Imps are the only ones who will pay Guild rates. Besides… I really didn’t have a choice. The guy who came to see me was an ex-ISB officer. Said he’s looking for a runaway princess. Figured the guy she ran away with is a settler on Nevarro. Told me he has a very distinct look but didn’t provide much more information.”

Din swallowed, his heart sinking in his chest. It couldn’t be, could it?

“What other information do you have?” Din countered. He had to know. He had to know so he could return back to the Crest and warn you. Maybe Nevarro wasn’t as safe as he’d predicted after all.

“Will you accept the bounty?” Karga asked. “Otherwise I can’t-”

“Listen, I need to know all that you know.” Din said sternly.

“Unless you’re willing to accept the puck, I can’t give you that information.”

Dank farrik. He couldn’t accept a bounty on you… he was your protector. What would he even tell you?

Once upon a time, he would’ve felt comfortable enough to explain his situation to Greef but if he was working with the Imperials again… maybe he wasn’t as trustworthy as Din once believed. He understood where Greef was coming from, to a degree. You were living during difficult times, but if he learned that you were the bounty and you were literally just a mile away, waiting on his ship, he’d have no choice but to notify this ex-ISB officer. If it meant Greef would earn his coin, Din wouldn’t put betrayal past him.

He needed the puck. He needed the puck because if he didn’t take it, another bounty hunter would. Of course Din wouldn’t let anyone even get near you, but if it was an Imperial bounty, he knew they’d just keep coming and coming. The Imperials didn’t give up easily. They didn’t give up with the child and they wouldn’t give up on you.

“I’ll take it.” Din announced after a moment of contemplation.

“Excellent!” Karga grinned, fishing out for the puck. “What I can tell you is this. She’s the princess of once of the very few Empire ruled planets. Could be Lothal, Naboo, Dathomir, maybe even Mandalore…” and then Karga began to describe your appearance. Everything from your eye colour, hair colour, skin tone… he had you to a T. This was not good.

“Do you know why she ran away?” Din asked, trying to swallow away any fear for your safety.

“I don’t ask questions like that,” Greef responded, shooting the Mandalorian a strange look. Din should have known better. “But they’re almost certain she’s on Nevarro so hopefully you won’t have to look far. I have no doubt a man of your talents will be able to bring her back to the Guild before nightfall, right?”

“Right…” Din replied, a little too quietly. “Dead or alive?”

“Alive only. No reward for a cold body,” Greef said strictly. “Good luck Mando,” Din was going to need more than just luck. He took the puck and stood up, Greef following from behind. “Hey, for your journey,” He smiled, handing the Mandalorian a bag of sourberries. “No charge. I’ve just… missed you.”

Din made a small noise of gratitude although it wasn’t received through the modulator, before taking the berries from his friend and leaving the cantina. It really was warm outside, so much so, wearing the beskar was even more uncomfortable than usual. He had to go see Cara, but suddenly, it was very unsafe for you to be on the ship if Imps were roaming the town looking for you. Thankfully, Nevarro had the perfect hiding spot for you; the covert. Only Din didn’t know how much the other children of the watch would take a liking to you… or you them. But neither of you had any other choice.

So when Din returned to the Crest, with sourberries and one hand and your bounty puck in another, he was mortified to see that neither you nor the child were there. His heart sank into his chest and his movements became erratic as he called your name and searched every crevice. Had they found you already? Had they taken the child? Oh no no no -

On impulse, Din fished into his armoury and grabbed more weapons, including explosives and detonators. He didn’t want this to get messy, but if the Imperials had taken both you and Grogu, there wasn’t a chance he’d go down without a fight. He’d have them begging for mercy. No one gets on the wrong side of Din Djarin.

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hiscyarika · 5 years ago

Text

What Remains

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian and Reader deal with the aftermath of the events on Tython.

Warning(s): Angst, 🚨 SPOILERS FOR 2x06 🚨

A/N: Here’s a very sad, very angsty thing that I wrote to cope with the latest episode. Again, major spoilers for Ch14!!!

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You haven’t spoken a word since Tython.

There’s barbed wire wrapped around your throat. You couldn’t speak if you wanted to, not unless you wanted to release the violent flood of anger and grief that threatens to break loose with each trembling exhale. There’s a vice around your heart and your chest aches with every beat.

They took your son. And all you could do was watch.

You stand in front of the window. Karga had given everyone a place to stay while you plan the rescue mission. But as you look out at the busy streets of Nevarro, your eyes don’t see the vendors calling out to potential customers. You don’t see the kids running around as they play. No, you see Grogu. You see the strange battle droids flying away with him. You see the fear in his eyes as Moff Gideon holds him captive. Din had briefly explained to you once that the Empire had been experimenting on the little one. It makes your stomach churn to think about what they might be doing to him now.

Your eyes slip closed, and you place a hand on the glass, bracing yourself against it. Your chest throbs as Grogu’s fearful cries ring in your ears, a cacophony that feels all too close and real even though it’s all in your head.

The door creaks and you open your eyes. The crying stops and you’re brought back to reality.

You don’t have to turn around to know who has stepped into your room. His footfalls are familiar to you as the beating of your heart and the breath in your lungs. He stops right inside the door, letting it close quietly behind him. His gaze burns into your back, but still you don’t entertain him with the acknowledgement of his presence. Questions and sentiments swirl in the air between you, but none of them are given a voice. The tension of those words left unsaid is palpable.

Din is the first to break the silence, much to your surprise.

“You should try and get some rest,” he suggests quietly. No one else would have caught the strain in his voice, not when it was so expertly hidden by the vocoder, but it’s rare that something like that gets past you anymore.

“Do you really think I can sleep right now?,” you retort. You do your best to restrain your frustration. It won’t do either of you any good to get angry.

Din sighs, deep and heavy. “I’d be more concerned if you could.”

“What did Cara say?,” you ask, hardly leaving a breath between his words and your question.

He steps closer to you, but still you face the window. Somehow you know that the moment you look at him, safe now from prying eyes and listening ears, the façade you’re fighting so hard to keep standing will crumble. “She’s going to help us spring Mayfeld in any way that she can, but as a Marshal, her hands might be tied,” he explains.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip and nod once. “Okay.”

You can feel how close he is now, heat radiating from his body as he stands behind you. It makes every muscle in your body tense. Then, there’s the gentle pressure of his hands on your shoulders. Tears pool in your eyes at the contact, and you hold your head up high to try and keep them at bay. There’s a metallic taste of blood as you bite down harder on your lip. You can’t do this now. You don’t have time to let the flood of emotions drown you.

“We’ll get him back,” Din murmurs.

You bring your hand up to cover his, halfheartedly lacing your fingers together. Silence falls between the two of you again, and the vice around your heart squeezes as you relive the moment Grogu was taken. If you had just stayed there to guard him while Din helped take care of the stormtroopers, maybe you’d have him in your arms now. Maybe you’d be rocking him and humming to him, and the comforting warmth against your shoulder would be his head as he finally closes his eyes to sleep.

And that is the thought is almost enough to bring you to your knees.

You squeeze Din’s hand as hard as you can manage, still trying desperately to hold the shattered pieces of your resolve together. He shifts then, reaching around you to pull the curtains closed. With the sun fallen just below the horizon, the action leaves the two of you plunged in the safety of darkness. Din lets out a breath, carefully turning you around to face him. You’re pliable in his hands, putting up no fight against the movement. You lower your head, your chin falling to your chest and your forehead meeting the cold beskar cuirass.

But Din cradles your face in his gloved hands, lifting your head so that you look up towards the visor of his helmet. “We will,” he says again, softer, but no less insistent.

“If I had just–”

“No. This…,” he falters for a moment, his voice threatening to give out on him. “This is my fault. I should have seen this coming. I should have had the rifle with me. I should have…” The words become rushed and desperate, and as Din begins to tremble, finally giving in to the weight of his own emotions, so do the tears finally escape you.

You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, shaking your head and pulling him closer to you. Your thumbs pull at his cowl, brushing against the skin at the juncture of his neck. Din’s next breath comes in a gasp, and without any warning, he pulls the helmet from his head. It falls to the ground with a deafening metallic ring, and then his arms are around you. At first, he’s gentle, hesitant, but then he pulls you as close as he can get you, determined not to let you go.

You can feel the edges of the beskar digging into your skin, but the sting cannot compete with the sharp pain of your failure. Your arms wrap tightly around Din’s neck, and instinctively he buries his face in your shoulder. There’s hardly a sound between the two of you. The tears are hot and silent and unrelenting. Neither of you speak, because there are no words that can stifle or assuage such acute grief.

You both hold each other tight, because with the kid and the ship gone, everything you have left is right there in your arms.

---

Please send me an ask or a private message if you’d like to be add/removed, or if you change your URL! Those with bolded, struckout names are not appearing for me to tag them!

Permanent Tags: @bestintheparsec @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themangolorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-space-porgs @forever-rogue @hansoulo @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl @phoenixhalliwell @agentmoonshine1 @randomness501 @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @stilllivindue2spite @hdlynn @theocatkov @coonflix @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @wickedfrsgrl @frietiemeloen @liadamerondjarin @pancakefancake @someplace-darker @dontjudgemedude @mistermiraclee @shortof-amarble @kaetastic @chrisbostonevans @mrpascals @f0rever15elf @themandadlorian @din-damn-djarin @knittingqueen13 @oloreaa @hayley-the-comet @seasonschange-butpeopledont @lydiascottage @lv7867 @littlevodika @myguiltypleasures21 @chicken-ona-stick

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader

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hokeytheelf · 4 years ago

Text

Blackinnon, a measured response.

Would update if more discussions comes out. This post is not for a specific person. If the statement doesn’t apply to you, do not take it personally.

If you think Blackinnon is homophobic, think again!

Here are the facts: yes, Blackinnon is fanon. yes, we are a small community. yes, it’s heterosexual. But does that mean we hate queer ships? No.

Some may think, “Marlene Mckinnon is not even a background character, why on earth does people ship it? They must be homophobic.” This may be a little shocking, but accusing someone of being homophobic just based on what they ship is an act of denigration. You’re just putting hate on other people’s mouth to make them your foe, even if they have no intentions to be so.

We can ship blackinnon and wolfstar or dorlene. Some of blackinnon shippers actually believe those can co-exist. So what is the problem? We can ship wolfstar or dorlene and not blackinnon or the other way around. It’s really based on taste and what they’ve read.

Shipping a straight ship is not an act of homophobia, nor does it make you straight. I could be gay or bi and ship blackinnon. It’s not a hard concept to understand.

I know a lot of people who hate blackinnon rant because they have a passion for their own ship, and I don’t blame them. You can ship whatever you want. But is it really necessary to bring other ship down?

If you have the need to rant and hate about a certain ship, make sure you use the anti tag. If you knew about the tag but still refuse to use it, you’re just writing rants to belittle other people in your favor. Doesn’t sound very accepting.

read more about my points on Blackinnon and sexuality from previous discussions here (x)

Seriously, though, WHY do people ship it?

If you genuinely want to know, then ask the person who ship them. I can’t speak on behalf of all the Blackinnon shippers because they ship it for different reasons. Some ship it for their dynamic, from the fanfics they’ve read, from the headcanons, from their view of Marlene, from their view of Sirius and many more.

For me personally, I ship them for two reasons. Their character dynamics throghout almost all the fanfics i read and, because in my mind wolfstar couldn’t work because of Sirius’s insensitivity for Remus throughout the books (i.e. The Prank, him liking the full moon, giving his riches to harry, his suspicion, etc.), and Frankly i think Remus deserves better. Shockingly, that’s just my opinion. And I have no problem with people not agreeing, but that’s what I concluded when I read the books. and the idea of Sirius having someone is nice you know? The flexibility of Marlene’s character is very inviting for everyone because they have their own interpretations.

Someway or another, you should accept that people have different opinions and interpretation. If you think blackinnon is unbelievably bad, then you do you. Doesn’t mean you have to leave a hate-post on their tag, nor should you blame them for shipping stuff they like.

Blackinnon is a very small ship. And if you hate it, you shouldn’t even bother commenting, responding, or ranting. It just makes people defend it, really. Some people love this ship and you’ve gone out of your way to make them feel bad about themselves. Why?

Marlene McKinnon is not even a a proper character

Here are the facts about Marlene McKinnon: Her name means star of the sea, she is a member of the order, her name is mentioned in Lily’s letter to Sirius, Sirius pointed at her in the movies.

A person that we know Sirius is at least acquainted/friends with makes her a blank canvas. As we all know, Sirius has no romance life in canon, so our options are very minimal.

There are people who ship Sirius with Caradoc, Benjy, Dorcas, Mary, Gideon, Fabian, and so much more. There are less hate for them compared to blackinnon and here’s why: Marlene McKinnon seemed to be in the spotlight because she is second to Remus in terms of possible pair for Sirius. That’s it.

Some Blackinnon shippers like blackinon because Marlene is practically a walking OC. She can be whatever you want.

But people tend to focus on the fact that she’s female. Putting that aside, Marlene is an absolute blast to read. Yes, she’s mentioned only a few times, but the whole point of Blackinnon is the possibility. Isn’t that always the case for fanon ships?

Understand the hate towards Blackinnon

When I first dive into Blackinnon years ago, all I see is hate thrown at them. The hate hasn’t stop, whether it’s from private messages or from hate-post.

The conversations I have with fellow Blackinnon shippers usually consist of the same things, “Why don’t they just leave us be?” and till this day I still wonder.

I’ve done my research, and really I wanted the results to be different.

There are many many many ships out there, using incest, pedophilia, or other stuff, and shockingly, it receives less hate from people. Doesn’t that beg the question?

Do people hate it because they simply dislike it or are they hating it because they have biased opinions about other ships. The truth is, (I’m going to unfilter- god protect me from hate messages) Blackinnon received a lot of hate because it’s the opposite of wolfstar. It’s straight. It’s not Remus. The audacity of people shipping Sirius with a person other than Remus! It’s the same argument for Remadora hate. More than 70% (not all ) of the people who hate on blackinnon and remadora, I observe, is from wolfstar shippers. (Yes, I counted it. I am a math god, and in need of a job)

People don’t have as much of a problem for Sirius/Mary, Sirius/Dorcas, Sirius/ Benjy, Sirius/Hermione etc. They have a problem with Blackinnon and Remadora (I wonder why). I’ll say it again, Marlene McKinnon seemed to be in the spotlight because she is second to Remus in terms of possible pair for Sirius.

Hating other ship to make your ship appear better is.... to be honest, understandable. But to tell you the truth, It doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t make me hate my ship. If your intentions on writing hate post is to receive approval from other people, I suggest you search for something else than the topic of hatred.

But, again, if you have the need for the feeling of satisfaction of speaking your opinion of something you passionately hate, then use anti-tag. It’s not so hard.

***CONCLUSION***

At the end of the day we have so much love for these characters, and our biases is only for ourselves. Can’t we just agree that although we love Harry Potter, we can also love different characters throughout the books/movies? There are communities for everything, focus on the community you love, not the community you hate.

If you got offended throughout reading his post, I’m sorry. But let me clear things up, I do not hate wolfstar, queer-ships, etc. I just like blackinnon, as simple as that. This doesn’t prove that I’m straight, or bi, or anything. It’s just what I like. This post is a defense and obviously not a hate-post. What I ask of you is just to leave blackinnon (and remadora) alone. Thank you.

I am doing this measured response so I don’t have to re-write everything every time people leave hate-posts. If you receive this from a link in the comments, thank you for taking the time, and remember that it’s not meant for you specifically. Disclaimer: Do not share this to people in anti tag.

Check out my Ultimate Blackinnon fanfiction masterlist here

#blackinnon #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #sirius black x marlene mckinnon #in defense of #a measured response #sirlene #marlene #sirius #black #i sacrificed myself #please have mercy #what was i thinking #im going to get hated #thats okay #ship whatever you want #how old are you if you still hate for fun #anti hate

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i-am-infinite · 5 years ago

Text

Guilt (Part 1): The Rescue

(Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Fem!Reader)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Slight Chpt 12 and 13 spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Description: Moff Gideon has found someone else to run his experiments on and word gets back to Din. Will he take his son far away and try and find somewhere safe? Or will the guilt of an innocent being put in his son’s place eat away at him? (No Y/N or ___ used)

Word Count: Slightly over 4K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and needles. Broken glass. Fainting. Blood loss. Canon type violence. Possible bad writing (first fic pls go easy on me). If I’m missing anything please let me know, I’ve never done one of these before.

A/N: This is my first fanfic I’ve written so it might be really bad but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here it is. I also made up a planet/system and don’t know if star wars has alarm clocks but i wrote it in anyway. I also wrote this in Word first and then realized I couldn’t copy it over so I tried my best to type it over in here.

Normal. That is what was used to describe your life. Nothing out of the ordinary. Life wasn’t boring per se, but it definitely wasn’t compelling enough for your tastes. Studying to be a healer help keep it somewhat interesting but not enough.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Crust littered eyes creak open as your face unsticks from the textbook scattered across the desk. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Your stiff neck cracks as you finally sit up. Fell asleep studying again. You loved learning about healing, you really did. But the long nights and barely sleeping was enough to make your head explode. Looking over at the clock with bright red numbers blinking at you. 8:15.

8:15! I’m late! You think as you force yourself awake. No not again! Being a student means you need to do hands on hours down at the nearest medcenter. All the late night studying also means that you oversleep most days. Grabbing your work bag filled with a change of clothes, in preparation of these events, you run out the door.

Your feet hit the wet cobble stones as it echos through your little part of the city. Vendors lining up the street ready to start their days. Passing the shop you went to yesterday, your mind too preoccupied to notice that it’s empty today. You know that theres is a faster route to the medcenter, but is it a path you really want to take today? Dark and windy path that you can barely see five feet in front of you on mornings like this. Too foggy and muggy for your liking. You’d rather stick to the main road where there’s people, where if anything were to happen, people would see, they would know. Regardless, it shaves fifteen minutes off your commute. You loathe having to be late for another shift. Making the sharp turn in between tow booths, you pace quickens to get through as quickly as you can. While not having much visibility, you swear you can see a pair of eyes in the dark. Has to just be my imagination, you convince yourself, I just need to keep going. It’ll be fine.

Footsteps echo behind you. Hands grab your shoulders. A scream rises in your throat, but no sound comes out. Everything goes dark when you feel something hit the side of your head.

Sigh. “Grogu get back in your seat.” The little baby waddles down off the controls and into his father’s lap. “Not what I meant,” Din grumbles with a smile hidden under his helmet. He grabs Grogu by his little robe and places him in the seat to his right and tells him to buckle up as a holo comes through from Greef Karga.

“Mando, we’ve just got word that Moff Gideon might have been seen in the Braic system. It looks like they found a substitute for the baby for the time being. I would use this time to go find a hide-out and lay low. He could still come back for the little one. Be well,”

Din goes to start the ship and find coordinates to stay out of trouble for a while when he hears the baby whine. Looking back at his adoptive child, all Din can see is Grogu, then a nameless kid, lying unconscious on a metal table, trapped underneath a contraption. Din starts breathing heavy and feeling sick that he ever gave his son up to those Imps. All he can hear is the beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to. Anger boiling back to the surface as he hears himself yell at the doctor all over again in his memories. No, he tells himself, He’s here with me. He’s fine. He’s safe. He shakes himself out of it and goes to fly the Razor Crest off planet.

Before he even gets off the planet, all Din can think about is that innocent person in his son’s place. They were going to kill Grogu, just for his blood for their experiments. Din can’t bring the kid anywhere near those people, he can’t risk losing his family, not when both of them have formed such attachments to each other. But he can’t stop thinking of this person who is in the that position now. He should’ve made sure Gideon was dead. Because of that now more people are going to get hurt.

Without thinking he turns on his holo already asking, “Where is he taking them?”

Feeling groggy with heavy eyes, you are able to open them just a bit to a blinding light. Reluctantly closing them again, you lift your arm to rub your eyes, but only they don’t move. What? The rest of your senses start coming back and you can feel the cool metal against your back, the same metal wrapped around your wrists and your ankles attached to the table. Finally bracing the light and opening your eyes, lifting your head slightly off the table and oh no the room is spinning now. There is an IV in your arm drawing your blood out into some odd machine, explaining the dizziness. Second time in two days you’ve had to deal with your own blood.

Walking through the shops on your one day off, you pick up a flower hair pin. The glasswork is so intricate and entrancing, you can’t help but turn it over and over in your hands. A pearl bead sitting in the center of iridescent gray and white petals. Placing it back in its place, your had scrapes against another glass design that is not yet finished, slashing open your palm. “Oh, dear let me help you with that,” the lady running the stand says. She looks you with her white hair barely covering her forehead. Tattoos liter her arms. A design peaks your interest as you swear you know but can’t quite place.

“It’s fine, I can take care of it myself,” you state already inspecting your hand. No shards in it so thats good.

“Oh no I insist. It happened at my booth, let me help clean it,” she declares taking your hand in her own. It feels like she squeezes the wound causing you to wince in pain slightly. Knowing she should just be cleaning it and wrapping it, you’re a little confused. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to tend to these sort of things, not wanted to embarrass her at her stand, you keep quiet. She finally gets a clean rag to help blot away at the blood on your hand. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it appears she has put it in a bag to the side.

“I don’t have any gauze to help wrap it up,” the stand lady says.

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty of my own,” you mention, “It will be fine until I make it back to my place.” Smiling you walk away. Without looking, you can feel her move the piece you cut your hand on into the bag. Must just be because it’s a dangerous piece, you think, not knowing there’s still some of your blood on it too.

Closing your eyes again, you try to wonder why that is so significant to you right now. It was a harmless thing in passing, so why is it at the forefront of your mind? You are strapped to a table and all you can think about is that little cut you got the day prior. If your head didn’t feel like it was a spinner top right now, you would have laughed. Opening your eyes again you see men all in white armor and helmets guarding the door to your room, while a man in a white coat is working on the machine where your IV is attached. I thought the empire was dead. The same symbol that keeps going through your mind is the same one sewn into the man’s white coat. Your breathing gets shallower as you feel the panic rise in your chest. I’m never getting out of here, you realize as your vision becomes black once again.

You’re losing a lot of blood. You know that. You can feel it when noise wakes you up and your eyelids feel like lead. All the noise is muffled, as if you’re underwater. Frankly it feels like you are. It would be so easy to let the waves of darkness just wash over you right now, to let the water take you under. No, you can’t give up the fight and drown into unconsciousness just yet. You force yourself to stay awake.

Barely getting your eyes open, bright red lights flood your vision. You imagine you’re still in bed, or at least asleep at your desk, with the alarm clock blaring, not here with blaster fire. Wait, blaster fire? You attempt to turn your head to the side to look, or to dodge, you aren’t to sure in your current state. The fast action causes you to feel like you’re spinning, or it might be the room, either way your eyes can’t focus on what is going on. Closing your eyes again to make it stop, you hear voices surrounding you. They sound so far away at the moment but finally, after what feels like ages, one voice sounds clearer.

“Please help us. Help us get out of here. Her m-counts aren’t nearly as high as the child’s. They’re demanding more blood. She’s already lost 2 liters, I don’t know how much longer she can last.”

Child? They wanted to do this to a child? You’d choke down a sob if you could just thinking of that poor baby. What did he even say about what-counts? What the hell are those? All these questions are making your head spin more and more. Taking most of your energy to open your eyes, you’re met with a chrome stormtrooper trying to unbind you. Wait no, not a stormtrooper. You’ve heard stories about him and his people. What were they called? For the life of you, you can’t remember right now.

“You’re going to need help getting her out of here,” you realize that the man in the whit coat was the one who spoke before and is now pleading with the metal man, “Please Mandalorian take me with you and I’ll help you get her out of here.”

That’s it. He’s a Mandalorian. He gets your wrists free as the doctor takes the IV out. Pushing off the table to sit up, the world starts spinning again. You don’t even realize you’re about to hit the table again until the Mandalorian grabs your shoulders to keep you semi-upright. You hear some sort of static come from his helmet. “Fine.” he grumbles, “help me get her out of this thing.”

With a flip of a switch, the rest of your body is free from restraints. Eager to get out of there, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, hands finding the arms of the Mandalorian with his hands still on your shoulders. Nauseous and woozy, you try to use the cold metal of his pauldron to ground yourself, to get the room to stop spinning. He can see you start to sway and wraps his arms around your waist as he lowers you from the table. Your feet hit the floor and black dots start to cloud your vision. Blood pounding in your ears trying to tell you to stop and lie back down. Muffled voices come from beside you again as you feel another arm wrap around you from the other side. Your feet dragging against the floor as both men on either side of you go towards the door.

You feel the heavily armored man to your left let go. Eyes that are still fuzzy and unfocused sort of see him peak out the door with his blaster drawn. He leaves the room and all that can be heard is the pew pew pew of blaster fire. Vision start to come back the tiniest bit, you can see him standing in the door way waving his hand as to say Come on.

The three of you hurry as fast as you can down the corridor to get to an exit. Lots of twists and turns, just for you all to come up at a dead end. So much for rescuing, you think to yourself as the doctor still holding you up, leans you up against a pillar as the two of them survey the situation. More of the Mandalorian assessing the situation and the doctor just frantically pacing back and forth.

Sitting down now that the adrenaline of being kidnapped and “rescued” die down, you feel your breathing getting shallower and harder to breath. Eyelids getting heavy again. You just want to lay down and go to sleep, hoping that will fix things. Starting your descent from your upright position to close your eyes, two hands grab your shoulders and jerk you up. It takes a second to realize this modulated voice was talking you you. “Hey, you got to stay with me now,” he pleads, one hand going to the side of your face. Pain spreads across your features due to being struck there earlier, a bruise starting to form in its place. Pulling his hand away like seeing the your face contorted burned him, he continues, “I’m going to get you out of here, you just have to stay awake.” You open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels like it’s filled with sand from Tattooine, so you just weakly nod your head yes. “Okay good,” the shiny man says after letting out a deep breath.

Still holding your shoulders, he helps you stand up and tells the doctor to take you and go further down the hall. Taking something small and circular out of his belt and placing it on the far wall, he speed walks back toward you two. It starts blinking red as his arms come and cage both of you in. Peeking over his shoulder, you see the wall disappear. Well explode, but one second ago it was there and now it’s not. When the explosion first rings in your ears, you reflexively reach out for the Mandalorian’s arm and feel him tense under your touch.

When he deems it safe to move again, letting go of his arm, he hops over the rubble to the outside world, blaster drawn. Looking out you think it looks like a desert, but one you’ve never seen before. You have no idea where you are, even what planet you are on. You eyes go to where the chrome man is stalking towards. It seems he found two speeder bikes that the troopers use, sans the troopers. Your feet hit the gravel and you realize you aren’t wearing shoes anymore. How long was I out? You begin to question when you see a stormtrooper take aim at your rescuer. Right when he pulls the trigger, you reach your hand out and scream, “NO!”

You could’ve sworn it was going to hit him. It should’ve hit him. But at the last second it bent and went in another direction. You knew stormtroopers were bad shots, but nothing like that has ever happened. The Mandalorian whips around at your scream and shoots the trooper down. He goes back to what he originally planned to do, but not without turning to you. You see his chest plate heave up and down a few times before turning back around. After a beat, the only sound you can hear is the Mandalorian starting up the speeders and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The doctor helps guide you to the bikes and as you’re about to get on behind him, the Mandalorian picks you up bridal style and sits on his own respective bike. You make a noise of discontent at the sudden action and are then seated in front of him, yet again caged in by his arms with your legs draped over one of his. You can hear him breathing through the modulator as he states, “Just in case you pass out again. Can’t have you falling off the back of the bike.” You go to adjust how you are sitting when he takes off.

Gasping in shock, you hug your arms around his neck with you head in his cowl as you take panicked breaths. His hand touches your back as you hear him shout over the noise of the engines, “Put your legs around me, you’re slipping off.” He holds your waist as you sling your right leg around and hook it with your left one behind his back. Not the position you thought you’d end up in as a blush creeps up on your face, but neither the less here you are. His hand lets go of your waist and back to the handlebars as he steers.

Suddenly getting the feeling like you’re being followed, you say into his neck cowl, “Go left!” You don’t know why, but you just get a gut feeling to go that way. He follows your lead, not without a brief hesitation. The doctor follows on his speeder in the same direction. Finally looking up you see two stormtroopers in the distance. I wish their speeders would just stop or something, you plead with yourself and you think back to what happened with the blaster. Testing the waters, you unhook one of your hands from Mando’s neck and hold it out and... nothing. Okay focus, you close your eyes and picture their speeders stopping, or malfunctioning, or anything at this point.

The sound of a crash comes ringing into your ears. Opening your eyes, you can see the troopers flip over their handlebars as if their engines just died. You slightly chuckle to yourself as your eyelids feel heavy again. You try to get them to stay open, but sleep just feels so much better at the moment. And with that, you’re out like a light.

Din feels you go limp against him. His arm once again going to grab you by your waist to keep you in place. He wills his speeder to go faster, to get back to the Razor Crest sooner as he’s panicking thinking he somehow made the situation worse. He exposed you on the bike by having you sit like this. Your arms, legs, and head were all exposed to possible blaster fire. Have you been hit? He heard a crash but couldn’t look back without moving you more, risking leaving you more unprotected. His blame for himself spirals as his grip on you grows tighter. He can’t explain why he’s so distraught over a stranger, but still every time he blinks, he swears he sees back on that table. The next time he swears he sees his son on that very table again. First he gave the kid up to those people, now he didn’t finish Gideon off and let you, an innocent stranger who he is now clutching onto for dear life, get in the crossfire. Too many people have gotten hurt because of this. Because of him. He needs to make it right.

Finally Din and Dr. Pershing arrive at the Razor Crest where Din is already lowering the hatch and carrying you in. Kicking some crates together, he gently lowers you down onto this makeshift bed. He uses his thermal setting to see your body temperature, to see how you are recovering from the blood loss. He isn’t thrilled to see it still low, you were getting your energy back slowly before, along with more body heat, bit not enough to Din’s liking. Turning his helmet to Pershing, the doctor says, “She’s going to need more blood.” Din, already standing ready to run out and get some, not even knowing where or how to do that, is stopped by Pershing telling him that he’ll go get it, that it would look less suspicious. Agreeing, Din sits by your side while using his comm-link to tell Greef that he could bring Grogu back to the ship. How Din always finds someone to babysit still surprises him.

You wake up with a start. Eyes not yet adjusted to the lights overhead. Looking down you can see an IV in your arm again. Now towards the side, you can see the same doctor from before asleep up against a wall. Please tell me it wasn’t a dream, tears well up in your eyes as you think you’ve made the whole thing up to cope. It wasn’t until you felt your hand come to wipe away your watery eyes that you realized it just might not be a dream. The IV isn’t taking blood this time, it’s giving it.

Finally looking around, you realize you’re on a ship that feels like it’s moving. Confused by this, you try and sit up. Not nearly as dizzy as before, you slowly swing your legs off the wooden crates you’re lying on. Noticing your still barefoot as a chill gets sent up to your spine by the cold metal floor, you grab your IV bag off what appears to be just a hook poorly attached to the ceiling. You venture around the small area of the ship, noticing there isn’t a lot besides these boxes and what appears to be two storage type of units. You don’t even tempt to look in, too intrusive. You do however see a ladder going higher up on the ship. Taking the IV out and ripping a piece of your shirt off to wrap around your arm for pressure, so you can use both hands to climb, you start your ascent up.

Once you finally reach the top, you hear cooing? Didn’t that doctor say something about a child earlier? Looking forward into the cockpit, you see your savior flying while looking to his right at one of the co-pilot chairs. Clearing your throat to get his attention, two little eyes peer at you from the seat. A bright smile appears on this little green things face and you can’t help but stifle a laugh because its ears are the size of his body.

Distracted by this cute baby, you don’t notice the way the Mandalorian swivels his chair to face you. Finally looking at the man who saved you today, your breath hitches. You don’t know how to thank him for what he did, so you sort of just stand and stare for a second. He stands up and lightly grabs your arm with your homemade bandage on it. Tilting his helmet to the side you hear static coming from it. Did he just sigh at you? “You were supposed to keep it in your arm,” he finally states, with a tinge of annoyance.

Eyes not wanting to meet the T of his visor, you direct your gaze to the ground. “ I jus- I-,” you stammer, not able to find the right words. “Thank you.” It comes out more hushed than you’d like, but he still hears you. He just gives you a slight nod before releasing his arm and heading back to his seat. All your muscles turn to stone as you stand there not knowing if you should leave or not, until he cocks his head towards the seat to his left. On shaky legs you find your way to the seat. Before even sitting down fully, the little green child is already trying to get into your lap. Giggling to yourself you let him up onto your lap.

Once you do the strangest thing happens. You can feel what he’s thinking, his emotions, his past. How he was trained with the special abilities, much like the ones you just displayed before. How he was scared and in hiding until the man sitting in front of you found him. How he thinks of him as a father, his dad. Your chest tightens at that one. Still confused as to why the same people who wanted this child, Grogu, for his powers, also wanted you, you pull him to your chest to comfort you both. You finally speak up again and ask, “Did they want me because I might have the same abilities as this one?” You meant it to sound strong, but it just came out sounding weak.

Without looking at you, the Mandalorian replies shortly after a pause, “Yes.” You swore you can see his grip tighten on the ships steering as he says that. Turning to the two of you finally, he says in the sincerest voice you’ve heard out of him, “They wont get to either of you again. I can promise you that.” Your chest swells at this statement and Grogu looks up at you with a smile as if he felt the way your heart fluttered. You wish you were the one wearing the helmet right now because you can feel your cheeks heat up. To ease the situation in the best way you can, awkwardly, you clear your throat before asking, “So where are we headed now?”

Swiveling back in his chair to hit a few buttons, you’re confused not knowing what they are supposed to do until he pulls up a map and points a place out. He tells you that he’s going to drop off Dr. Pershing at one of the squiggles you see and then try and figure it out from there. “So, I guess thats where I get off too?” You meant it to come out more as a statement than a question, but after what you just went through, you’d rather not be left to fend for youself.

“If that’s what you want,” he finally utters after a while. “ But they’re not going to stop coming after you. Either of you. It might be safer for you to stay here with me, us.” The last part comes out so quiet, it’s almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, out of fear of your response.

Trying to not answer too quickly, you take a deep breath and finally say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.” With a curt nod, he turns back around. Warmth fills your chest yet again at this stranger’s kindness. It’s just because I have the same abilities as his child, you try to convince yourself. But deep down you’re hoping it’s more than that. The child in your lap grips your fingers tightly and coos, as if he’s trying to tell you your hopes might not be too far off.

Oh, it’s going to be an interesting adventure with these two, you smile to yourself.

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fanfoolishness · 5 years ago

Text

Finding the Way (The Mandalorian)

(Cara Dune & Din Djarin. After the events of The Rescue, Din Djarin could use a friend. Cara Dune doesn’t know what it means to be a Mandalorian, but some things are universal. Friendship, angst, alcohol, religious questioning. ~2400 words.)

***

She found Din Djarin alone, after the Jedi left with the child.

Cara wasn’t sure exactly when he’d slipped away from the bridge; there’d been a lot happening. Bo-Katan and Kosca had been deep in conversation about their next destination, Fennec was pinging Boba to set up a rendezvous, and she’d busied herself with gagging the unconscious Moff and stowing him away in a corner with extra restraints. The bastard had a lot to answer for.

In all that, though, she hadn’t wanted to look at the Mandalorian without his helmet. It had felt too private, too close, to watch his goodbye with the kid. Once the Jedi left, it seemed he’d taken advantage of her inattention.

Without a ship, though, he hadn’t gone far. He’d only been missing for fifteen minutes or so when she realized and started searching for him on the security console. She gave a hasty request for the others to watch the Moff -- not as if Bo-Katan would let him try anything else -- and took the lift downstairs.

She found him the next floor down from the bridge, inside the officers’ mess. The half-opened door was scored with blaster fire; likely Din’s work when the doors wouldn’t open for him. She peered in through the half-opened door, glancing away when she saw his mussed brown hair, a glimpse of his face. She still wasn’t used to it, and still wasn’t sure if it was okay for her to see him like this.

“It’s me,” she called, rapping on the door with her knuckles. Surprising a Mandalorian was a surefire way to an early grave. “Can I come in?”

His voice sounded strange without the mechanical filter. Human. Almost small. “Do what you want.”

That was encouraging, at least. He wasn’t kicking her out entirely.

She entered the room, rolling her eyes at Imperial waste. Real wood paneling lined the walls, and instead of the spartan standard issue bench tables in the rank-and-file’s mess, individual tables with sleek surfaces and cushioned chairs dotted the room. Gideon himself must have taken meals here.

Din sat at the bar at the back of the room. There was a half-drunk cup of liquor beside him, his helmet resting next to it, its visor turned away from him.

“So… you okay?” Cara hazarded, taking the seat beside him. It looked like he’d made a decent dent in a slim bottle of aged Corellian whiskey. Only the best for the officers, of course. This stuff went for big credits in the Core, enough so that she’d never tasted it herself.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t look at her. He just stared straight ahead at the wall, brown eyes fixed on nothing in particular. From the corner of her eye she could see the color of his face seemed off, red and blotchy in places. Hell. He’d been crying.

Her stomach twisted. “Look… I’m sorry about the kid. I know that had to be hard.”

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “Grogu.”

“Sorry?”

“I found another Jedi a few weeks back. She said she couldn’t train him, but she was able to talk to him, mind to mind. He told her about his life before I found him. His name is Grogu.”

“Huh. Grogu.” She chuckled. “It’s cute. Suits him.”

A slight dip of his head, angled toward her. He was very still. She could see a muscle in his cheek twitching.

Blast. She was no good at this crap. She fished around for something to say, something that could help. Maybe she could get him to talk; listening might be easier. “You’re sure you’re fine? Because you don’t look fine.”

“I needed to help him find a Jedi,” Din said hoarsely. “I did what I was tasked to do. This is the W—“

But he cut himself off, turning his face away from her. His whole head moved to the side to shift his gaze, remnants of long years wearing a helmet. Every martial style had its tells, and she could see the differences between the ways Bo-Katan and Koska moved, and how the man beside her moved and battled. He was different from them, in fundamental ways, but she wasn’t sure why they could remove their helmets and he couldn’t. Until he did.

Cara shook her head. Think of something helpful. You can do this. “He’s gonna be okay, you know,” she said suddenly. “I know who that was. We droppers heard rumors during the war that a powerful Jedi took out the Emperor on Endor. It has to be him. Skywalker. What other Jedi would fly in here in an X-Wing?”

“Good,” said Din. He still wouldn’t look at her. “So the Imps will never take him again.”

“I’d like to see them try. I never knew a Jedi could do that,” said Cara. She’d heard stories, of course, but stories were one thing. Proof was another. “I’m just glad he was on our side.”

Din turned back to facing forward, jaw tensed. He nodded, a tight gesture that somehow seemed too broad for him. Without the helmet, it was disconcerting to see emotions popping up on his face, vanishing as quickly as they came -- sorrow, pain, shame. It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so hard to look at. Live your life in a helmet, guess you never have to learn to control your face.

She took a guess at the emotion that flicked past, marked in the set of his eyes, the downturned lines at his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Maybe,” he said, and his gloved hands clenched on the table surface. He reached out and took a drink.

“I didn’t know you drank,” she said.

“I don’t.” His throat worked as he swallowed and drained the glass.

Oh. “Right.”

She reached out and took the bottle from him, pulling back a long slug on it. It burned, clean and fierce, but it was strong stuff. No wonder it sold for the price it did; she was surprised he wasn’t slurring already. “Be careful with this stuff, then. It’s not for lightweights.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, then lapsed again into quiet.

Like talking to a durasteel wall, she thought. “Look, I wanted to make sure you were okay. That was rough up there. I just -- if you want to talk about it, or something, I can listen.” She leaned back in her chair, taking another drink of whiskey. It seared. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

He turned toward her, canting his whole head instead of just moving his eyes. There it was again, the tell that he’d lived in his helmet for a long, long time. He took a deep breath, but he still couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“I know he has to do this. I can’t teach him, not the way he needs. I have -- I had to let him go,” he said. The words sounded well-practiced, like he’d said them many times before.

“I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She tried a small smile, though her eyes watered suddenly. “He -- Grogu -- he was crazy about you, you know?”

A slight shrug, shoulders scarcely moving.

“Well, he was. Looked up to you like anything. You guys have a bond.”

“I did what I could for him,” said Din, closing his eyes. “I hope it’s enough.”

“It is,” said Cara fiercely. “You loved him, man. No kid could ask for more than that.”

He was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, she could see that they were damp.

She swallowed, took another drink, unsure of what to say. The quiet filled the space around them, a weighty, crushing thing.

Eventually she forced herself to speak again, casting around for something to say. “So…. They’re making arrangements upstairs. We’ll be rendezvousing with Fett soon, but you’re always welcome on Nevarro, too. Greef was heartbroken when I told him the Imps had the kid again, so I know he’d want to help you now. Have you thought about where you want to go?”

“I don’t know.” He turned away again, shoulders squaring beneath his armor.

“Well, if you don’t want to stay planetside for a while, it sounds like those other Mandalorians want your help. Honestly, if anyone could take back Mandalore, I’d put even credits on them. And on you. Dank farrik, you even have that sword now.”

“I don’t want it,” he bit out.

“Yeah, I heard. But you have it. May as well use it, right? Why give up a tactical advantage?” asked Cara. “Sounds like it belongs in the hands of a Mandalorian anyway.”

“All the more reason for me not to wield it,” said Din, and there was something sour, something wrong, in the way his face twisted.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows. “What? Wait. Are you saying —“

“I broke the Creed. I showed my face,” he said, his voice cracking. “I had a choice, and this is what I chose. I am no longer worthy of my beskar.”

Cara tried wrapping her mind around it, remembered dragging him in from the battlefield, his blood hot and slick on her hand, the panic in his voice when she tried to remove his helmet to save his life. “You chose to show your face to your child who needed you. You did the right thing for you both.” It didn’t make sense to her. “I thought your people wanted to help foundlings. Well, you helped him!”

“It is forbidden,” he forced out.

“You’re still a Mandalorian—”

Anger, grief, pain, rapid-fire flashes in his eyes and face, every muscle tensing for battle. “You have never sworn the Creed. You know nothing about it!”

She bristled, fighting the urge to say something harsh, or worse, throw a punch at him to knock the sense back into him. Beside her he was breathing harder, chest visibly rising and falling rapidly. She bit her lip.

“Okay, okay, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be a Mandalorian,” Cara admitted sharply, lifting her hands to calm him. “But I do know what it’s like to turn away from something you spent your whole life believing. Alderaan had no army, remember?”

He breathed a little slower. The flush of red in his face receded. “You never told me why you became a soldier. I assumed, after what happened --”

Her mouth twisted. “Close, but not exactly. I started seeing what my people couldn’t, before it happened. The Empire was rising and people were dying. Diplomacy stopped working a long time ago. When I told my family I had to fight, even if that meant killing, they turned their backs on me.”

“They were blind,” said Din. “The Imps weren’t going to stop expanding with peaceful protest.”

“Maybe,” she said. This was the hard part. The part that had taken her years to understand, that she was still trying to figure out. “I think now… we wanted the same thing. We just saw different paths to peace. They thought pacifism was the way. I saw the Empire killing people, terrorizing them, and that wasn’t peace. I had to fight for peace to even begin to exist.” She wiped her cheek, fingertips brushing over the tattooed Tear. “So I was offworld, trying to become a new recruit, when the Empire showed Alderaan what they thought about peaceful resistance.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a tight, painful smile. “But the thing is, Mando, I’m still Alderaanian. No one can take that away from me but me. Not the Empire, not my family, not the royal house of Alderaan. Even if my family didn’t understand why I did what I did, I knew I was fighting to bring peace. That’s what makes me Alderaanian.” No matter what.

He gazed at the beskar helmet, shining beneath the overhead lights. Its black visor was an empty void, disconnected from its bearer.

She let out a bark of a laugh, blinking away tears. “I don’t know, man. It’s your life. Your Way. But if your Way won’t let you show your face to your own kid when he needs you, maybe some of those rules should change. If you still feel like a Mandalorian, I think that’s what makes you one, and not what anybody else says.”

He closed his eyes, hanging his head slightly. He shifted in his seat with a small clink, one armored arm now resting against his helmet. “I don’t know what I am now.”

Cara took another drink from the bottle, finishing the last of the whiskey. “We’ve got two women up there who’d kill you in a heartbeat if you said they weren’t Mandalorian, and they show their faces clear as day.” She shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them about some of this stuff. You could put it together with the old Way and make something new, something that feels right. But for what it’s worth, Mando… you’ll always be a Mandalorian in my eyes.” She clapped a hand over his shoulder, the beskar cool beneath her palm.

“It’s not --” He struggled, mouth thinning, before he let out a long breath. “That’s very kind,” he said slowly. He turned his head to look at her at last, searching her face. He looked strangely vulnerable like this, far more so than he had dying in the dust of Nevarro.

She nodded, attempting to smile, her mouth not quite getting there. “Well, it’s true.”

His face shifted into uncertainty. “Perhaps the Way of the Mandalore is not… the only way to be a Mandalorian.” He looked down at his helmet and swallowed. “I’ll speak with the others, at least.”

“It’ll take time,” Cara said softly. “You don’t have to figure it out right away. Just… maybe hang on to your armor for a while, that’s all.”

He was quiet. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Sure,” Cara said, nudging him with her shoulder and giving him a quick smile. “Any time. After all, what are friends for?” She leaned over the counter, pulling down another bottle of Corellian whiskey and grabbing an empty glass. “What do you say to a toast?”

A dry chuckle. “Sure. You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right. I’ve never done this before.”

“I think you’ll get the idea.” She poured them each a glass, and raised hers high until it caught the light. “To Grogu.”

The edges of his mouth turned up, just slightly. Just enough. He raised his glass to clink to hers, his brown eyes bright, his voice warm. “To Grogu.”

The whiskey burned in her throat, clean and pure. To finding the Way.

#the mandalorian #cara dune #carasynthia dune #din djarin #noromo mando #star wars #the child #grogu #my mando fic

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asmywhimseytakesme · 4 years ago

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As promised, here is a list of my favorite tropes in fiction. I may continue to refine this over time.

Note, I am not pulling these from a website, I’m writing these up myself. There may be a page on tv tropes for all or most of these, but I’m trying to articulate to myself what I like and why I like it, so I’m naming my own tropes and writing descriptions that are specific to my own taste. I’m also including a short list of examples for each.

Needless to say, if you know of a book or show that includes some of these tropes (the more the better) and it isn’t mentioned here—PLEASE TELL ME. And of course, these are just my preferences and opinions—if you disagree, that’s fine, we just don’t like the same things 😁

These are organized loosely by category—character tropes, relationship tropes, and plot tropes.

Under a cut so people who aren’t that interested in my specific tastes don’t have to scroll forever.

Character Tropes

Mastermind—

An extremely clever and competent character who reads people, pulls strings, and often has a grand scheme the other characters are unaware of. Usually a good guy (at least my favorites tend to be), but doesn’t have to be.

Eugenides (Queens Thief), Miles Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Peaceable Sherwood (the Sherwood Ring), Lord Peter Wimsey (the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries) Sir Percy Blakeney (the Scarlet Pimpernel), Sherlock Holmes

Note: all the above examples are male characters, but I don’t consider this a gender specific trope. I would love recommendations of female characters who fit this trope.

Not Just A Soldier / Not Just A Mom

I originally had these listed as two tropes, and then realized that they were just inverses of each other. They each have to do with fulfilling gender stereotypes in some ways, while subverting or transcending them in others.

For a male character in the genres I read, Not Just A Soldier is typically a fighter of some kind, and really good at it. Basically, on the surface he appears to be a very Masculine Male Manly Man. But! It turns out he is also just a really nice guy. And not only that—he’s smart, and he’s good with kids!

On the flip side, Not Just a Mom seems at first glance to be your typical motherly feminine character. But! That isn’t her entire personality! She also has a (not particularly feminine) career and hobbies outside of parenting, and she is confident and competent doing those things—AND (this is important) those non-mothering things she is good at are essential to the plot. (This tends to be less of an issue that needs to be specified with male characters, grumblegrumble.)

So on both sides, we have a character who is fulfilling gender stereotypes on one hand, but subverting them on the other.

Not Just A Soldier examples: Costis (Queen's Thief), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Cazaril (the Curse of Chalion), Uncle Iroh (ATLA)

Not Just A Mom examples: Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels), Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan and Ekaterin Vorsoisson Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), Katara (ATLA)

Adventurous Parent

A parent who continues to be cool and have adventures and stay involved in the plot even after becoming a parent (a GOOD parent, of course).

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian), Dr Mensah (Murderbot Diaries), Hera Syndulla (Star Wars Rebels—-we’ll see if this holds true now that she actually has her own biological child?? Assuming she’ll show up in future Star Wars projects—I’m hoping to see her in the Ahsoka series🤞)

Reluctant Ruler

It seems like many bad guys would kill to be king—and many good guys would really, REALLY rather not be in charge, thanks. But when a good guy is forced by circumstances beyond their control into becoming a ruler, and they decide that they might as well try to do a good job at it, and then THEY ACTUALLY DO—this trip has my whole heart.

Maia Drazar (The Goblin Emperor—this book is basically the perfect example of this trope and I love it SO MUCH), Eugenides (Queen’s Thief), Sophos (Queens Thief), Aral Vorkosigan (Vorkosigan Saga), And hopefully Din Djarin in Mandalorian season 3? OH PLEASE YES I NEED THIS.

Broken, but loved

The name basically says it—these are characters who believed themselves broken, heartless, and unlovable, but others chose to love them anyway. It’s important to note that they are NOT “saved by love”, but they do CHOOSE to try and be better because of love.

This trope just GETS ME EVERY TIME GUYS. It makes my heart hurt in the most joyful way.

Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries), Attolia (Queens Thief), Zuko (ATLA), Medraut (the Winter Prince)

Friend Indeed

This is a simple one—a character who befriends someone who is in the middle of a difficult situation, when it would be much easier to just keep their distance.

Ratthi (Murderbot Diaries), Csevet (The Goblin Emperor), Kuill (the Mandalorian)

Magic Schmagic

The character in a fantastical story who can’t do magic, doesn’t know about magic, and doesn’t WANT to. They just wanna carry on being their own non magical, mundane selves and we love them for it.

Sokka (ATLA), Din Djarin (the Mandalorian), Digger (Digger), Gideon (Gideon the Ninth)

Relationship tropes:

Found Family

Ok, this is a popular one so don’t think I need to explain it. Since these often involve large groups of characters, I’m just going to list a few of my favorite pieces of media where this trope features prominently.

Star Wars Rebels, the Mandalorian, Digger, Murderbot Diaries

Reluctant Friendship

Where two characters are thrown together and one or both doesn’t particularly want to be friends with the other, but as they move through the adventure together they gradually come to like each other and form a friendship.

I also love the romance side of this trope but I’m just as happy to read about a platonic relationship.

Ben and Nathaniel (This Was Our Pact), Kaidu and Rat (The Nameless City), Kamet and Costis (Queen’s Thief), Digger and Shadowchild (Digger),

Magical Animal Sidekick

A character who forms a deep personal bond with a magical creature. It doesn’t have to be an actual creature—in a sci-fi setting this could also be a sentient robot or ship.

Temeraire and Laurence (His Majesty’s Dragon), Ani and Falada (Goose Girl), Murderbot and Art (Murderbot Diaries), Ezra and the Loth Wolves (Star Wars Rebels)

Prose/plot tropes:

It’s Complicated

Related to the Mastermind character trope, the distinction here is that this is a plot that wasn’t manipulated by a single character intentionally, rather it’s a complex series of interactions and misunderstandings that are all revealed to be interconnected in the end.

The Court Jester, Howl’s Moving Castle, To Say Nothing of the Dog, Digger

Sarcastic, Witty, and/or Colloquial narration

The name says it all. I usually prefer this in 1st person, but it can be fun in 3rd person too. In 3rd person it might be the narrator who is witty, or it might just be the main character's thoughts that are witty as related by the narrator.

1st person— The Thief, Murderbot, Digger, Dragonhaven

3rd person—Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Gideon the Ninth

Written For You

First person narratives are interesting and tricky because there is the question of WHY narrator is telling the story, and who they intend it for. I love first person stories where the narrative is specifically addressed to a person or group, which adds a level of meaning to the story. This isn’t the same as a story told in diaries or letters (though that can be fun too).

The Thief and A Conspiracy of Kings, the Winter Prince, All Systems Red, Dragonhaven

The juxtaposition of Magic and Mundane

I deeply love stories that mix magical things with mundane details of life in a deliberate way. I feel this makes real life feel a bit more magical, and helps magic feel a bit more real. This juxtaposition can be a central idea of the plot, or might simply be present in the way a narrator describes things.

This may be my favorite trope of all, come to think of it (though there are a lot of great ones listed above, so maybe I shouldn’t start naming favorites…) most of my own story ideas center on this idea to one degree or another.

Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, His Majesty’s Dragon, Digger, Hilda, Queens Thief, Dragonhaven

Tropes I would like to see less of: prophecies, hereditary magic, a Chosen One, Soul Mates, fate/destiny. Yes, many of the stories I love involve these tropes, they’re hard to get away from in the genres I prefer to read. These tropes are Iess exciting to me first off because they’re done so often, but there’s a bigger reason I’d like to see less of them, which has to do with characters agency. I’m much more interested in a story that is about a character who CHOOSES to do the right thing, not because they were Chosen, but because they CHOOSE themselves to do the right thing. In the same vein, characters who CHOOSE to build and maintain a relationship are so much more interesting and, frankly, romantic to me than people who are just meant for each other BECAUSE FATE OK. Just.... no. People making tough choices because it’s the right thing to do makes for a much better story (aim my opinion) than people who do the right thing because DESTINY. So the overall theme here is, more character agency! (And as I said above—if you disagree, that’s fine! This is just me listing my preferences and opinions.)

If you read all that—wow! To all those who made it this far, thanks, and if you have any book/show recommendations that involve these tropes, please tell me about them!!

#tropes i like #personal #on writing #on reading #book recommendations #queens thief #the mandalorian #star wars #murderbot diaries #digger comic #studio ghibli #hmc #atla #howls moving castle #vorkosigan saga #and uuiuuh a bunch more but those are the main ones

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barnes-dameron · 4 years ago

Note

Hi there!! About requests - someone has already asked but another part of as strong as the force would be so GOOD

Reaching Out

Summary: After being away from you and the Child, the Mandalorian misses the two most important people in his life.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Gender neutral reader, usual with this story. Fluffy angst, and pining Mando. Catch up here --> Balance, As Strong as the Force

***

There was a point in Din’s life where he was used to being alone. There were times in his life where the only sound that filled the Razor Crest was the hum of the machinery, and he was content with that. But all that changed when you and the kid came along. He has grown used to Grogu’s constant cooing, or your soft humming when you thought you were alone. He longed for the times when he would find you fast asleep in either his bunk or in the passenger’s seat in the cockpit. But that was in the past. His ship was destroyed, and you and the kid were somewhere far from him.

It wasn’t the new found responsibility of being the leader of Mandalore that weighed him down. It wasn’t that, rather the loneliness. A part of him thought it would be easy to revert back to his old ways, but then Din realized that he doesn’t know how long it will be until he hears your laugh again or see Grogu’s dark eyes. There was a moment that Din entertained the thought of ruling Mandalore with you by his side. If there was no way for him to give the throne to Bo Katan, he thought he could take on this challenge. But of course, he only thought this with the implication that you were with him.

Upon meeting you, Din uncovered this newfound strength, as if he could take on anything that could face him. With you, he could let down the walls that he has built throughout the years. With you, he could be vulnerable with. But now with you gone, Din didn’t know what to do. There were times he couldn’t sleep without hearing your gentle breathing next to him. Sometimes he couldn’t eat, all food lost its taste. Everything seemed duller.

He loved you, there was no question about it. But he had to let you go. He knew that you would come back, but the wait is what was killing Din. He knew nothing of this Jedi way. How long will it take to train you? Will you come back with Grogu? Are you going to be different from when you left? Will you stop loving him?

Din tried his best to remember the details of your face, something he tried to memorize from the moment he met you: your brilliant smile, the bright color of your eyes, the softness of your lips. He remembered the tears shining in your eyes when you said your goodbye, the slight quiver in your voice, the feel of your hands on his face. He took off his helmet, being the only person around, taking a deep breath. Din couldn’t help but close his eyes, your face appearing behind his closed lids.

He saw your beaming face, the sun making your features glow from the first time he met you on Tatooine. The memory was so vivid it was like you were there in front of him. It was strange to Din, because in some way, he felt as if you were there, physically with him. Din kept his eyes closed, relishing in this feeling and not wanting it to slip away from his fingers. His face flinched a bit when he felt something touch his cheek. However, the touch was familiar. It was your touch, your gentle caress. Din’s heart began to quicken, and his eyes flew open.

He looked around frantically, trying to see any indication that you were there with him. But then his heart sank when the realization flooded through him. Din shut his eyes again, but was instead met with darkness instead of your face. He cursed himself for getting too excited, and losing the one time that he felt so close to you since your departure.

***

You kept your eyes closed, squeezing them harder as you tried again to reach out to him. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been away from the Mandalorian. You hoped he was okay; that Gideon was put away, and he figured out the whole Mandalore situation.

Every passing day, your heart ached for the man who is so far from you. Grogu has been a little restless as well, but you were there to comfort him and ease his mind the best way possible. You were happy to be with him, Grogu was the closest thing you had to Mando, and at least you both could miss the beskar clad warrior together.

You’ve been training hard each day with Luke, trying your best to master these abilities as fast as possible to return to your love. But some skills were easier than others. You’ve heard that it takes years for a Jedi to become a Master, and the thought of that nearly tore you down. But nevertheless, you calmed your mind. This situation isn’t permanent. Someday you all will be together again. You will be a family again: two Jedi and a Mandalorian.

However, the longing that you felt in your heart was unbearable at times. You sat down on the ground, crossing your legs and resting your pinched fingers on your knees. Closing your eyes and clearing your head, you reached out through the Force, searching for the man who held your heart. You couldn’t help but feel excited when you finally reached him.

His face appeared before yours; no helmet, just him. His eyes were sad, his hair disheveled, and the stubble on his cheek a bit longer than from the last time you have seen him. You smiled, finally seeing him after such a long time. You reached out, running your fingers along his cheek and even feeling the tiny hairs tickling your fingertips. You wanted this moment to last, but it was over in a second. Instead of seeing Mando’s face, you were met with inky darkness.

You calmed your breathing, trying to prevent your heart from racing. Deep breath in, deep breath out, you chanted a message within your mind, projecting it so in hopes that it could reach the Mandalorian. That’s all you wanted to do; to communicate and feel as close to him as possible.

***

Din let out a huff, and leaning his elbows forward to rest on his knees; giving up on seeing you like he did just minutes ago. He tried to meditate but quickly abandoned that plan thirty seconds in, deciding that it was stupid, pointless, and he felt silly doing it. He tried thinking of you and his favorite memories with you in hopes he could get that feeling of closeness again, but that was also a failure.

He’d just about given up, until he felt a tingle at the back of neck, making the hairs back there to stand up. Din straightened his back, instinctively rubbing his neck. It was then that a voice echoed throughout his head. It was your voice. Din’s heart began to quicken. It was like you were right there, talking to him. Din didn’t have to look around for you, but somehow he could feel your presence. As if you were there with him.

We’ll see each other again.

Din didn’t know if you meant that he would see your face again like he did moments before, or if you two will truly see each other in person in the future. Nevertheless, Din sighed in contentment, continuing to rub the back of his neck as a smile spread across his face. The time he had to wait for your return will be long, but the simple fact that you two will be together again was everything that Din needed to carry on.

Taglist: @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000 @16boyfriends-and-me

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ev-pierce-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Home

The Heir Chapter 2

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9K

Notes: This chapter jumps back in time a bit from Din's perspective, giving us a glance into his crash landing on Mandalore and his first impressions of You. Mostly just a lot of feels (or the suppressing thereof).

---

"Mando."

Where was that voice coming from?

"Mando. Come on, wake up."

The hiss of hydraulics and Din's helmet lifted, forcing him to squint his eyes while trying to make out the face above him. The glare of a hot desert sun obscured its features and the pounding in Din's head made it difficult to focus.

"Help me get him on the speeder."

Arms under his legs and armpits lifted Din and placed him gently on a hard seat. He slouched forward, unable to sit up straight, the pain so great and so extensive it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was broken or bruised. The vehicle took off across the desert with a lurch, spraying sand in its wake.

A hot wind burned against Din's face, further drying his mouth and making it hard to keep his eyes open. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of how long they sped over the sandy terrain.

Maybe only minutes passed, maybe hours. Eventually, the speeder entered one of the large domes that had been visible from space. Inside it was much cooler and darker, a relief after the harshness of Mandalore's surface. Din continued to drift in and out, dehydrated and covered in sand, unable to comprehend if he was safe. He was too concussed to take in his surroundings or catalog his injuries. Finally, exhaustion hit him like a mudhorn to the chest, and Din fell hard and fast into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his helmet, armor, and underclothes were removed, leaving him nearly naked. Panic seized at Din's throat and he sat up quickly, surveying the situation and already planning his escape route. In this recently awoken state, Din couldn't remember where he was or what he had been doing. His thoughts flew immediately to the kid, his instinct telling him to find the child, whatever the cost. But then he noticed a neat pile at the end of the bed, beskar stacked alongside his clothes and helmet, and the terror eased.

He was on Mandalore. Din steadied his breathing and dressed. This was where he was meant to be. The kid was safe, Moff Gideon was defeated, the Darksaber was his.

The Darksaber. Din prayed to the Maker that it had survived the wreck. Or maybe not. At least that would have rid him of this devastating responsibility. But there it was, alongside his blaster and spear, hooked into its slot on his belt. The little metal ball was there as well, and Din breathed a final sigh of relief.

He was okay. For farrik's sake, he was okay and he could take a moment to reorient himself. Din looked around, taking in the small bed he had awoken upon, the gray walls of the room, the solid stone of the floor beneath his feet. He seemed to be in some type of infirmary. He reached his arms over his head and stretched out his neck, feeling the lingering pain of broken ribs and compressed vertebrae. Thank the Maker for bacta shots; he probably would have died without them. But even now, his age made it difficult to heal. He would be feeling this for a while.

Din lifted his helmet, ready to place it on his head, but he paused. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the beskar, of exhaustion, worry, and sadness staring back at him. He wasn't used to seeing his own face so much or reading his own emotions, and it felt like a stranger was glaring back, not his own eyes. He felt removed from the man in the reflection, the man with the scar across his nose, still not faded from the fateful day a droid had saved his life.

Was this the face the child had touched with his tiny hands? Could he love this face, truly?

Din shoved the helmet on before he could linger on his reflection any longer and stepped out of the small infirmary.

The dome was even larger on the inside than he had anticipated. He stood on a walkway that appeared to circle the entire structure, and more paths crisscrossed different layers of the dome, making for a giant maze. From this vantage point, Din could look down to the ground level, which was left open to the floors above. It was incredibly quiet. A few people meandered below, looking like ants from this angle, but not nearly as many as he would have expected in such a large structure. The place felt deserted.

Din began to make his way around the circle, looking for an elevator or some stairs to take him to the ground floor where most people seemed to be. The ache in his ribs had not eased and he found walking to be incredibly difficult. Din's hips and legs had taken much of the impact of the crash, making every movement a painful one. He didn't make it far before a voice stopped him.

"Woah, there Mando, you need to sit down."

The voice came from behind him, unmodulated, soft, old. Din turned to find an ancient woman hobbling toward him. White-haired and wrinkled, skin tanned and spotted from the sun, the woman was not what Din had expected from the locals of Mandalore. And yet she was unmistakably a Mandalorian, strong, back straight as a rod, with the signet of her clan sewn into the sleeve of her shirt.

How humiliating, being helped into a chair by someone who was twice his age. But Din did not complain.

"You need to eat," she said, pulling him into a side chamber and sitting him down at a table. "You're going to hurt for a while. Bacta isn't easy to come by around here and we gave you as much as we could afford. The rest of the healing you're going to have to do on your own."

A bowl of broth appeared before Din and then the old woman sat across from him, taking in his appearance and the beskar of his armor.

"It's been many years since I saw that much beskar on one warrior. What is your name, Mando?"

Din set his helmet on the table and took a sip of the broth. He wasn't sure what it was meant to be made of. It mostly tasted like water.

"I am Din Djarin. Clan Mudhorn." Here he paused, hesitating. "Child of the Watch."

Din wasn't sure how much the old woman knew. Did she recognize the Darksaber at his hip, know the history of his upbringing? If she did, she didn't let on, and Din felt it best not to explain any further. Maybe it was best to keep quiet about his claim to the throne for now.

"My name is Yollil Darron, Clan Kryze. You must be searching for answers," the old woman said. "Is that why you have come? That was quite an entrance to make, crashing through the atmosphere like that."

"There was nowhere to land. Is there no port? No shipyard?"

Yollil chuckled softly. "There is no need when no ships come and go."

"None?"

"Occasionally. Rarely. But those can't be the answers you came here for."

Yollil was right. Din finished his broth before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are so few people here. What happened?"

"Ah, child, that is several questions all rolled into one."

"I have time."

Yollil smiled knowingly. "I will start at the beginning then," she said. "The Children of the Watch have long been separated from the Mand'alor, but the wars started before them."

---

The Mandalorian's holomessage flickered before you. You'd watched it on repeat four times now. Listened to it again and again in an attempt to decipher some hidden meaning in his words. Even virtually, the man seemed to fill the space, leaving you breathless. Thoughts of how he'd made you feel last night, even though he was entirely in your head, rushed through your brain. But you tamped them down.

"When you see this message, I'll be gone already. I need to make contact with others scattered across the galaxy." Maybe it was your imagination, or the modulation of his voice through the helmet, but this is where his resolve would begin to waver, each time you watched, each time seeming more and more reluctant to have gone.

"You-- I didn't--." A sigh.

"There's still a lot to do. And I can't do it alone. I'm sure I'll need your help." I'm sure I'll see you again. I want to see you again. You needed to stop putting words in his mouth but with each iteration, it seemed even more like the truth.

You scolded yourself for trying to find a reason to get attached, for searching his words for some type of acknowledgment that he felt the same way. Mandalorians were restless beings, travelers with no home. It was irrational and irresponsible to expect anything more from him. You needed to rein in your temptation. And yet--

Finally, you shut the holopuck off, putting it in the drawer of your desk for safekeeping.

---

"There are twelve other domes on Mandalore," Yollil explained as she guided you slowly around in a tour of the structure. "Many are divided by clan. Tensions run high, but we abandoned the fighting long ago though. It's much easier to survive when you are unified as a larger group. Or at least the illusion of conciliation."

As Din had finished his watery broth, Yollil had explained the history of the Mand'alor, how civil war had erupted over loyalties to the Empire, over who would inherit the throne. Eventually, the group of religious zealots, the Children of the Watch, had split, leaving the planet entirely to start anew, recruiting foundlings from across the galaxy and training them in the original way of the Mand'alor. Those who remained warred one another to ruin, eventually destroying what was left of the planet and retreating to the safety of the domes.

It was becoming apparent to Din that his greatest challenge might be uniting the fractured clans.

Yollil showed you the greenhouses, the armory, the living quarters. Most were nearly empty, dormant as an abandoned pollinator hive.

"About four times a revolution we get a shipment of supplies, distributed among the clans. It's barely enough to sustain us but we have little to give in return. It's the best we can do."

"Who brings the supplies?"

"The Queendom of Nhora. Their ships land in the desert, unload and reload, and are gone." Nhora. A sign of hope in the darkness. "The crew have been asking about a certain Mandalorian. Have you heard?"

Din shook his head and Yollil continued. "They say the queen is in search of the Mandalorian who claimed the Darksaber. Perhaps you know of him."

Din stopped dead in his tracks. So much for staying discreet. The old woman gazed knowingly at the helmet before her, recognizing without needing to see the expression on his face that Din was the Mandalorian this Nhoran queen was searching for.

It could have been a trap. Or it could be an opportunity. Next time the ships came, Din would be leaving with them as well.

---

Twenty-six years. That's how long you'd been alive. Twenty-six years today, to be exact, and eight of them spent as queen.

The Warming was arriving in the northern hemisphere of Nhora, signaling the approaching farming season as well as all the celebrations that came along with it. Fertility festivals, diplomatic dinners, and of course, your birthday. Though your focus should have been on supply distribution and preparations for religious ceremonies, your thoughts lingered on the somber face that graced your dreams nearly every night.

You wanted nothing more than to ditch your own birthday party. They were always the same, too much attention trained on you, on what you wore, on who you spoke to. No one was safe from court gossip, not even you, and by tomorrow every woman on Nhora would be styling their hair the way yours was tonight.

You preferred solitude and quiet, which you would not get tonight. Djarin would like solitude and quiet too, you thought. But you suppressed the thought as quickly as it had come.

"Knock knock," Zena called. She had a tendency to enter and then ask for permission afterward. You were laying on your bed, spread out like a star, avoiding getting up to get dressed.

"If I asked you to, would you put on my clothes and pretend to be me for the night?" you asked without sitting up. It was only a half sarcastic request.

"We aren't twelve anymore, Your Majesty. We can't get away with switching places like we used to."

"We could totally do it, Zena. And then I could not deal with any of it and you can be queen for a night." You and Zena had actually managed it successfully before, trading places without anyone noticing. But she was right, that was years ago and you looked too different now.

Zena flopped onto the bed next to you. "This isn't very regal of us is it, contemplating ditching parties and laying in bed instead," she said.

You were silent for a moment, thinking back on the years before your coronation where the two of you had spent your days doing that exact thing. You'd known Zena since the Clone Wars, since before the attack, since before your mother and sister had died. And then the attack had come, and suddenly she was all you had, and it only seemed natural that she would become your most trusted advisor.

And then she was saying your name, your real name, calling you back to your body and pulling you from your reverie. She knew where you drifted in moments like this, to the thoughts of what life would have been if they were all still alive, if you weren't queen, and the world was yours to explore. "Come on, we can do it together."

The party, or parties in this case, since the festivities lasted over a week, usually culminated in a large banquet. It was customary to feed the entire city for free on your birthday, which you didn't mind. You liked that part, in fact, seeing the prosperity and joy of your people, the excitement as temperatures rose and crops were planted.

What you did mind was having to deal with all the suitors who found it perfect timing to come up to you while you were just trying to enjoy some roasted cherfer meat.

You watched as one particularly bold man approached your table in the banquet hall, trailed by what appeared to be several personal guards. You leaned over and whispered into Zena's ear.

"I don't remember inviting him to my party. I'll bet twenty credits he's a prince from Coruscant. Thirty says he'll ask for my hand in marriage."

"Be polite, You Majesty," Zena said, but she was already smiling and shaking your hand. "I'll give you forty credits if you scare the Dank Farrik out of him."

Zena may have been your best advisor, but she was also your worst instigator.

"Your Majesty," the young man bellowed as he kneeled before you. He was tall and barrel-chested, yet soft and pudgy looking. A shock of yellow blond hair was combed across his already balding head. Barely touching his knee to the ground before standing again, he took your hand and pressed a horrifically wet kiss to your knuckles. And yet, despite the averse sensation, your thoughts drifted toward the Mandalorian, kneeling before you as well, head bowed in respect and gloved hand smoothing yours. The comparison happened before you could stop yourself and suddenly you sized up every man in the room against him. No one compared.

Be polite. Be polite. You barely held back a gag as you discreetly wiped the back of your hand against your skirt.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fine evening?" you asked sweetly, lacing your words with the saccharine tone that men liked. You would at least have some fun with this.

"Prince Adbel of Coruscant, at your service." You and Zena glanced at one another knowingly. Twenty credits down.

"Of Coruscant, you say? How many princes there must be on that... large, beautiful planet."

Prince Adbel's face fell, but only for a moment. You applauded his ability to pull the arrogant, smug look right back onto his face even as you bruised his ego.

"Yes, Coruscant is charming. But Nhora far surpasses her in natural beauty. I could pass many revolutions here and never tire of her rolling hills."

Nhora was as flat as a bantha's foot. But you had to give it to him, he was really putting on the charm. Prince Adbel was a slick talker.

"What brings you to Nhora?" you asked. "And on my birthday, no less."

"Straight to business," he replied with an awkward wink. "I like that. How joyful a day, and yet how lonely you look upon your throne, with no one to share it."

You pretended to not know where he was going with this line of thinking. "Lonely? I have the best advisors in the galaxy," you said, squeezing Zena's hand tightly to hold back her laugh and yours.

"No doubt, no doubt. But perhaps you are in need of a man by your side, to rule along with you?"

You stayed silent, waiting for him to say the words that would earn you thirty credits tonight.

"What I mean is, perhaps I could offer my hand to Your Royal Highness."

"In marriage?"

"In marriage."

Score.

Now you were upping the game. Those forty credits would be yours. But how to shock the poor man the best. He would need to be punished for his insolence in not researching Nhoran culture before so blatantly proposing marriage to a woman who had no need for it.

"Have you studied our customs, Prince Adbel?" you asked.

The pale man somehow paled even further. "Of course," he lied.

"Then you'll know what such an offer entails. First, you must travel to the plains and retrieve for me the egg of the nhora serpent. It is a difficult journey. Few survive. She will protect her young with her life, so you must bring warriors who are prepared to die for you, otherwise, you will fail." Prince Adbel's guards were starting to look as nervous as him. But you continued. "Then, you must chop off the fourth finger on your left hand as an offering to the Maker. Only then can our union be blessed."

That one got to him. Should you keep going? This was too fun, and Zena seemed to think so as well. "Lastly, you will need to share me with fifteen other men. Are you capable of that? It is tradition to take many husbands in Nhora, and the queen is no exception."

Prince Adbel nearly fainted. He gulped, a heroic attempt to suppress his fear, before taking a step back from you and nearly hiding behind his guards. "Perhaps... I should reconsider before taking such a serious oath."

"Or perhaps it would do you better to understand the culture of a people you so plainly desire to rule over. Nhoran queens do not marry, Prince Adbel. They never have, and they likely never will." You stood from your seat. And though the prince towered over you, he flinched from your hardened gaze. You knew you were probably taking it a bit too far, but you wanted to put the overconfident egotistical man in his place. "Men only distract. They manipulate. They conquer through fear rather than join through peace. I doubt that you are the exception."

And with that, the prince was gone, fleeing from your presence, his guards on his heels. Your words hadn't been entirely true. Plenty of honorable men made of your group of advisors and counselors, but the best of them knew where they stood.

"Best forty credits ever spent," Zena said with a laugh. "Although part of me is worried you're distracted already."

"Distracted? What on Nhora are you implying, Zena?" You knew what she was implying. You knew it was about--

"The Mandalorian has you in a twist, does he not? Any other day you would have at least considered sleeping with him." It was a teasing jab, though not entirely exaggerated.

"I simply look forward to pursuing a trade agreement with him." At least that's what you were trying to convince yourself, laying in bed night after night, thinking of him.

"You look forward to seeing him again, Your Majesty."

You narrowed your eyes at Zena, trying to appear intimidating. It never worked with her. "Hand over my credits, Royal Advisor."

Zena shook her head. You weren't convincing her, or yourself.

---

The royal crest painted across the side of the Nhoran freighter ships proudly displayed her wealth and beauty. They were less than subtle, Din thought.

He had waited several weeks for the starships to arrive, gathering information and gleaning intelligence about what he was up against. But the information varied widely and it was hard to tell what was truth and what was fiction. The elder Mandalorians described a brutal and ruthless ruler, one who controlled her people through fear and projected an image of prosperity to disguise rampant abuse of power.

Based on Yollil's stories, that sounded more like a reflection of Mand'alor history than an accurate depiction of Nhora.

Others, the younger ones, refused to even believe the queen existed. No one ever saw her, they postulated, unless it was at government functions or festivals. They figured she was just some figurehead, put in place to disguise the real government that controlled the trade routes of the mid and outer rims.

It was useless. He would have to find out for himself. And he had a plan.

According to Yollil and a few of the others who lived in the dome, the freighters were manned completely by a live crew. Not a single droid in sight. And while that meant Din could try to talk his way onto the ship, he also couldn't just resort to outright violence and take out everyone on board. He had to be diplomatic.

The plan was this. Sneak aboard during the short period the freighters spent on the ground, loading and unloading, and try not to get caught. But if he did, Din would have to talk his way out of it. He hoped to avoid too much talking.

Getting on the ship turned out to be the easy part. Staying on was hard.

The crew members of the ship he'd selected to hitch a ride on did not hesitate to open fire. He was discovered pretty quickly among the cargo and without giving him a chance to explain, Din found himself ass down in the sand, watching the ship take off. Damn it.

Sure, he could have gone in with a bit more violence, but he was trying to make friends, not enemies. Time for Plan B.

Powering up the thrusters of his jetpack, he shot off into the atmosphere, following close behind the departing freighter. He landed with a thump along the outer walkway of the ship, hitting the side a bit harder than he'd intended. Great, more bruises to add to his growing collection. Din ripped the exterior door open, knowing it would set off alarms throughout the ship. But discretion was no longer his priority.

There couldn't have been that many crew members on this ship, and yet they just kept coming. Din held back, only sending them into a nice temporary sleep with a knock to the head, rather than take them out one by one. He could have. Part of him wanted to. But he reminded himself that these were just people, doing their best, just like him.

Din worked his way toward the bridge, leaving a pile of unconscious bodies in his wake. The ship's upper deck was a jumble of hallways that looped back and forth on one another and he felt sure he made a few circles before finding what he was looking for. When he arrived, one final crew member stood, brave and terrified, before the doors to the control center.

"Open the door and I won't hurt you."

It was worth a shot. No success. The poor man aimed his blaster, the shots pinging off of Din's beskar. Alright, if that's how he wanted to do this. With calculated aim, Din fired his whipcord, wrapping it around the man's legs and hauling him off his feet.

Din grabbed the man around the neck, pointed his blaster at his head, and slammed the door-open button with his foot, ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

Several more terrified navigators and a couple of blasters trained at Din's head. As expected.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt you. Even though I could. I just want to speak to your queen." Silence hung heavy in the bridge. Even the man Din had taken hostage stilled under his grip. "Take me to her and I promise I won't harm you."

The captain of the ship stared at Din as if he'd just asked him to make Arvala-7 into a rainforest. For a moment Din almost thought those young Mandalorians had been correct, that there was no real queen. But then the captain relented.

"Well, you've taken out most of my ship already. And Her Majesty doesn't object to visitors. But you'll have to stay in the cargo hold."

Din could deal with that.

At least he thought he could. And then the trip through hyperspace turned out to be not hours but over a day. He was tired, in pain, and incredibly hungry. The best Mandalore had to offer was weak broth and yellowish vegetables. Din hadn't had a real meal in what felt like months. Though he tried to sleep through his hunger, he was awoken by the painful pangs of an angry stomach. Above him, the crew was probably having a meal, though he doubted they would want to invite up the man who'd knocked them out one by one.

Finally, after a restless sleep, the sound of footsteps and a voice entered the cargo hold to let Din know they were making the jump out of hyperspace and approaching Nhora. "Her Majesty will receive you at the palace. Though I recommend leaving your weapons behind you. She prizes peace above all else."

The ship landed with a jolt. Din hadn't had access to any windows aboard the ship, so this experience of Nhora was his first. As the loading hatch opened, he discovered with awe a cool, lush, and colorful planet. Though his helmet and armor dulled the sensations of climate and weather to his skin, the temperature here was significantly more comfortable than on Mandalore.

Din stepped from the ship, not bothering to bid the captain farewell, and wandered into Nhora's port. At first, he weaved through only ships, big and small. But eventually, it evolved slowly into a marketplace, lined with stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, smoked meats, and beautifully handcrafted items.

Above, the sun was tinged with warmth, indicative of an approaching warm season. But a soft breeze drifted through the market, keeping the air cool and dry. Around him, Din listened to the chatter of people, all species and languages, bartering and negotiating prices, or just holding an easy conversation. It was incredibly calm and peaceful, with the easy air of a people who did not fear for their lives at every waking moment.

Already, Din could tell all the rumors about Nhora had been wrong.

But how to find the queen? That turned out to be an easier job than he expected. Spread across the skyline was a glittering city with one building obviously much taller than the rest. He headed in that direction, pausing only momentarily at a stall that was selling the most delicious food he'd ever smelled. But there was no time to stop and eat.

The walk was short, along a smoothly paved path that crisscrossed over several canals dug through the center of the market. This must have been their main source of transport, and Din watched from the top of a bridge as a small boat floated downstream below him. It was almost too picturesque and he found himself doubting if this was entirely real.

And yet it was. The palace was bustling with people, moving about in small groups or sitting beneath the tall stone columns. They spoke easily and freely, but with a polite hush that suggested a reverent atmosphere. The lower level appeared to function as a library, with books lining floor-to-ceiling shelves and people studying at tables. Free and open knowledge, it was a novel idea.

No guards accosted him. No one asked where he was going. A few people stared as he went by, but the guards stationed at the main doors let him through, though again letting him know to check his weapons at the guard station. He easily avoided this inconvenience, slipping around groups of people and hiding behind a column as another guard passed. Sure, he could have been civil and done as he was asked, but it didn't seem prudent to have to explain that yes, he was a Mandalorian and yes, this was the Darksaber, and no, he couldn't just check it into a locker with a four-digit code.

At last, up a sweeping staircase and the throne room came into sight. This part of the palace was quieter than the rest, having a more serious and somber mood than the lightness of the lower levels. Din stepped in the throne room and gazed up, unable to suppress the urge to gape in awe at the vaulted ceilings and colorful murals that lined the walls.

The queen, however, was not on her throne and not in the reception hall. So Din resigned to wait and stood before one of the grand windows that cast a glowing light onto the marble floors. The view was spectacular, even from behind the filter of his visor, looking out upon the maze of stalls of the market, the glistening blue canals, and the arriving and departing freighter ships. Beyond the bustle of the city Din could just barely make out flat plains under a setting sun, green and lush and reaching farther than the eye could see.

The world glowed.

Din's helmet picked up voices of discussion and he amplified the sounds, hearing the soft speech of a woman along with the footsteps of several other people. The queen was coming, and not alone.

And then he saw you. You entered the throne room and if the world was glowing before it now positively radiated like the sun. You were dressed in lavender and gold and somehow existed on two planes at once, both as natural as the lush plains of Nhora and as otherworldly as the stars that glittered above, tied to the earth but dancing through outer space. Din had never met an angel, only heard stories of their alluring beauty that trapped spacefarers in their orbit for eternity. Now, standing face to face with a pure embodiment of warmth and light, the stories didn't seem so outrageous after all.

This was a new feeling, one he'd never felt before. Oh, Maker, Din's heart was in trouble.

---

The doors of the throne room opened. Zena entered leading a little green head, wobbling atop a teetering body. "Look who interrupted my sparring practice. Nearly got his little hands chopped off."

"Grogu," you exclaimed with a broad smile spreading across your face. You found yourself intensely happy to see the wrinkly alien baby and reached down to place him on your lap. He immediately reached out to grasp at the metal ball hanging from your neck. Something had shifted since you'd met the Mandalorian, and now with the knowledge of their deep bond, your heart softened with tenderness for the child as you recalled his father.

"So, little one, what have you learned since you went away?"

The child looked up at you with a coo and then giggled, sticking his hands out to demonstrate whatever strange mind-bending trick he'd learned this month. What you didn't expect was to see one of your guards slowly go sliding from his post beside your throne toward the windows. You realized Grogu was the one moving him, though not very quickly and with a lot of effort, across the stone floor. With a grunt, the guard bumped gently into the window. It couldn't have hurt very much, but it was probably a strange sensation. He slid to the ground, not sure how to react.

"Oh, Maker, are you alright Ming?" you asked, barely containing a laugh.

Ming held up a hand. "Yes, yes, fine Your Majesty."

"Grogu, we only do those kinds of things to bad people, not people we like."

You weren't sure why you spoke to the child as if he were an adult, but somehow you felt he understand. He looked up at you again but this time with a pout, his bottom lip sticking out and quivering, ready to cry.

"Oh, alright little one, let's not have that now. Here, how about some good news. I met your father. He was here."

That did the trick. The big brown eyes blinked and the giant ears flicked in recognition. Grogu grumbled out some garbled baby talk that sounded suspiciously like 'Din.' It could have been your imagination.

"You met the Mandalorian?" Luke Skywalker entered the throne room, prepared for his departure already. "So that's why you didn't accost me for information as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"I have a good feeling about him, Skywalker. What's that thing you're always talking about, bringing balance to the force? He is balanced. I can feel it."

"So you're a force detector now?" Zena said with a barely concealed laugh.

"He found the child for a reason," Skywalker replied. "The force is not to be underestimated."

That was for sure. A pint-sized kid had just moved a full-grown man across the room with his mind. That was nothing to be played with.

"I worry though, Your Majesty, that he will attract some less than welcome individuals to your planet if he returns. Bo-Katan feels she is the rightful heir to the throne, and I doubt she'll give up on it so easily. If she thinks you're his ally, I doubt she'll be very forgiving."

"Bo-Katan?" Zena questioned. You felt Grogu sink further into your robes at the sound of the name.

"Another Mandalorian. Fiercely loyal to her planet but not so much to those who would dare challenge her or her power. She prefers martial law to pacifism and has a dubious history with the Sith and the Empire. In the end, there's only one thing she wants, the Darksaber."

---

Din's thoughts drifted back to that first meeting as he punched in the coordinates for Corellia, the last planet he had any desire to visit. He wanted to look upon your glittering city, wander through the market, feel the cool breeze creep under his armor. Or even just sit across from you again and listen to you ramble about the things you loved, namely Grogu. Din realized, before you would, that there was a soft spot in your heart for the kid.

As the ship took off from the loading dock, Din watched the Nhoran moons set, wondering if you were doing the same. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. But he couldn't. Din was a wanderer, a traveler, with no place to call home and no intention of finding one. But you--

Corellia. Right now there was just Corellia. For many years he'd avoided chasing down a bounty on that planet. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to stay that way. The polluted, cloudy, soggy planet was one Din preferred to avoid. The excessive rain made it difficult to track footprints and there was always someone who needed paying off if he was going to get any information. Bounties on Corellia took twice as long to catch, simply because it was so full of crime itself.

Except this time it wasn't a bounty Din was chasing, but a Mandalorian. So three times as long, he figured.

And he was right. The Mandalorian remained hidden, probably because he knew he was being chased. Din passed weeks in Coronet City, tracking muddied footprints here and there. Begrudgingly, he took on some extra bounties, just to make enough credits to keep his ship parked at the loading dock.

Week four came and went. Today's bounty had been particularly flighty, doing his best to remain just out of Din's reach. He caught him, eventually, but not before a muddy chase through the rainforest. Now, back on his ship, Din hardly noticed the flashing red light on his communicator, telling him he had an incoming message. It wasn't until he'd pulled off his mud-streaked armor and sat down heavily in the pilot's seat that it caught his attention.

The hologram flickered to life.

"Djarin, I hope you're well." He almost didn't recognize you without your royal robes, hair loose and drifting about your shoulders. But your voice, though distorted by thousands of lightyears of space, was unmistakably yours. With surprise, Din found himself instantly relaxed, the soothing sound raising heat to his skin. You'd barely said anything but he longed to hear more.

"I'm not sure where you are, or if this message will reach you." You paused, suddenly distracted by something happening out of view and waving your hands to quiet something down.

"Hush, please, I'm speaking," you said off to the side.

You refocused with a deep breath. "Urgent news has reached me through my trade routes. Bo-Katan has landed on Mandalore. She brings an army and is searching for you. I'm not sure how many she's gathered or how she earned their trust. But it won't be long before she traces your path here. There's no need to worry, it would be foolish to attack Nhora but I'm afraid of what might happen if you do return to Mandalore. Bo-Katan will-- for Maker's sake child I'm trying to speak."

You stopped again, bending over to address the tiny hands grabbing at the leg of your pants. A muted voice garbled some indiscernible words. "I know it's for Din. I know. Come here."

You stood again, this time with the child in your arms. Grogu. He was there, with you, in your arms. "Anyways, be careful, please. And send word if you need anything. Or just to let me know you're alive."

Din could hardly focus on your words. The kid was on Nhora, grabbing at your shirt and waving his little hands. "Say hi, Grogu. Say hi to your dad," you said.

Was that his name Din heard? Did Grogu just speak real, tangible, words? And his name, nonetheless. Din's heart swelled with pride and all the frustration he'd felt today, tracking an unfindable Mandalorian on top of simply trying to stay alive, melted away. He realized with a shock of sadness that all this time he'd been intensely lonely without his son. The ship was too quiet, too empty, but now both you and the child were here, even if only as a hologram, and filling the cockpit with a warm glow.

Din blinked back tears. It was time to get his act together. There were only so many places an old Mandalorian could hide.

Fenn Rau was not a man to be trifled with, Yollil had explained before Din had left Mandalore. If he was going to be found, Din had to think ahead of him, anticipate his moves. Rau had to be somewhere in Coronet City. If he'd left, it would have been much easier to find him.

But, as it turned out, it was easy enough to find Rau when he wanted to be found. The first cantina Din stepped in and there he was, sitting alone in a dark corner, nursing a spotchka, having predicted Din's own moves to meet him here. This was not luck, it was on purpose, and he didn't hesitate to slide into the seat across from the Mandalorian.

Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to explain themselves first. Fenn Rau was as stoic as Din despite his age. His watery blue eyes locked onto the visor of Din's helmet and did not flinch. But this was a game Din could play well, that of silence.

"Why are you looking for me?" The older Mandalorian was the first to break.

"You wanted to be found."

"I outran you for a while. But curiosity tends to be my downfall."

Din didn't respond, only unhooked the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the table. It was an unassuming object with immense power and Rau recoiled from its presence.

"So you are the one who defeated Gideon." His words made it apparent that everyone in the galaxy knew. "I'm surprised Lieutenant Bo-Katan didn't duel you right there for it."

"Lieutenant?"

"We fought together in the civil wars." So that's why Yollil had sent Din to find Rau. He would know what Bo-Katan's intentions were. "The Lieutenant is a natural leader. She rallies her people like no other. But she has lost that damn saber one too many times and never once recovered it honorably. She will come for it and do whatever it takes to regain power."

"She's looking for me now."

"What will you do?"

Din did not answer.

"Don't tell me you're asking for my advice?" Rau said with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, here's what I think. Take what you will from this. Tarre Vizsla forged that saber. He was both a Jedi and a Mandalorian, and the first to unite them. Since his death over a thousand years ago, Mandalore has not known peace. And it never will until a Jedi rules again."

A Jedi and a Mandalorian. If such a combination were to exist, then there must be a foundling out there that was force sensitive. A foundling that Din would find and--

Grogu. That foundling was Grogu. Din stood abruptly.

"Thank you. May the force be with you."

"That's it? You don't want a drink?"

"I'll be on Nhora if you need me."

Din left the Mandalorian where he'd found him.

---

The Mandalorian was returning. You could barely contain your glee. The message had been short, typed out and sent over the comm system. Returning. Must discuss G. and B. ETA 3 days.

You had no idea what G. and B. meant. It didn't matter. It had been over a month since you'd last seen him. You hoped he was everything you remembered, strong, handsome, stoic, honorable--

No. No, you would not think about him like that. You would treat him with respect and cool composure, as the ally he was turning out to be and nothing more.

On the first day of waiting you managed to steady your nerves by focusing on each task at hand. Sector 3 needed the dams opened to flood their fields. Sector 8 required a delivery of vaccines to prevent an outbreak of the Cardooine Chills. By the second day, Zena was watching you pace back and forth across the throne room, wondering out loud what G. and B. meant. She'd plopped herself down in your chair since you had no desire to occupy it, legs slung over one arm and back leaned up against the other.

But when the third day arrived, you found yourself surprisingly calm. You received visitors from the throne you'd refused the day before, listening intently as your financial head proposed tax hikes and tax breaks and explained where every cent was headed.

And yet, despite the serenity of your outward appearance, every person who entered your throne room sent your heart beating faster, though every time it was someone other than the Mandalorian. Finally, the sun set through the windows, darkness fell, and he had still not arrived.

"I'm just worried. What if he got caught up by Bo-Katan or something?"

"Your Majesty, he's hurtling through hyperspace. I think he's fine." Zena was ever the calming presence at your elbow. "Just get some sleep."

You tried. You really did, tossing and turning in bed to find the most comfortable position. But nothing worked. It was late in the night when you finally gave up and left bed, padding softly in your nightclothes down the three flights of stairs to the kitchens. At least you could have a warm cup of hot chocolate.

It was empty and silent in the kitchen as you set a pot on the stove to heat the drink. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting--

"Any idea where a Mandalorian can get a meal around here?"

You jumped at the voice behind you. So much for calm, cool, composure. Heat rose immediately to your face as you remembered exactly what you were wearing.

"Oh Maker, Djarin, you have to stop sneaking in like that."

"Sorry, can't help it that your guards are useless."

"Hey, watch it. Or I'll kick you out again." Though you acted annoyed, Din could tell you were glad to see him, an easy smile gracing your lips. It appeared he'd caught you at your most vulnerable, looking tired and restless, whisps of your hair flying in all directions and in only your pajamas. Your slightly translucent pajamas.

He did his best not to stare. Really. But with a helmet, there was no one to notice that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra or any underwear or--

"I expected you earlier," you said, pouring a second cup of hot chocolate without asking.

"I miscalculated," Din said matter-of-factly, though his nerves jumped at the thought of you expecting him. "What is this?"

"The most delicious thing ever. Rare. Skywalker introduced me to it and I can't get enough. But only he knows where to find hot chocolate so I have to settle for waiting for his visits to get my hands on more."

Off came the helmet, and though you'd already seen the face beneath, it still left you breathless. The black eye was gone, the cut on his lip and cheek reduced to fading red lines that probably wouldn't even scar. You watched as he ran a hand through his unruly hair, eyeing the cup with suspicion, and giving it a sniff. Finally, Djarin relented and he took a sip.

"Very sweet," he said, brown eyes narrowed and plump lips twisted into a pucker. "Not used to that."

Oh, those lips. Every decent thought you'd been trying to focus on since the Mandalorian's reappearance in your palace kitchens immediately flew out the window, replaced by very indecent thoughts about his full lips.

You tried to bring your mind back to his words, realizing he probably ate mostly bland food. Hearty, maybe, but not seasoned with the exotic flavors your kingdom traded for.

"Let me get you some food. You must be hungry."

"The Queen can cook?"

"Oh no, but she can reheat pretty well."

Din sat, watching as you sliced a loaf of bread and eventually placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. In the dim light of the kitchen, you'd taken on a different appearance from when he'd first met you. Your features were softer, less angular and commanding, and more tender and delicate. You were young, he realized, and you wore your youth plainly when the opportunity came to relax. You moved with the ease and grace of someone pushed too soon into this position of power.

"What's G. and B?" you asked, sitting across from Din and taking a slice of bread for yourself.

"Not what, who. Grogu and Bo-Katan." Djarin began to eat, and you noticed he kept sipping at his hot chocolate, despite his previous aversion. "Is the kid still here?"

You shook your head. "They only stay for a few hours at a time. And it's hard to know when they'll be back. Skywalker takes every precaution to be untraceable. He'll find you, not the other way around. Is that why you're back? To find him?"

"Grogu is the heir."

"What do you mean? I thought you were the heir?"

Djarin explained his meeting with Fenn Rau, what the old Mandalorian had told him about the Darksaber and its creator.

"And you're worried Bo-Katan will target Grogu and use him against you?"

"Possibly."

"I don't understand. I thought Bo-Katan wanted to bring peace to Mandalore."

"She does. But under her terms. And her rule. That approach never goes over well with a people as divided as us."

You were starting to see his point. But how was a wrinkly green baby going to take over the throne? "Say you hold on to the Darksaber. Bo-Katan backs down, the kid becomes a Jedi. Then what? He'll have to defeat you in a duel to fulfill his destiny?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead.

Of course, he hadn't. Of course he'd rushed back here as fast as possible, thinking only of the child.

"I'll call a council meeting in the morning. Any actions I take they need to at least be aware of. And this time you're staying. Not just for the night."

Din raised his eyebrows at you in surprise. The authoritative tone you'd taken on was impressive, like you had a goal and a purpose and you were going to do everything it took to succeed. And he had to admit, he quite liked the thought of you forcing him to stay, despite knowing he shouldn't.

After he'd finished eating, you led the Mandalorian back up the stairs and through the silent palace to the room he'd stayed in during his previous visit. You lingered at the door, knowing you should say goodnight but having trouble doing so for some reason.

"Don't disappear on me again, Djarin," you finally settled on saying.

Din hadn't been aware of how much you cared for his safety until this moment. Maybe his late arrival had affected you more than you let on. The look on your face was not one of teasing but of genuine worry, eyebrows knitted in concern, unease written in the soft lines of your face. He wanted to smooth those lines, run a thumb across them to tell you everything he didn't have words for. What had been that emotion he'd felt that night on his ship, watching you and the child flicker holographically before him, filling the space with your warmth? He refused to call it home.

Djarin turned toward the door but paused and looked back at you. And then his gloved hand reached out and he ran a thumb softly across your forehead. It was surprising, that soft, leathery touch, but it accomplished what he'd set out to do. Your face relaxed and a smile spread across your lips, bringing the glow back to his world.

"I won't. I promise. And please, just call me Din."

---

The Mandalorian was up early, beating you and Zena to breakfast. He was already waiting for you to arrive, fully dressed in armor, making your heart skip a beat.

"Don't you want to know about everything that's happened since you were gone?" Zena asked, addressing Din with a glint in her eyes.

"I assume you're going to tell me whether or not I want to know."

"Smart man," Zena said with a wry smile. "You missed a very important birthday. You'll never guess how many suitors were ogling Her Majesty from across the dessert table. Although, I must admit the dress was lovely. I would have asked for her hand in marriage too if I was arrogant enough to think I had a chance."

"Zena," you said harshly, trying to shut her up.

"Turned them all down. Even made one of them run to his mother. No one compares to you Mando." She said that last bit with a singsongy voice as if trying to imitate you.

"Zena! Watch your mouth. I never said that." You gave her a little shove to shut her up. It wasn't very appropriate behavior for a queen but you knew she was doing it on purpose. "You're going to embarrass him."

Zena wiggled her eyebrows in your direction before turning on her heel and leaving you and Din alone, knowing her work was done.

"I'm sorry about that," you said.

"Looks like you're the one feeling embarrassed." Though you couldn't read Din's facial expression, his modulated voice was tinged with teasing humor.

Heat crept up your cheeks, flushing a bright pink that did not go unnoticed by the Mandalorian. "Shut up. I don't want to talk about it."

And then the Mandalorian laughed. He actually laughed, a full, whole-hearted laugh that started in his chest and shook through his body until he was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for air. It was genuine; though sounding unused and in need of practice, it was not strained or tense at all. You wondered how long it had been since the Mandalorian had let loose like this.

"Oh for Maker's sake," you said, exasperated. "I've tried multiple times to crack jokes and that's what finally gets to you?"

Din had finally caught his breath and stood up straight again. "I apologize, Your Majesty. But you were blushing pretty hard."

And you looked pretty when you blushed, he thought. He didn't say that out loud, however, only pressed his fingers lightly against your back to lead you from the room to the awaiting council meeting.

It was already hard enough to focus in his presence. You had no idea how you were going to sit next to the Mandalorian for the next hour without him driving you up the wall. Calm, cool composure, you reminded yourself. Be diplomatic. Be an ally.

It was all about to go down the drain.

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gayleftistlukeskywalker · 4 years ago

Text

the stars pale beside your might ch2

ch1|ch2

words: 5.4k

a/n: whew here we go, setting up plot points. exciting! cw this chapter: slight tw for attempted suicide by a minor character towards the end of the chapter

ao3 link

Din could not remember being put into a bed, in fact he could hardly even remember leaving the throne room bar. Fett’s face swirled in his mind as he sat up in bed, his joints popping into place, eliciting a deep groan. Sunlight filtered through the tiny window near the ceiling of his quarters, particles of dust shimmering in the beams.

None of his armor had been removed, even the weight of his heavy boots were still fixed to his feet. He was used to sleeping with his beskar on, he would peel himself from the small lumpy cot in the Razor Crest to the resistance of stiff, aching muscles. The cot he sat on now, a carved slab of stone which jutted from the wall, was certainly not dissimilar to the one on his old ship. Though usually, when he woke to a pounding in his head, it was because he had taken a few too many hits to his helmet, not because he was hungover.

Din was not one to overindulge, as he did not particularly enjoy the feeling of his defenses being down. The last time he had drunk this much was after his Verd’goten. His buir insisted it was a rite of passage to drink until the sun came up, and a much younger Din had awoken mid-day to a dry mouth, a churning in his stomach, and a hammering behind his eyes.

How long had it been since he had thought about that day? The day his armor was finally awarded to him, fitted like a second skin, and his heart swelled with so much pride he felt he could lasso the sun.

Din’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of raucous laughter echoing down the hall, and all at once his memories came flooding back to the present. Tatooine, with Fett and Shand, Gideon was no doubt in some remote prison hold, and the child was gone. Not gone, he thought, safe.

His gloved hand flew to his belt; the carved metal handle of the darksaber still hung to the leather. His blaster holder was the only thing that had been removed, having been set down on a shabby looking table near the bed. Din grabbed the holder and fixed it to his belt, the weight of the gun a comforting pressure on his side. He ran his hands over the small leather pouch that was tied to his hip, feeling the small metal ball wrapped inside. He tugged it open, bringing the small artifact into the light, and rolled it between his fingers for a moment before tucking it away again. His eyes slid shut as he took in a deep breath, steadying himself against the world.

The throne room was not much brighter during the day, fitting for a bounty hunter’s hub, with all it’s less than savory dealings. Boba was seated upon the throne once again, fully armored, giving an impressive air of intimidation. Before the dais stood two men, engaged in conversation with Fett. Fennec was a fixture at Boba’s side, observing the scene with a neutral expression. Though her face did not betray it, she was no doubt sizing them up, Din thought. Her sharp eyes did not leave their faces. Din had not asked Fett what had happened the day before, though he had some passing idea, if the empty palace was anything to go on. He recalled enough to know he had made an agreement with Fett, though any details discussed were fuzzy in his memory. As Din approached the dais, Fett hushed the men with a wave of his hand. All at once, everyone turned to look at Din, causing his skin to prickle slightly underneath the beskar.

“We’ll return with the shipment in two rotations, then,” said one of the men, his tentacled head turning back to Fett’s attention.

“More or less,” Din replied. He thought about asking Fett how Din had even found a bed to sleep on, but the idea that the man standing before him had helped him drunkenly slump into a cot made him swallow his words.

Fett dismissed them with a gruff, “Good,” and a sharp nod. The pair gave Din another look before heading up the stairs, out into the heat of the sun.

Boba rose from his throne, stepping off the dais and towards Din. “I trust you slept well,” he remarked, casually resting his hands on his hips.

“Good, because I’ve got some work for you.”

“What kind of work?”

“Nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle,” Fett replied easily. “We can discuss it after you’ve cleaned yourself up. Kitchen’s in the back, refresher is down the hall from your quarters,” he said, walking back up onto the dais and seating himself on the throne.

My quarters, Din thought. What had he gotten himself into.

Din was suddenly very aware of the way his clothes clung to his skin, the grit of salt on his face from days of sweat. A shower would do him good. Walking up the stairs and back down the hall, his eyes scanned the interior of the palace. Vague memories started to surface in Din’s mind; hobbling down this same hall, drunkenly slurring to himself. His helmet turned from side to side as he scanned the open doorways of the stone walls as he walked, noting the small bunks, similar to the one he had found himself in this morning. None of them were occupied, but Din noticed the tell-tale signs of a firefight, furniture overturned, dark blaster marks scoring the walls. Perhaps they had always been there, Din thought, trying to push his concerns to the deepest corner of his mind.

The door to the refresher slid open with a hiss, and Din looked up and down the hallway before closing himself in. It wasn’t much, but he was used to even less. The pipes groaned with effort as Din flipped a switch to start the flow of water. Din worked his fingers, stripping himself first of the hard beskar which dropped to the floor with a heavy clunk, then his padding, then finally his clothes and undergarments. He winced slightly at the dark bruises that were blooming on his skin, staining his arms and legs. There was a small mirror fixed to the stone wall near the door, above a stained sink, which jutted from the wall the same way his bed did. His reflection was never something he paid much attention to, reserving that only for when he needed a shave or a haircut. Now though, he found himself staring deeply into his own brown eyes, reflected back through a layer of grime. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes, and fine lines were etched around his eyes and mouth. He sighed, he was getting old.

The warm water that washed over him was a pleasant surprise, soothing the aches that wracked his body. The water on the Razor Crest had always been bone-chillingly cold, no matter how many times he had messed with the wiring to the refresher. It was something that one became accustomed to over time, and the shock of cold had always been good for clearing his head. As he let the water run over his face, his mind was abuzz, trying to piece together the events from the past few days into something more manageable than the clutter that overwhelmed him now. No matter what he had been through in the past, he had always been able to get back up to fight again. There were many times throughout his life where he had thought he had finally met a violent demise, only to be dusted off and thrown back into the fray. This was just another of those times, he rationalized. The dull ache in his chest would fade like his bruises, and become another memory to avoid at night when exhaustion wasn’t strong enough to put him to sleep.

Steam rose from Din’s skin as he turned off the flow of water. Drops of water rolled off his skin and fell audibly to the stone floor, and he pressed a hand against the wall and hung his head to let his hair drip dry. His clothes were in need of a wash, and he longed for the familiarity of his ship, or even his bunker in the covert, as he dressed and snapped his armor back into place. He turned to the mirror again, giving himself a once-over before putting on his helmet. His viewplate display came into focus; despite everything, he still looked the same as he ever had.

Following Fett’s direction, Din managed to find the kitchen on his own. It was surprisingly well outfitted, with enough stock and appliances to service a large group. Despite his nausea-inducing liquid dinner from the night before, Din’s stomach burned with hunger; he couldn’t remember his last proper meal. He was surprised to see a plate of food placed on the kitchen counter, freshly prepared. The smell of it wafting into his helmet made his mouth water, and the growl in his stomach told him not to question the whos or whys behind the plate’s appearance.

He looked towards both the entrances to the kitchen, and, seeing no one, slid his helmet up just enough to expose his mouth. He bit into the meat with relish, and found that it was fresh, and not overly-done. It tasted salty and gamey, bringing forth memories of sitting around a campfire, the smell of smoke and roasting meat in the frigid air. Cold water dripped from the corner of his mouth as he drank hurriedly from a pitcher that had been sitting on the counter; when it was empty, he poured himself another and downed it just as quickly. He licked the remaining grease from his lips, and slid his helmet to cover the lower half of his face.

When he made his way to the anteroom again, Fett and Shand were both leaning against a table engaged in conversation. Fett turned to Din, and ushered him over to join them.

“Find the food ok?” Fett asked with a tilt of his helmet.

“Yes, thank you.”

“That’s it? Go pick up a data stick?”

“Make sure to keep your strength up,” he said, his tone more authoritative than warm.

“Now, let’s talk about the job. What I need you to do is make a run to Cyrkon. I have a contact on Motok who has information for me, you’ll be picking it up and bringing it back to me.”

Fett looked pointedly at Din. “Is that not to your liking, Mand’alor?”

Fennec barely managed to stifle a laugh.

Din sighed, was Fett going to hold that over his head forever?

Boba started again, “Don’t misunderstand, this isn’t going to be some trivial errand. This information broker has been in hiding for years. I was on his tail before-” he cut himself off and cleared his throat, “some time ago, but I haven’t been in contact with him for quite a while. Your job is to hunt him down, and get that information by any means necessary.”

“Should I expect resistance from the target?” Din said, cocking his head.

“I’ll give you the credits to barter with him, but I can’t guarantee it will be a smooth and easy transaction. Fennec will go with you as your lookout.”

Din looked to Fennec, who flashed him a half-smile, seemingly amused.

Boba slid a puck across the table, the holo-display lighting up with the small humanoid figure of a man with horns hanging around his head, his name displayed in Huttese underneath.

“An Iktotchi?” Din asked.

“I told you this wouldn’t be a simple job,” Fett said.

“But if he’s an Iktochi, won’t he know I’m coming?”

“Most likely. But I doubt he has the means to escape off-world. Last I heard, he was working at some cantina in the slum district.” Fett crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Din considered this for a moment, trying to piece together a strategy. In the back of his mind, he had a sneaking suspicion that this was Fett’s way of testing him. His skills, or his trustworthiness, probably both.

“What kind of information am I looking for?”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis. Tell him that you’re looking for information about stargazing on Florrum.”

“Stargazing on Florrum?”

“It’s a codeword. He’ll know what it means.”

Din considered this. This kind of work was, admittedly, a bit out of his scope. Bail skippers and trafficking violations were more his speed, intel-gathering was for spies, not bounty hunters. But, this was the task Fett had set forth for him, as part of their agreement.

“What about a ship?” Din asked, directing his attention back to Fett.

“The Slave I is docked outside,” he said coolly, as if the answer had been obvious. “Any other questions?”

“Not that I can think of,” Din said, exasperation leaking into his voice.

“Good.” Boba pulled a sachet from his dark robes and pushed it into Din’s gloved hands. The metallic clink was familiar to Din, Republic credits.

“I’ll be waiting for your return,” Fett said as he turned to walk down the hallway. “Good hunting,” he called out before disappearing from view.

“I’m driving,” Fennec declared, and grabbed her rifle from where it was leaning against the table before turning and walking towards the light filtering through the entrance.

Din did not find discomfort in silence, in fact he often preferred it to trying to think of words to fill it with. But as he sat in the co-pilot seat next to Shand, he found the hum of the ship to be almost oppressive in the quiet. Under the cover of his helmet, he snuck the occasional sideways glances, but Shand’s gaze never wandered from the ship’s controls. It was Shand who finally broke the silence. “So, you have a plan?” she said, finally meeting Din’s gaze.

Hunting without a tracking fob was more difficult than with one, but not impossible. There had been a few shady deals he had agreed to in the past that required the absence of one. One certain little green womprat had been the product of such a deal. Din blinked.

“Fett mentioned he would probably be in the slums. I’ll make my way there, start looking for the target. You’ll shadow me and keep an eye out, in case he tries to run.”

“Or in case someone tries to put a blaster bolt through you,” Fennec said slyly.

“That too,” he breathed, looking away into the stars passing them by in a blur.

Fennec snorted. Din swung his head to look at her.

“Something funny?” he asked sincerely.

She smirked. “Yeah, you sound like Boba.”

Din shifted in his seat slightly. He wasn’t sure what to make of that comparison. He let his silence do the talking for him, sitting back in his seat and focusing his attention to the puck Fett had given him, studying the target’s facial features. He wouldn’t be the only Iktotchi roaming the streets.

Motok was a squalid city, having been overrun by smugglers and black market dealers some years ago. It had become the hotspot for people of all kinds to get their hands on an endless variety of unsavory items, and the resulting overpopulation led to the pollution of the planet’s atmosphere. Nowadays, it was a city of forgotten people, a place where you ended up and didn’t come back from. Din wondered how Boba had managed to track the Iktotchi down here, and for that matter, why. Not asking questions in the past had helped Din sleep soundly at night, when he could, but from time to time, an uncharacteristic curiosity got the better of him. Especially when it came to people that he was sharing lodgings with.

“We’ll be landing soon,” Shand said, pressing buttons on the ship’s interface to prepare to dock.

The foggy brown tint of Cyrkon’s atmosphere suddenly came into view as the ship shifted out of hyperdrive. As they approached the surface, Motok’s vast dome became clearer and clearer through the toxic clouds. They were not hailed even as they flew closer to the shipyard, traffic control having long been abandoned.

A small opening in the clear veneer of the protective bubble opened up to let the Slave I in, and promptly closed behind them when the entry was clear. Fennec landed the ship with ease, the cockpit turning so that their seatbacks were now parallel to the ground. Din climbed out of his seat, stopping first at the weapons hold. Fett’s ship was, unsurprisingly, well-stocked, and Din helped himself to a sturdy-looking blaster, ammo, and a couple flash bangs. Seeing the cabinet of shiny blasters made him long for his Amban rifle, with its extended scope that had lent itself well to many successful bounties. It had taken him months to save up enough money for the broken blaster, and all the parts to get it working again. He supposed he could save up again, start re-stocking. Seeing the array of weaponry before him, he briefly wondered how long it had taken Fett to amass such an armory.

Shand reached around Din to grab her sniper rifle and her orange helmet. Din hadn’t even heard her leave the cockpit, which unnerved him. She placed the helmet on her head, and fixed the carrying strap of the rifle over her shoulders.

“You got a stun setting on that thing?” Din asked, gesturing towards the impressive rifle with his chin.

“Haven’t used it in a while, but, yes,” she said.

“We need him alive, so if he tries to run, you’ll have to stop him,” he said as he started fixing the weapons to his person.

“Blaster bolt to the leg might work a bit better.”

“Not for negotiations, it won’t.”

She smirked. “Depends on your definition of negotiations.”

Din sighed, this had to be her way of getting back at him for before.

“You ready?” she asked.

Din ran a gloved hand first over the blaster holder fixed to his hip, then along his leather belt; blaster, saber, sachet, flash bangs. He nodded.

The streets of Cyrkon were crowded, it was almost impossible not to brush elbows with other people as they walked along the thoroughfare. Tall structures loomed over the mass of crowds, the tops of them gleaming silver in the light, in harsh contrast to the dirty streets below. Everywhere Din looked, there were piles of garbage and scrap. Grimy looking droids meandered about the alleyways, their blinking lights piercing through the shadows as Din walked past. Hunched figures sat on the dirty ground, looking up at the passersby with vacant stares. He gave a quick look over his shoulder, spotting Fennec’s orange helmet among the crowd about ten paces back.

Asking for directions seemed pointless, and Din doubted that where they were headed would be printed on any of the faded and graffitied city maps. But he knew his way around a place like this, he had been to his fair share of crowded and dirty cities, abandoned by both the Hutt cartels and the New Republic. Those who didn't have enough to live in the tall buildings would pack into patched up hovels in the outskirts of the city, and that was where they would find their target. Din ducked into alleyways whenever he could, bugs and little animals scurrying underneath his purposeful footsteps. There were too many eyes, sizing up the price of his beskar in their heads, hungrily reaching for their blasters as Din walked by. The armorer had warned him that it would attract a lot of attention, but Mandalorians were such a rare sight in the galaxy these days, that Din had always stuck out, regardless of the sheen of his armor. But right now, the less he was seen, the better.

The farther he walked, the smaller the tall buildings grew in the background. In their place were lop-sided metal structures, and streets just large enough to accommodate people and speeder bikes, winding without seemingly any clear direction throughout the grouping of buildings. The structures were all only a couple floors tall, and crammed so tightly together that Din was having a hard time distinguishing them, and the signs that adorned their entryways. Food vendors lined the streets, the attendants, sweaty from the steam, calling out in Huttese to anyone who passed by. The streets were much less overcrowded here, however, Din could not shake the feeling of being watched from the dark corners. He had to keep his guard up.

Din spotted a lone Quarren leaning up against one of the buildings, underneath one of the few streetlights that dotted the walkways.

“Excuse me,” Din called out. The Quarren turned his head.

“Yeah, what?” he wheezed.

“I’m looking to get a drink, know any good cantinas around here?”

The Quarren scoffed, his tentacles twitching. “I’m not a tour guide, Mandalorian.”

Din reached into the pouch that Boba had given him, pulling out a decent amount of credits, and handing them to the aquatic man, who quickly stuffed them into his pocket. His deep black eyes flicked up and down, sizing Din up; he huffed.

“There’s a place just down the way,” he said, jamming a thumb towards a grouping of buildings farther down the street. “‘S called Flit’s.”

“Thanks,” Din said with a nod. The Quarren grumbled in response, slinking away down a back-alley with his hand clasped in his pocket.

Din turned back once more to make sure Shand was still trailing behind him. She was casually leaning up against a metal wall, scanning the surrounding area. When she met Din’s gaze, Din pointed his chin towards the building, and Shand nodded in understanding.

Din could hear loud voices even before he entered the bar, the sound of spirited conversation and brassy laughter echoing down the street. He pushed through the curtain and stepped into the dimly lit room. It was certainly a popular bar, people of all kinds were gathered at the bar as well as at the round tables that decorated the space. A single, shabby looking holo-display was playing some kind of fighting broadcast. A small crowd huddled around it, cheering as one of the bulky figures on the screen took a blow to the face. There were a few who looked him over as he entered, but they were quick to direct their attention elsewhere when Din turned his helmet’s viewplate in their direction. There was nothing like Mandalorian armor to intimidate would-be thugs, who no doubt had more than one bounty on their heads. Din scanned the room, his helmet’s display allowing him to focus on the faces of the bar patrons. None of them matched the target.

No one bat an eye as he walked further into the bar, looking from face to face, occasionally feigning interest in the broadcast. He slipped into the background, making sure no one was looking as he slid behind another curtain that led to the back of the bar. He stepped quietly, peering into the open doorways. There was the refresher, a pantry, and finally the kitchen. He stopped just short of the kitchen’s opening and pressed himself to the wall, peeking his head out just enough to scan the area. Empty. Completely empty, in fact; no cooks or bartenders in sight.

Crash!

Din whipped his head towards the sound, which had come from behind one of the metal counters. A metal bowl clattered noisily as it rotated on the floor. There was a flash of outside light, and the sound of a door hissing open, and Din set off after it at a gallop. He burst through the bar’s back door and into a back alleway. He looked left, right, setting his helmet to scan for footprints. His display locked onto the tracks, from the look of the gait, the target was sprinting down the alleyway, probably trying to use the darkness as cover. Din sped off after the footprints, unholstering his blaster and disengaging the safety. The Iktotchi’s footpath wound through alleyways, down an empty street, and into a dimly lit neighborhood. Din breathed hard underneath his helmet. He hadn’t checked to see if Shand was still tailing him, but he hoped she had better eyes on the target than he did. Neon signs flashed overhead as he ran down the street, dodging the people who gave him odd looks as he breezed past. He slowed to catch his breath when the footprints were closer together, the gait had decreased to a brisk walk, and lead into one of the two-story buildings that held living quarters. Din walked up the thin metal stairs, cautiously following the prints, until they stopped in front of one of the apartment doors. He readied his blaster, and pounded on the door with a closed fist.

“Taesa Kii, we need to talk,” he called out. No response. “I’m not going to hurt you, I was sent to retrieve some information from you,” Din tried again. There was a moment of silence.

“I do not deal in information anymore,�� came a wavering voice from inside.

“I’m willing to pay. I have credits.”

“I said I do not do that anymore. I have a blaster, if you do not leave, I will shoot you,” he said with a grave tone.

Din thought for a moment. “You’re an Iktotchi right? You can see things before they happen?,” he said, pausing for a response. When there was none, he continued. “You can see that I am Mandalorian. Once I’ve been contracted, I am honor-bound to complete my end of the deal. If we can’t negotiate, it’ll only end badly for you.”

There was a string of what Din assumed was curses from behind the door. Din heard a flurry of movement, the sound of various objects being thrown about the apartment. Stepping quietly, Din looked around the corner of the building, searching for any possible places the man could escape from. There were no other exits or windows for him to slip through, so unless he had some kind of laser saw to cut into the neighboring quarters, the front door was the only exit. When he came back around the corner, everything had gone quiet inside. Din wasn’t the best at slicing doors, but there were some jobs that warranted it. A charge blast would attract too much attention here. He bent down on one knee, pulling a tool from his belt and setting to work on releasing the lock. After a few moments, there was a click, and the light on the door’s release button switched to green. He stood up and readied his blaster.

The door slid open, and the wide form of the Iktotchi stood before him, a blaster in his large hand pointed squarely to Din’s chest.

“What do you want with me?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“I’m looking for information about stargazing on Florrum,” he said in a hushed voice.

The Iktotchi twitched, barely stifling a gasp. “Who are you with?” he asked, raising his voice.

“No one, I was-”

“Who are you with?” the Iktotchi shouted, hysteria creeping around the edges of his voice. The hand holding his blaster began to shake.

“Boba Fett,” Din relinquished. This did not pacify the man as Din had hoped it would.

“I will not go with you. Leave, now,” he demanded, pushing the blaster closer to the opening of Din’s neck.

“You know I can’t do that,” Din said, pointing his own blaster directly between the man’s eyes. His breathing quickened audibly.

“Please, just let me go, pretend you never saw me. You do not understand,” the Iktotchi pleaded.

Din stood stalwart, not moving a muscle. Dark eyes stared desperately into Din’s viewplate, the Iktotchi’s expression frozen in a desperate grimace. Sweat began to bead around his temples, his frantic breathing apparent in the quiet of the night. With a quick movement of his wrist, he turned the blaster on himself.

“No!” Din called out, reaching for the blaster with his unarmed hand.

Pew. The tan-skinned man dropped to the floor, the blaster he was holding clattering against the metal. Din dropped to a crouch, expecting a gruesome flow of blood to start spreading across the floor. But there was none. He turned to look behind him, Fennec’s orange helmet was visible from a nearby balcony. She looked up from her scope to give him a thumbs up. Din let out the breath he had been holding in and stood back up, his knees popping as he rose.

“Well, now what,” he muttered under his breath to the unconscious man that was now spread on the floor.

He made quick work of tying the man’s hands behind him, in case he woke before Din could find what he was looking for. Information brokers usually kept reports on data-sticks for quick and stealthy transactions, though most of them were either heavily encrypted or written in code. What Fett could want from a man that was desperate enough to shoot himself in the head, Din could only wonder. Din set to searching the dingy apartment, overturning furniture, reaching underneath crevices, knocking on the wall to listen for hollow spots. He soon found himself standing amid a mass of scattered clothes, papers, and garbage. Nothing.

He let out an irritated sigh and cracked his knuckles, a bit of a nervous tic of his. He rolled his shoulders, turning his head towards the ceiling to stretch his neck. As he absentmindedly gazed upwards, something caught his eye, a misshapen tile in the ceiling that just barely stood out from the rest of the weathered tile. He stretched out, standing on his toes to reach, and pushed on the tile. It popped out of place with ease, revealing a small section of empty space. He reached his hand into the darkness, feeling around the base of the ceiling. His fingers hit what felt like a small box, and he clasped his hand around it and pulled it out. The metal of the box was covered in dust and battered in places, and would not open, even when Din grunted with effort trying to strongarm it. He cursed under his breath. The Iktochi began to stir, groaning as he opened his eyes to see Din standing over him.

“Koochoo wee shahnit,” he spat at him.

“How do I open it?” Din asked, crouching down to his level.

The man sat up, looking intently into Din’s viewplate. “I will not tell you.”

Din sighed, rolling his eyes underneath his helmet. He reached into his pockets for the credits Fett had given him, and poured out the small bag in front of the Iktotchi’s face, the small metal strips clinking against each other.

The man scoffed, “You think these credits are worth anything to me? Money will not help me now.”

“What do you mean?”

“They will hunt me down for letting this information get out.”

“Who will?” Din pressed.

“The Imperials,” the man said with a low voice.

“The Imperials are gone. The Republic has bounties out for anyone who served under them,” Din dismissed.

“No,” the man shook his head. “No, they will come. Even if I flew to the Unknown Regions, they would find me. And now, they will hunt you too.” He searched Din’s helmet once again, looking for sympathy in the pure beskar, but was met only with his warped reflection looking back at him.

“Please, just drop the box and leave. It is not worth whatever credits they’re offering,” he pleaded, inching closer to Din.

Din stood up, pocketing the small box. Getting it open could be Fett’s problem, it was clear this guy wouldn’t be open to any further negotiations.

“Sorry, but I have a job to do.” Din stepped over the man and opened the door, walking into the night.

“Then it will be your death! Yours, your familys, your peoples,” he called out after him. Din ignored the feeling of his arm hairs standing on edge as he stepped out onto the street.

Fennec was waiting just down the way, her helmet tucked underneath her arm as she chewed at a piece of roasted meat, skewered on a stick.

“Took a while. Did you get the information?” she asked.

“Yeah, I got it,” Din said, his voice steely.

“Let’s get out of here then,” she said, taking one last bite before tossing the stick into the street. She pushed her helmet back on over her head. “That’s two you owe me now, by the way,” she added as she strode ahead of the armored man and down the thoroughfare.

#the mandalorian #bobin #bobadin #boba fett #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #tspbym

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snarwor · 5 years ago

Text

moon and old stars - chapter 2

Wooooo Chapter 2~ Enjoy some Din/Boba blowjobbery. AO3 link at the bottom so you can stay notified of updates. Link to Chapter 1 here

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Slave I wasn’t outfitted with the sonic shower the Razor Crest had. Fett kept a rather complicated-looking water shower on board, which had Din staring at it for several minutes in furrowed-brow confusion before he caught his expression in the mirror.

He hadn’t ever seen his face that red in his life. His eyes were puffy and bright, and his mouth stained a dark red with how hard he’d been trying to keep his sobs in, and if not in, silent. The right side of his face was creased, and matched the weave of Fett’s trousers. Kriff. His eyes flashed down to the floor again and he got into the shower.

As soon as the water hit his back, he had to bite down on his fist to keep from moaning at the perfect water pressure and heat. Fett may have bummed it on Tattooine for years, but he certainly didn’t bum it on Slave I. Din could count on one hand the number of times he’d taken a water shower, and three of those times were freezing cold and pathetic. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this shower forever, but the galaxy was waiting out there, as was the kid.

A frown came over his face, and he felt the initial joy of the shower pass from him. He washed his hair with too-rough hands, letting the uneven locks fall into his eyes as he tried to get a grip on reality again. He’d just asked for a reprieve from all this, and he hadn’t even gotten off.

It was strange to think about, actually. He had gone in expecting nothing, then expecting sex, and now...his body had never felt like this before. He was all at once jittery and fatigued, and he couldn’t make sense of it.

Well. It’s not like he couldn’t take care of himself. He had been doing just that for decades, now. Before he could think twice on it, he wrapped his hand around his prick and gave a slow tug. He couldn’t help his mind drifting back to the moments before. Kriff, his knees were still a little red from how long he’d been kneeling. That sense of powerlessness, the submission that came from the act, Din had never thought he would be the kind of man to do that willingly.

He’d practically begged Fett to do it.

The thought of actually begging the stoic man for anything made his dick twitch in his hand, and he gave a small gasp. The fantasy unfolded itself like a many-paged text. Sensations, phantom now, of the heat beneath his cheek and the hand atop his head, came back to him in a flurry of feeling, each one more powerful than the last. Within a minute, he was tugging at himself in earnest, keeping his breathing steady even as his mind spiraled out of control.

“You were very good for me.”

The praise, flooding his chest now, was the tipping point, and he felt the skin on his lip give way to his teeth, the taste of blood spilling across his tongue as he spilled in his hand, silent and controlled.

He blinked his eyes again, and things were clear once more.

Kriff.

—

Dressed and securely strapped in his beskar, Din was only a little jittery. He retreated to eat by himself, instead of with the others. That’s twice in a day he’s had to take his helmet off, prompted by little more than his body’s needs.

He also felt all of their eyes on him, like they knew what he’d done. Din ate as fast as he could and returned, comfortable back behind the helmet once more. The four-man crew geared the ship up for travel, and he did what he could. He could hardly look at Fett as it was.

Fett wasn’t having any of that.

Within the first three minutes that they had reached lightspeed, Din was being dragged by the back of his helmet back to the berthing he was avoiding thinking of. He made a surprised noise. Fennec and Cara didn’t look surprised. When the door sssnicked shut behind them, he was tossed back onto the bed with a bounce. Unarmed, and in close quarters, Din’s heartrate started ratcheting up. Fett stood before the hatch, arms crossed.

“Was that necessary?” Din shouted.

“If you are going to continue acting like a shamed, shy child, then I shall treat you like it.”

Din gawked from beneath the helmet. He wished he had a telemetry scanner for what the kriff to do in this situation. There was no such thing. “I was not acting—”

“You are practically shouting your shame. What was it I told you about being in here.”

“You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.”

He made a soft noise and tried to sit up, but quick as a flash, Fett had his hand pressed against the middle of Din’s armor, looming over him. The weight itself stilled Din’s struggling movements. He was still breathing hard, and his chin hurt a little from the helmet’s chafing as he was dragged.

“Will you tell me why you feel shame?”

“We’re Mandalorians. You should know why.” His voice almost didn’t pick up on the vocoder, it was so soft.

“You needed something, I provided. There is no shame in needing help. Mandalorians often work together.”

“In the old times, perhaps. Not when there’s so little of us that the hunted Jedi outnumber us.”

Fett’s face took a considering twist to it. “Then think not of yourself as a Mandalorian. Not in here, and not with me. What we do in here should not be colored any different in your mind when you are somewhere else to think of it.”

“What?” Not as a Mandalorian? Was he insane?

“I know you heard me the first time.”

“We shouldn’t have ever done this,” Din said, shifting a little on the bed. It’d been so long since he’d had something soft beneath him, and the hard body above him played nicely against that comfort.

“Why?”

“It’s—”

“Shameful?” Fett said, quirking an eyebrow upward. Din knew the objection was weak. “Plenty of Mandalorians have indulged and continue to indulge in their fantasies and the very human needs of their bodies. In fact, you did in the ‘fresher a few hours ago. Yet you’re ashamed of wanting this, wanting me.”

Din could not say a single thing. It was like Fett had taken the words out of his mind. He swallowed roughly. “What am I supposed to do?” he said, at long last.

“In here, as I say. Would you like it to continue past the door?”

Din shook his head. “N-not with the others around.” A tension eased in his chest that he hadn’t noticed was there. He had acknowledged that what had happened, had happened, and had helped gain him some clarity, even if just for a few hours. Kriff, he’s going to need to be on his game for when they got to Gideon’s cruiser.

Fett only nodded. “We will be in hyperspace for awhile yet. They will alert us if something needs my attention. For now, you need my attention.”

He spoke with weight and truth behind his words, and Din’s face burned at the feeling.

“Do you wish to stay? You know my rules and the conditions for if you say yes.”

Din thought it over in his head. He would not be met with shame nor judgment from Fett, not in here. It was a good deal, and no one need know.

So he nodded.

And took off his helmet.

Fett helped set the rest of the armor aside, until he was back to the clothes he was wearing when he’d kneeled before. Din remained reclined on the bed, unsure of what to do next. He looked to Fett for guidance, and was given it.

“Have you ever sucked cock?” Fett asked. At Din’s sputtered mess of a response, that eyebrow quirked up again. He didn’t follow it up with any other questions regarding Din’s experience (or lack thereof). “Would you like to learn?”

The way he phrased it. Din’s mouth watered at the thought, and his eyes flicked to the fly on Fett’s trousers. He nodded again, mute with desire.

Fett simply climbed onto his bed, leaning against the far bulkhead, and took himself out. Din almost hid from the sight, but was urged forward by a hand on his head, guiding, leading, protecting.

Teaching.

Eyes wide, Din let himself be led between Fett’s legs, and he rested up on his elbows to put himself above the task at hand.

“Use just your tongue, for now.” Fett’s hand pressed down a little, leaving Din with the option to follow orders or deflect his path to the side if he’d changed his mind. His tongue, pink and a little nervous, poked out past his lips to lick at the skin just under the fat head.

He tasted of skin and slightly of sweat, but it was obvious Fett bathed often, and had the means to do so. He licked again, bolder now, and the difference in texture from the underside of Fett’s cockhead and the rest of his length made Din’s mind buzz in excitement.

“There you go. Jate, jate.” Stars, he was speaking Mando’a. Din’s entire soul stood up at attention.

“Oh, kriff,” he whimpered, his lips catching against Fett’s prick in a facsimile of a kiss. His eager body followed the notion, pressing a kiss to the underside of the head and pressing his tongue experimentally along the thick vein. He could feel Fett’s pulse through this.

“You want to be good for me, ad’ika?” Din’s head swirled with want. He must have gone cross-eyed. He nodded, the slightly-damp head smearing over his cheek a little. Curious, Din leaned down and licked against the slit, and pulled back a little at the taste. He went in again, taking another lick, following with his lips. He hadn’t even kissed the man, and he was kissing at his prick like a priest at an altar. “That’s it. Go ahead and suck on just the tip for me. Keep using your tongue. Don’t wanna use your teeth for this.”

It seemed like common sense, but Din almost jolted at the thought that he would try and do anything like that to him. Brown eyes flicked up to Fett’s, and he nodded his understanding. Din pressed another sloppy kiss to the head, bobbing in a rhythm that soothed him dizzyingly fast. Another whimper left the back of his throat, and the hand on his head scritched at his scalp with care. He’d been rough with himself in the ‘fresher, earlier. This gentleness was nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Go on, go a little deeper. Not too much. Just a little—good, so good for me.”

Din was eager to please him, all the troubles and worries which had plagued him now far, far away. The soft, deep voice spurred him on faster and deeper. The hand in his hair pulled a little, not in scolding, but reminding him to ease up.

“Not a race, little one.”

Din shivered, and he practically gasped around Fett’s cock.

“No one’s ever treated you like this before, have they? What a shame. You look so beautiful like this, just for me, just mine.”

“Yours,” Din gasped, a little slurred with the dick in his mouth.

“Go ahead and put your hand where mine is. Just to keep it steady.” Din brought his shaking hand up to where Fett’s scarred one was wrapped in a loose hold around the base. He never considered his hands to be slender or graceful, but Fett’s description of him, little one, was certainly true when comparing the two of them. Din held onto him, and had to scoot up a little more, his unoccupied hand planting itself in the sheets beside Fett’s hip before pulling back. Fett arranged him how he wanted, all his limbs curled in the circle of his bowed legs. A sense of calm and safety came over him, and he shivered again, feeling himself harden in his trousers.

“I—” Din looked up, a question in his eyes. “Am I doing it right?”

“You’re doing so well for me, little one. I promise. Just keep doing what feels good. You have good instincts. Show them off for me.”

Din set to work.

He knew it’d be a stretch if he took any more in his mouth, and felt comfortable just suckling at the tip, getting that strange taste right from the source. Almost on its own, his hand started to stroke at the base, just little squeezes and pulls which in turn pulled a low, pleased noise out of Fett.

Without pulling off, Din looked up at him. The hand on his head was now petting him, a gentle affection that matched the open-mouthed expression on Fett’s face. He licked at the underside of Fett’s cock, just letting his tongue catch on the edge of the crown as he went. His tongue was going to be tired from this, he knew. It was worth it to see the expression change from awe to tight and twisted in pleasure.

Then Din pushed himself down deeper. His lips stretched, but the punched-out noise Fett made had him doing it again and again, bobbing his head eagerly, wanting more, taking more until he gagged, sputtering a little. He sat back, eyes flicking back up to see if he’d done something wrong. Fett let out a shuddering breath. “Happens,” Fett said between pants. “You’re still doing very good for me, ad’ika. Go on, try again.”

“Yes, d—” Din froze up all over, and swallowed nervously, mute once more.

“That happens too. Call me what you like, I promise I won’t mind. Say it for me. Try it out loud.”

“It was just an—”

“I don’t think I was asking.” Fett’s fingers twisted in his hair, curled wildly from not getting to dry just right.

“Yes...daddy.” Now Din felt that same punch to the gut, pleasure and some white-hot, twisting, bladed contentment pulsing through his veins. He pressed his face into the patch of bare skin showing at the top of Fett’s thigh, and the hand on his head moved to the back of his neck.

A soft squeeze. “Very good, my boy.”

Tears sprung to Din’s eyes again, and he looked up. He must have been a pitiful sight, but in Fett’s eyes, his submission and humility were beautiful, almost incandescent and radiant on its own.

Din’s cheeks were a ruddy red, and his lips slightly swollen from so much work with his mouth.

“That’s my good boy,” Fett said again. “You wanna keep going for Daddy?”

“Yes, please,” Din rasped, almost bowing his head, before a finger lifted his face by the chin.

“You’ve been very good for me. Why don’t you come up here and get your reward?”

Part 3 here

Read on AO3.

#star wars fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #my writing #moon and old stars

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