#ONLY TO THEN DO THE SAME TO MANDO IN *HIS* OWN SHOW

[rexxdjarin]

DANIEL LOGAN POSTED ON HIS INSTA STORY IN SUPPORT OF TEM. LETS GO. LETS BE LOUDER. WE NEED TO LET THEM KNOW THIS ISNT ACCEPTABLE.

give us the well written shows we expect. give us the characters we love with the actors who love portraying them and give them a story worthy of their fucking talent. give us 10+ episode seasons with storylines that make sense. Give us a universe that is connected and weaves together excellently, not chopped up and name dropping characters just for the sake of it.

I’m not one of those DiSnEy RuInEd StAr WaRs people because there are wonderful, incredible things going on in the animated shows imo. But this season of the Mandalorian was an absolute mess and I refuse to allow my favorite characters of all time to have future shows ruined bc corporate overlords won’t pay a decent writers room what they deserve or will act like doing the bare minimum is enough for the long-time dedicated fans who have waited YEARS to see the conclusion of these characters stories’.

[hubristicassholefight]

Hubristic Asshole Fight: Round 1 Part 1b

Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars) vs Feanor (The Silmarillion)

Propaganda below cut

Anakin

Decided that he would become stronger than death to stop those he cares about from dying after failing to accept his mother's death. When he begins getting visions/nightmares like he had before losing his mother of his wife dying in childbirth, he decides to team up with an evil sorcerer and mastermind to learn the secret to stopping death. The price he willingly paid was leading the slaughter of the community of peacekeeping monks who had raised him from nine years old, feeling guilt about his heinous betrayal even as he unflichingly continued the massacre (sunk cost fallacy to a very extreme degree). The unintended price he paid was the loss of his limbs and independence after his injuries during a fight with his mentor and brother figure, his wife dying on childbirth due to the great stress of his heinous actions, and being separated from his children until they were adults firmly opposed to the imperial regime he became the attack dog for (only knowing of their survival until after he had personally attacked them both); He literally did not have to do any of that. his wife Padmè very very very very much did not want him to do any of that. He was completely absorbed in his own inability to deal with loss that he deadlock refused to consider losing family again and then he went and killed what amounted to his extended family, his wife and the man who raised and guided him from age 9. And his own kids unknowingly. In terms of accomplishing your goals there really really wasn't much more he could have fucked up. And when it comes down to key moments, all he had to do was not cut off mentor and co-worker Mace Windu's hand with a laser sword and everything would have been fine. He's a nominee for Fail King of All Time to me

He thinks he's hot shit which, he is, but like cool it dude you don't have to mass murder maim mutilate your way through life to prove you're the extra most specialest bestest psychic space wizard;

Hubrised so hard he 1) lost his limbs and his skin 2) became what he hated 3) caused the very death he sought to prevent, betraying and destroying himself for nothing; So soaking wet and self aware that he cried committing atrocities. If he knew what hubris was, he'd agree he has a lot of it

Feanor

The definition of hubris. Created the silmarils who were so perfect even the gods praised them. Got them stolen by the gods evil brother (so essentially fantasy satan). Then decided to go fight the evil god to get the silmarils back and swore an oath binding him and his sons to get them back no matter who would stand in their way. This drastically backfired when some other elves stood in his way so he murdered them. Got cursed by the gods for this (together with his entire family and everyone who followed them). Told the gods that they were of the same kind as fantasy satan and that they would end up following him

Morgoth (a god) shows up at his house and Feanor (professional hater of gods) tells him to get fucked* and slams the door in his face. *”Get thee gone from my gate thou jail-crow of Mandos!”; He has never spent anything wrong ever aside from all the war crimes.

The Valar (gods) asked Feanor for help in saving the world from being in total darkness and he said “no, figure it out yourselves”. Repeatedly and intentionally goes against their orders leading to war and chaos; I know it’s left open ended to what really happened to him after he died, but I hope he never repents. I hope he stays an antagonistic and egotistical bastard after being reimbodied (brought back to life) and continues to make it everyone else’s problem. I love him.

I’m gonna have to try to do this without a sing Tolkien scholarship words so bear with me. Basically my dude is one of the smartest and most talented elves in the world. Unfortunately he has a lot of daddy issues AND mommy issues largely due to the fact that his mom died when he was a kid and decided not to come back (as elves can do). No one else has this problem. He invented a ton of important stuff and had seven sons. His most prized creation was three gems called the Silmarils, which contained the light of the Two Trees, which gave light to the world before they were destroyed. When the Valar (the gods of Tolkien’s world) asked if they could use the Silmarils to potentially create another light source, he emphatically refused and in fact became so jealous of them that he and his sons swore an oath that anyone who so much as touched them would die by their swords. Sauron’s boss steals the gems and Feanor decides that he will lead his people on a crusade to retrieve and avenge them. This results in the death of him, most of his people, and almost his entire family minus one of his sons, Galadriel, and Elrond; He once yelled at the devil to get off his lawn

went to war with morgoth (satan basically) against the will of the gods and made a whole speech to said gods about how they were gonna feel really silly when he killed morgoth and saved the whole world. he never actually did battle with morgoth because he died on like day 1 of getting to middle earth (he left like 2/3 of his forces behind because he didn’t trust them) and spontaneously combusted upon his death; he’s a huge asshole and a mad scientist and linguist and prince with daddy issues and also mommy issues

Dude thought he could win a fight with the devil, tried to just walk into Angband (Mordor before Mordor actually existed), made an oath to kill everyone that tries to take his creations even the Valar (angelic like beings) and ends up causing his death, his sons deaths and a bunch of other deaths; His name is quite literally spirit of fire Is basically regarded as THE greastest elf Is in fact THE best smith of the elves and crafts their most precious jewels (that end up causing so much death) Is THE linguist to the point of creating the alfabet every one uses even after The Crimes, creates a bunch of things that are used even after The Crimes actually Loves his dad more than the things he made Is the only recorded elf with seven kids Is married to a sculpter that is so good that people confuse her statues as actual people (a propaganda because he had to be good to actually bag her you know) Manages to create jewelry so good even the the angelics beings sent by god are surprised he managed to do it So good at making speeches that it leads to a rebellion against said angelic beings and a lot of people to leave paradise with him His mother died because his spirit was too powerful Invented kinslaying after trying to steal some boats for said rebellion Swears an oath that destroys his whole family (but adds a great flavour to the rest of the story) Tells the devil to fuck off and slams his house door on said devils face Dies via auto combustion because his spirit was just too powerful for a normal death Gets stuck in the afterlife (that elves can usually just return from) for spiting the Valar Is said he will have an important role in Tolkien’s version of Ragnarok by letting the jewels he previously promised to kill for be destroyed to defeat the devil

Because of his pride, he went against the gods because the evil god Morgoth stole his life's work (the Silmarils, 3 shiny gems that radiated the light of the two trees that a huge evil spider had sapped dry). Swore (with his 7 sons) an oath to hunt Morgoth and retrieve his shiny gems. Commited kinslaying, burned some boats, combusted to ashes after suffering mortal wounds at the hands of corrupted demi-gods. Consequences of his actions could be seen long long after his death: the oath was passed on to his sons to hopelessly fulfill (failure after failure, including two more kinslayings, one of them casting himself into a fiery volcano, another wandering the shores for eternity);

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

[dyns33]

Mando’a

A sweet Mandalorian story, with a sweet idiot Din and his son

The Mandalorian, Din Djarin, was a man of honour.

No, more than that, he was a good man.

Y/N had known it almost immediately, seeing him with the child. He held him like a father held his son, and at first she thought they were related by blood, and that the bounty hunter was green under his helmet.

In the end, Grogu was indeed his son, but adopted, and the Mandalorian was ready to sacrifice everything for him. Except maybe his job, because he needed money to buy food for the kid.

So he had to keep hunting down dangerous individuals, and he didn't like the idea of ​​leaving the child alone, nor the idea of ​​taking him with him.

So that was how he hired Y/N, after saving her from a drunken man in a cantina, and seeing that she and Grogu seemed to be getting along well.

           "I will pay you, of course." he promised.

           "If I can sleep and eat, and you're not hurting me, then taking care of this adorable baby is enough for me. You helped me after all, it's normal that I'm doing you a favour."

           "I insist."

Din didn't insist long, perhaps not to offend her, seeing that she wouldn't change her mind. Y/N really didn't mind just following him and staying with Grogu. She had always dreamed of adventures.

Despite everything, the Mandalorian seemed to find it necessary to show her his gratitude as often as possible, offering her several gifts, such as new clothes, a weapon to defend herself when he was not around, then a chainmail in Beskar, like the one his son was wearing.

           "I thought only Mandalorians were allowed to wear Beskar !" she said, wondering if this was a test.

           "The Mandalorians and their clansmen. I... You... You are my cya... my burc'ya. You deserve to wear dignified armour, which will protect you."

           "It's a real honour, Mando ! I'm happy to be part of your clan !"

           "Din. My name is Din."

After that, there were fewer gifts, but lots of lovely attentions. No doubt in Mandalorian custom, the leader had to make sure the other members of the clan were happy, healthy and safe.

As with Grogu, Din always made sure Y/N was okay. He always seemed nervous when he had to leave the ship, and he only relaxed when he came back and found them where he had left them, playing or sleeping.

Adoring his father as much as the Mandalorian adored him, Grogu threw himself into his arms every time he saw him.

           "I'm glad to see you too, ad'ika. You were good ? You didn't do too much mischief ? You will always be nice to your buire, uh ?"

           "Pato !"

           "Yes, that's good. I'll keep him, rest cyare."

           "But you just arrived, you..."

           "No." Din said, putting a finger to her mouth. "I know the little one. My mission certainly wasn't as exhausting as him, get some sleep."

At first Y/N slept alone, or with Grogu. The Mandalorian had made a bed for her in a corner of the ship, her own space, so she could have some privacy.

Then she had had a nightmare and to reassure her, the three of them had slept together. Then there had been a problem with the temperature controller, and they had huddled together so they wouldn't freeze to death until they got to a planet to fix it. Of course, Y/N still got sick and Din took care of her until she was better.

After that, without them talking about it, they ended up always sharing the same bed.

Y/N had been travelling with him for several months when Din gave her the necklace that indicated they were from the same clan, before removing his helmet to show her his face.

She was pretty sure he had no right to do this, even with his clansmen.

           "You are my cyare, and Grogu is my ad'ika. It is permitted."

           "Really ?"

           "Of course. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."

Y/N smiled tenderly, nodding, which seemed to please him, and smiling as well, he leaned his forehead against hers.

That was the only small problem with Din.

He often spoke Mando'a, obviously without realizing it, and forgetting that Y/N didn't understand at all what he was saying. But she always tried to guess.

He was certainly polite. Kind. As always.

But nothing more.

His arms around her when he slept, his hand caressing her cheek when he had to leave, his smile when he looked at her, his forehead against hers, it meant nothing. Not what she would hope for, anyway.

When he was talking about her, Din was using a lot of words. At first it had been 'burc'ya', but soon it changed to 'cyare' or 'mesh'la'.

With Grogu, she became 'buire'.

When they met someone, she was 'riduur'.

Y/N dared not ask what that meant. Clan member, babysitter ?

She sometimes talked about it with the little one, who didn't really seem to be listening, or understanding, even if sometimes he would turn his little head towards her, and with his big eyes he seemed to say to her 'you are ridiculous, really ridiculous'.

It was Din who had explained that expression to him. Grogu often looked at him like that, with good reason. The child looked at his father like that when he was giving Y/N a nickname, and when he was offering her something, and when he was stammering, asking if he could hold her hand to not lose her in the crowd.

Grogu was still making that face when they arrived at the Armourer's. Din had found some Beskar and she was the only one who could make something useful out of it, for him or for other Mandalorians.

It was much harder than with Din to know what she was thinking behind her helmet, but she seemed happy to see the child, and surprised to see Y/N.

           "Your clan has grown ?"

           "Yes."

           "Did you take your helmet off ?"

           "Only in front of my ad'ika and my riduur."

           "Married ? Congratulations. Come see me if she gets pregnant, I'll prepare presents for your children."

           "We're not there yet, but thank you. I don't know if Grogu will be happy to have vodes or if he will try to eat them."

The little one then turned to Y/N, who had frozen and he stared at her, as if he wanted to say 'Finally. Finally my stupid father has put words to his behaviour and my oblivious mother will be able to understand that they are married. I'm tired and hungry now, feed me '.

           "Uh..." she stammered as she approached the Mandalorians. "Married ?"

           "You didn't respect the custom ? You didn't exchange your vows ?"

           "I did !" Din replied, before sounded less sure. "Well, I said my vows. After courting her, showing her that I would be a good partner. She accepted them."

           "Obviously she doesn't know what she accepted."

           "I... Cyare, you...  Haar'chak !"

He kicked a crate before leaving the forge, leaving the Armourer, Y/N and Grogu, who ran towards her, asking to be hug.

As if everything was perfectly normal, the other Mandalorian resumed her work in silence, finishing melting the Beskar, but as Y/N went to follow Din, she called out to her without looking.

           "Leave him alone for a moment. He needs to understand his mistake, then he'll come back. He's not a coward or he wouldn't be a Mandalorian."

           "He really thought we were married ?"

           "Obviously. But if he wasn't clear, it's his fault. He won't blame you for not understanding, and for not wanting him."

           "... I didn't say I didn't want him."

           "Ah. Then maybe you two should talk. Leave the child with me, I'll watch him."

Y/N didn't dare tell her that Grogu was very good at evading people if he felt like it, but she left him near the Armourer before going to find Din, who was sulking near a cliff. His helmet was at his feet and yet it was hard to know if he was happy to see her.

           "...Trikayc, cyare. Sorry." he whispered. "I'm not good with words, I thought my intentions were clear. You seemed to appreciate my attentions. I shouldn't have assumed…You were just kind and polite. I'm sorry."

           "Actually... I also thought you were just nice and polite. If you had translated some of the words... Or if you had kissed me."

           "Mesh'la... You mean..."

           "Why didn't you ever kiss me, if we're married ?"

           "What ? But I kiss you all the time !"

Approaching her to prove it to her before she could tell him that she would remember if he had ever kissed her, and if he had done it when she was sleeping it didn't count and would be very weird, Din leaned his forehead against hers, looking her straight in the eyes.

Then he didn't move, looking very serious.

           "…Yes ? I'm waiting ?" decided to say Y/N after a long minute.

           "It's a Mandalorian kiss."

           "...Oh. Din, you're adorable. An adorable idiot."

Y/N kissed him then, not like a Mandalorian, and obviously it was the first time someone kissed the poor man, who jumped a little, before relaxing, melting a little when she put her hands on his cheek and neck.

           "Kriff, if I had known, I would have done this a long time ago."

           "In addition to the rest." Y/N sneered. "Even if it's a little hard in bed with..."

           "Pato !"

Unsurprisingly, they looked down to find Grogu standing between them, clutching his father's leg, demanding to be lifted.

Either he had escaped the Armourer's watch or she had let him go.

Despite his sigh, Y/N knew that Din was happy as he took the child in his arms. Grogu squealed with delight as she fiddled with his ear. He was smart, he knew they had finally stopped acting like idiots.

           "So I'm his bure ?"

           "Buire. His mother. Or relative."

           "Riduur ?"

           "My wife. Partner."

           "Cyare ? Mesh'la ?"

           "It's time to go."

           "Din !"

           "I'll teach you Mando'a, later."

After greeting the Armourer, who seemed relieved that they were indeed married, otherwise Din would have become an apostate, they flew to a new destination. During the trip, when Grogu was sleeping, Din explained his culture a little better to Y/N, teaching her a few words, when she wasn't teaching him new non-verbal ways to show that he loved her in the cockpit.

While they were embracing, he translated to her the vows he had pronounced during their 'wedding'.

           “We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”

           "That's terribly romantic... Wait. Raise warriors ?"

           "Yes. We already have a child of course, but one day he could have vodes and..."

           "Vodes ?"

           "... Brothers and sisters ?" Din said shyly, placing his hand on her belly. "If you want, of course !"

Yes, the Mandalorian was a man of honour. A good man, a wonderful father, an exceptional husband, and an adorably awkward lover, and Y/N had known it as soon as she had met him.

[kanskje-kaffe]

The New Republic subplot in ep3 was explicitly anti-statist. That was the point. As @gffa pointed out, we didn’t see a single friendly or trustworthy face representing the New Republic, and that was the point, because this subplot is saying: the state is not your friend, nor is it trustworthy.

The only person who seemed to be a sympathetic ally turned out to be the O’Brien to Pershing’s Winston Smith. But more than that, the New Republic officers who place so much trust in her were unable to tell the difference between a fascist and one of their own.

At every turn, the idea that “the New Republic isn’t the Empire” is subverted. Pershing is encouraged to touch the mountaintop because “this isn’t the Empire, live a little” - but in fact, touching the mountaintop IS prohibited. At surface level it’s presented as a harmless prank to make Pershing jump, but in fact, his tentative faith that they live in a free world is misplaced. Pershing does not touch the mountaintop.

Pershing acts to continue his research illegally because he has made the error of actually believing in the principles the New Republic promotes for itself. His chatbot therapist social worker says: yes, we should do everything we can to help the New Republic. Pershing is punished for engaging directly with the ethics. Will his research do good? Will the citizens of the New Republic benefit? Will people live better lives as a result? It’s irrelevant for these purposes what the actual answers are; only that asking the question at all is prohibited.

Pershing fails to realize that the New Republic is not its own propaganda, something that the more socially sophisticated people around him all understand. The wealthy man in the opera house says: that’s why I should just keep my mouth shut, like it’s a joke. But it’s not a joke. These people clearly did not recently come into their status. They went to the opera house under the Old Senate, and under the Emperor, and they’ll continue to do so under the New Senate. Pershing attempts to engage with morality on first principles. The New Republic does not, but uses the impression that it does to legitimize itself anyway.

The mind flayer scene is saying this: the state machine is always the same, the only difference is the intensity at which it’s applied. This was so on-the-nose explicit that they depicted a LITERAL machine with a LITERAL Intensity Knob. The mind flayer is a metaphor for the exercise of state power itself. Pershing experiences horror at the sight of the machine. Don’t you know what this is? Don’t you know what it’s done? What it always does? The New Republic officer says: don’t worry, we know how to use it. It’s beneficial in small doses. We’ll exercise restraint. And of course, once the machine is in use and you’re strapped in, there’s nothing you can do if someone stops exercising restraint. The function of the machine is the same.

“Beneficial in small doses” is the mantra of the complacent statist. In a show called THE MANDALORIAN are you that surprised that it’s taking the side of the Mandalorians? We’re on to our third season of Din refusing to cooperate with the police, refusing to do police enforcer’s work, refusing to trust institutions of power to save him, and people still expect the New Republic to come out of this as the good guys? The Jewish subtext of the Mandalorians (hunted to extermination by a state power, breaking all rules to save a life multiple times, orthoprax, lost homeland) is now literally just text (Din bathed in a mikveh and was witnessed by another Jew Mandalorian) and you STILL expect the state to come out of this as the good guys?? Do you think the Nazis were the only government to ever mistreat Jews?

What I loved about Andor - and what I love about the direction mando s3 is moving - is the exploration of regime change. The brutal reality of it, the sense of plus ça change plus c’est la même chose, beyond the propaganda and the things people long for: relief, security, peace. Yeah the delivery is janky as fuck but I’m not delusional enough to expect Quiet Flows The Don here. Regardless of artistic technique, the story being told is about as antifascist as it gets.

So like sorry but if you perceive this subplot to be “Nazi apologism” because it validates the armed and insular pogrom survivors while criticizing the concept of state machinery beyond its branding, you may want to examine your priors. The cure for Nazism is not FDA-approved.

[drawingdroid]

Melting Point: Chapter I

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue

Chapter I: The Artist/Metallike

Summary: Your roommate drags you to an art opening and It'll turn out to be such an interesting night that will leave you dreaming of brown eyes.

Words: 1721

Warnings: This is a slow burn, you've been warned!; a lot of talking about Art and PhD life; Reader is not Grogu's nanny but this is very Grogucentric if that makes sense; And Reader is Din's employee too; Very grumpy and antisocial Mando; Grogu is human but the only thing described are his eyes; Reader appearance is left blank; Age gap of 10-15 years; Fluff fluff fluff

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for taking forever to upload this after so much teasing! Everything was practically written until Chapter 4, but last month has been a disaster. Hopefully, I'll be able to be back at it now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Reader and Din meeting with a very Pride and Prejudice vibe.

When you arrived, the place was cramped. Everyone fancied free drinks on a Friday night at Navarro’s downtown, but this was… excessive for an art opening. After the awful day you’d had, you didn’t feel like squeezing yourself between strangers. You were just about to say to your roommate that you had thought better about it when you saw the poster in the window display of the local.

The Guild Gallery presents:

Mando

The Master of Beskar

15 unprecedented sculptures

Your jaw dropped immediately to the floor. You were so excited you had to grab your roommate’s arm to calm down.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” 

“You just dragged me to an exhibition of my favourite artist ever without knowing?” You were over the moon right now, Mando wasn’t an artist who used social media so it was never easy to come up with his next show. It was all part of the mysterious aura that was around him.

“Rumors say he is based in Nevarro.” One of your roommate’s friends severed, and your eyes sparkled in awestruck.

“Do you think he may come?” You were dying to ask him some questions, maybe even you could arrange an interview with him for your thesis work…

“He never shows up in his own exhibits, so I don’t think he will.” You were a bit disappointed, but it was the truth. No one knew his real name or face, only the generic pseudonym, and his breathtaking sculptures.

“Do you think he makes it in an entitled prick way? Like, to feed the mystery or something and sell more?” You looked at the boy furiously. You obviously didn’t know Mando personally, but you had extensively studied his artwork and could affirm you knew a bit about the psyche that hid behind his artwork.

“What if he’s just shy, or he doesn’t like the attention?” Your mental picture of Mando was the one of a person who struggled severely with emotion and used his sculpture as the only possible outcome. That was one of the reasons why his art moved you so deeply.

Your interlocutor didn’t have the opportunity to respond since it was your turn to enter the gallery. It was luxurious but not tacky, with a minimal interior design that gave the artwork the space to shine. You were mesmerized. Soon you grew apart from the group because they were more interested in the free booze while you admired each one of the pieces. Grabbing your tiny notebook from your purse, you annotated everything about the sculptures that resonated de most with you.

“Breathtaking, aren’t they?” A well-dressed, middle-aged man was standing next to you. He had an air of dignity in him, but also a pinch of mischief in his eyes that delatated his true character. 

“They’re stunning.” You mumbled admiring the hard planes of the sculpture that was standing right in front of you. The same you had been observing for twenty minutes straight: a faceless warrior in a startling fighting pose.

“Mando always finds a way to surprise us.” Then, he extended his hand to you and you squeezed it gently. “Greef Karga, I’m the owner.” He clarified while shaking vigorously your smaller hand. You blushed violently, maybe he had mistaken your interest for being a potential customer? Nevertheless, you offered him a smile and your name too, always wanting to be polite.

“I’m actually a researcher on Mandalorian art, and I’ve been following Mando’s career for a while.” 

“You’re talking to the man who sold his first artwork, sunshine.” He confessed as if he was telling you a secret. The desired effect was accomplished and your eyes were opened wide.

“Really? That’s…that’s…” Your words were betraying you and the man only smiled wider. Then you started a battle with your purse to find the wallet. “I…know he does like to keep his…privacy, but if he is ever interested in an interview I’ll…it will be really meaningful to my research.” You blurted giving him your business card. He observed it and repeated your name to himself.

“I’ll let him know darling.” He then put a friendly hand on your shoulder as a farewell when something heavy touched your foot, making you flinch. You looked to the floor: a metal ball had hit your foot. Looking confused at your surroundings, you crouched to grab the round object when its owner appeared.

“Oh hi, baby!” You cooed, your face brightening when your eyes found the tiny face of a toddler. “Is this yours?” They approached you a bit shyly, looking at you and the ball, as if weighing their options. The baby stared at you, blinking a few times, until they bent clumsily to grab it.

“Patu!” The little one said showing triumphantly the shiny object. The corner of your eyes squinted of the pure tenderness this creature provoked in you.

“Grogu, my little man!” Karaga called, to your surprise. You had to admit: you had forgotten about him for a little moment, but it was great that they knew each other. The toddler squeaked in delight, running to the man’s leg. He certainly looked amused with the encounter, so they were probably close-

“Ah!” The boy babbled cheerfully to you both, showing off his treasure again, and then started patting Karga’s leg.

“Your dad hasn’t got you dinner? Come here, let me grab you a sandwich.” The toddler sounded excited and made grabby hands to the older man to be picked up. Your eyes met with his as he observed you with curiosity. They were dark and huge, almost too big for the kid’s face. You gave him your brightest smile and he did the same in return.

“He looks sharp as a tack!” You praised, giggling a bit.

“You wouldn’t imagine.” 

Both of you laughed together as Grogu started to explain something in incoherent baby language.

“Oh, so you are enjoying the Art Exhibition too? What’s your favourite piece? I see…” You pretended to understand his excited gestures as Karga started to walk to the catering table. “It’s clear you’re such a connoisseur, sir.”

“Could you hold him a moment? I’m making him a sandwich.” Karga’s question took you off-guard, but he didn’t wait for an answer as he placed the toddler in your chest Both of you studied each other's eyes for a moment. You could count the times you had held a little one with the fingers of a hand. But finally, he looked satisfied after scanning your face and squeaked happily, starting playing with your hair and jewellery, even mapping your cheeks and nose with his tiny hands. A warm feeling ignited inside your chest as you replied sweet nothings to his babbling.

“Grogu! Here you are!”

The three of you looked in the direction of the baritone voice who had just called the baby. Between the multitude, appeared a man who stood up amongst everyone. Though he was dressing casually, in full denim, his handsome face and broadness were so obvious. Your mouth went dry. Not only his physical appearance but his gait and the way he carried himself. You weren’t used to meeting men like that. He was borderline intimidating. His scowl while looking at the baby didn’t help with that. Was he angry that a stranger held the boy?

“Din! Good to see you, I thought your son would be hungry.” The gorgeous man huffed in response, looking at the sandwich Greef Karga had just prepared.

“The little womp-rat is always hungry,” he mumbled and started caressing the boy’s head, and the baby giggled. “I asked you to stay there.” He scolded, but the toddler just looked happy to see him again. Din sighed in resignation and finally, it looked like he noticed your presence for the first time. While you still had Grogu between your arms, he stared at you without a word, like you were a sculpture and not a person. You observed him back without shame and he tilted his head slightly while studying you. He looked stiff as a board and didn’t stop frowning all the time.

Weird.

Luckily, Karga spoke after the strange silence between you became too tense.

“Din, this is…” Karga started introducing you after clearing his throat,  but then the little boy interrupted by babbling at you while offering you his ball.

“You want to play baby?” You asked, but you could see his handsome dad pinch his nose. It wasn’t the moment to annoy this stranger who didn’t seem to like you. “Later, ok? First, be a good boy and have dinner.” Your soft voice reminded him of the prospect of food, and now he was twisting in your arms. You let go of him and the toddler ran immediately to grab Din’s calf. The man looked exhausted and 100% like he didn’t want to be there. But when he put the little one between his strong arms his face lightened up in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he left towards the catering table. Before getting lost between the multitude, Grogu’s head popped behind Din’s toned shoulder and he waved at you. You needed a moment to recover, having melted like ice cream from the cuteness of the gesture.

What a pair.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, Din can be a little rude sometimes.” You shook your head dismissively in response when Karga excused his friend, even though a little rude was a polite way to say it.

“Don’t worry sir, the baby was so adorable I didn’t notice.” You then offered your best smile before departing. “I leave you to attend the other visitors, it’s been a pleasure.”

Later in your shared dorm, you’d think a lot about the pair you had met. Such a friendly toddler and his dad? He was so attractive and manly you felt dizzy, but he had been so rude to you. What was the problem with him? He looked like he instantly disliked you. Maybe it was your cologne? Was it your outfit? Turning in your narrow mattress, you said to yourself you had more pressing matters to attend to, like how the hell you were going to pay for the semester after your scholarship had been denied. You sighed and closed your eyes, and you dreamt with broad shoulders and bright huge eyes.

Next Chapter

Tag List: @technicallykawaiisoul

[searchingforserendipity25]

Hi! I loved your Nolofinwean headcanons. 💛 for Arafinwean familial relationships? — @emyn-arnens

Thank you for the ask @emyn-arnens, I'm glad you enjoyed the Nolofinwëan ones! Here are some Unusual Arafinwëan familial headcanons:

orodreth is his mother's favorite, bar none. this is not a secret.

finarfin does not have favorites. this is a lie.

angrod leaves little of himself in history, but he is the happiest of them all, for as long as he does live.

he is the one who dies first, and the one who had been most certain he would die first. his last years are full of smoke creeping in the corners of his eyes, a paralyzing urgency. if only fingolfin had heeded him - if only their cousins could be bothered to stir from complacency -

he dies very bitter, bitterly satisfied. one things all chronicles agree on: he did tell them so.

finrod and finduilas share a love for sculpture. many of the carved colonnades of nargothrond were made by her hand; the style shows up, with some variations, in the avenues and streets of lindon.

aegnor and angrod go on a five-year adventure trip on the Ice with fingon. it takes eldritch beasts, five toes lost to frost burn, a long quest for rare healing ingredients for idril's recovery based on old, old songs from the Crossing for their friendship to be renewed, after alqualondë. they remain each other's dearest friends and among their most important people until the end.

galadriel thinks very little of nolofinwë's wishy-washy political approach to achieving power. if she had been second-in-line to finwë's throne, with the backing of the vanyar and well-established in the city, none of her brother's would have been able to keep her from orchestrating her rise to power.

finrod might have. but in the end finrod won and lost a realm well before she had one of her own, and there was little satisfaction in being the last, the wisest, the most enduring.

gil-galad and finarfin meet three times. this is long enough for them to discover they share the same eyes, the same sense of humor, the same principles of leadership. this does not improve anything, and in fact makes it considerably worse.

gil-galad and celebrimbor do not talk about nargothrond. the whole of their relationship consists of very pointedly not talking about nargothrond, while basing their political and personal stances on everything that once happened in a kingdom now long under the sea, where the only lady of the king's line spoke long into the night of philosophy and craft and unmarring the marred with the most promising young goldsmith of the noldor.

celebrían smells it, something. the ash, the smouldering stone dust. her nightmares are all of the bragollach; but she does not often remember them.

galadriel, whose mind perceives all, even the seeping dream-stuff of her daughter's sleep, lies awake in her talan many nights through, remembering what she does not.

celebrían does not see them, in captivity: finrod is made anew, aegnor chose enclosure in the dark of mandos till the end of the world. but she hears him, at times. her first-dead uncle, angrod the iron-handed, whispering to her through the fever of her torment - here the links of the chain are weakest, there the steel of her captor's mail might be rent by a sharp stone, clawing fingers, teeth.

a spark of her nails on the walls of the cave, and if she is clever, she can use a cut of her hair as fuel to feed a spark. orcs fear flames more than anything, more even than she does.

the queen receives many guests, but there are no spare rooms in eäwen's private quarters.

[dailydragon08]

I hate the “no attachments” rhetoric so much and I hate that both Ahsoka and Luke in Mando and TBOBF fell straight back into it. Cuz they especially should know more than anyone that the feelings of isolation, feeling like you’re not in a safe space to healthily process your emotions—which requires actually feeling them and being in an environment where you’re allowed to feel them—and feeling like you have a support system where you can speak your feelings without judgment to get guidance and support is REQUIRED for Jedi to stay on the light side. Cuz loneliness, feeling like a burden, feeling like if you have one bad emotion it makes you all bad because of rules around feelings that are unrealistic and too rigorous makes you way more susceptible to the dark side.

Trying to beat bad emotions out of people completely is unrealistic. Expecting literal children to not feel those feelings and just know what to do with them cuz you’ve created a space where those feelings are forbidden is unrealistic. Pushing feelings and emotions down and “burying” them (re: obi wan telling luke “bury your feelings deep down” in ROTJ) and expecting those people to be perfectly healthy is unrealistic. Wanting this level of control over people, their thoughts, and their emotions, and this black and white thinking is not only toxic and dangerous, but is akin to cult culture. The PT era Jedi were extremists in this way and just too blind and couldn’t accept any criticism enough to see it because for some reason, a bunch of old guys decided evolution was not allowed and they’d just keep running the system the same way they always had with no room for change and that would somehow be this foolproof path to survival—which is a complaint a lot of people have about our current irl political system and is causing a lot of damage, btw.

Like wasn’t that the whole point of showing the Jedi’s fall? And doesn’t clone wars especially show how this thinking created all these cracks in the system that Palpatine was easily able to exploit and manipulate and Anakin was just someone who wanted change in the order and he was ostracized for it, so Palpatine latched onto him and Anakin was like “oh finally someone values me,” just to be manipulated and abused and have his whole life blown up to the point that he thought the empire was his only option (obv not excusing the atrocities, just saying I can see how he got to where he did mentally by ROTS)? Like he literally tells Luke that they can team up to overthrow the emperor and in ROTJ, when Luke tries to get him to run with him pre-throne room battle, he says “it’s too late for me,” so he KNOWS this is bad and only going to get worse, but has resigned himself to it.

Like wasn’t the whole point of the OT and the “I can’t kill my own father/there’s still good in him/I can turn him back to the good side” meant to prove that Jedi DO NEED healthy connections in order to thrive and stay on the light side? If they wanna forbid anything, they should be forbidding possession and control, but the PT Jedi Council instead used that for their own benefit and lacked any self awareness to see they’d just become what they were preaching against.

Like give me a post-OT Jedi council who teaches healthy connection and letting things go that aren’t meant for you to control and that friendships and relationships can be powerful things that bring you back to the light in your darkest moments, and a more Legends-esque New Jedi Order that values emotional health and well-being and is a safe space for not only the galaxy, but Force sensitives, no matter how they’re built instead of trying to force everyone into the same box. This is the order I wanted to see Luke cultivate in canon and I will forever be salty that this isn’t what we got.

[thesoundofrainbirdwings]

POV you are a Rando Mando from the covert

You spend your days chilling in the covert and supervising foundlings. It's not as if you have anything better to do.

Din walks in fairly often but ONLY to talk to the armourer because he is ridiculously antisocial. You, on the other hand, chat with your fellow Mandos every day. He avoids everyone like he's going to catch Bothan Nether Rot just from making eye contact from you all.

One day he invites a girl to the covert and somehow she ends up being a Mandalorian princess with a fancy ship and fancy paint job. Din also brings an overwrought ship. Maker knows where he got it.

Naturally Din makes a beeline for the armourer because of course he does. The princess meets everyone and is surprisingly social for someone who Din brought over. You have no idea how Din brought a princess to meet the fam though. However, you assume they're together and will get married or something.

You notice next they, for some reason, do everything together. When the covert goes to rescue Ragnar, they go together. But it's a group situation so you think, "whatever". And don't even mention the weird "foundlings" that showed up too. They are easily the ugliest things you have seen in your life. You promise yourself you won't go near them.

But then that rando Blue shows up. For some reason Din knows who he is and goes to talk to him in private. And for some reason Bo-Katan goes to join him. You stay back with the rest of the covert where you feel safe.

You go to the gathering around the fire. She listens very closely to what he has to say. Then he goes and sits SUSPICIOUSLY close to her. This is where you decide they are actually married.

The next day you are going to Nevarro. It seems they just assumed they would go together. You admit they work well as a team and her ship is actually nice. You also realise the starfighter Din owns isn't a mid-life crisis purchase either.

She shows up with her helmet off and realise she is better looking than you expected. It doesn't hurt that she is quite friendly and more cheerful than dingy Din. You can see why Din likes her.

They then go off on some harebrained errand the armourer sent them on. They take the baby and it looks suspiciously like a family trip instead of a mission.

A few days later, a fleet shows up. You start to wonder what Din did for this to happen. They keep sticking to each other though. This seems to be the one constant, even with all the ridiculous things happening around you lately.

The princess announces a mission to retake Mandalore and wants volunteers. You mull it over in your head and do decide on it but before you say yes, Din volunteers himself. You assume this is a formality on his end.

They travel in the same fancy ship though you expected it to happen. You also expected them to disembark together, which also happens. Why are you even surprised anymore?

You end up on this weird ship looking thing. You start to get along with some of the Nite Owls and chat with them. They're not as bad as you initially thought and you think you can make friends with them. You notice Din and his princess talking quietly. You assume they're having an intimate conversation and mind your own business.

The very next day, Din gets captured and you see the princess is shocked and sad. You assume this is what losing a spouse looks like.

[burstanddecay]

AJ! if you feel inspired, i'd love to see you write a little something for Din Djarin + "X tracing random shapes on Y" 💖

it's kind of toeing the line of the prompt, but this is what ended up coming out-- i've literally been working on it since you requested this (this man is so hard to write for??). Hope you enjoy 🤎

'til our fingers decompose

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Summary: The loss of Grogu caused a shift in both you and the Mandalorian. Wordcount: 1.6k Contains: yearning, talk of loss of a child/family, angst, a hint of fluff (it’s buried in there)

There is an irony in falling in love with a man so closed off he won’t ever show his face. You have to remind yourself that it isn’t anything personal: it’s how he was raised, a matter of values instilled in him, curtesy of a childhood that was taken from him.

The feelings had creeped up on you, something you never expected to happen, your own heart closed off to your surroundings. You weren’t looking and had quietly resigned to living a life with no attachments, no family, no warmth.

Yet he somehow got under your skin, something unfamiliar burrowing in your chest cavity, making a home in a place that you previously considered barren, curtesy of the devastation the galaxy had thrown your way over the years.

It was better to close it off. It was closed off, until wasn’t anymore.

Getting to know Mando was a process and there are still days you’re not quite sure he fully trusts you. You can’t really blame him for it, the galaxy a place full of mistrust, hurt and betrayal.

You like seeing him discover the kindness it can hold, too, despite that. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, the whole thing surprisingly tender as you watch it unfold.

Tender and Mando aren’t really two concepts that go hand in hand: when you first met him, you couldn’t help but be a little scared. Who wouldn’t be? A hulking mass covered in beskar, accompanied by an array of weapons strewn across his person approaching you with a menacing silence would terrify even the toughest men you knew.

The fact that he’s eerily quiet as he moves doesn’t help, instead only adding to the level of intimidation radiating off his frame.

Beneath the exterior, however, you found kindness to a degree that was foreign to you. Not that he actually seems to comprehend it’s there: he just stumbles upon it, continuously caught off guard when he sees the amount of trust people have in him because of it.

He’s blossoming because of it: he’s more patient, more open to learning the ways of others, more confident. The shift was definitely there, but things between you had stayed the same.

If anything, he’d gotten quieter towards you since Grogu left with the Jedi.

Part of you thinks his heart left with him.

Today, you’re not quite sure where he went: he just quietly left early in the morning as he usually did, off to either hunt a bounty or run errands he doesn’t tell you about.

It didn’t leave you with many options as for what to do: there wasn’t anything left to read on the ship and you had no jobs here yourself, so you had turned to cleaning a case of weapons that hadn’t seen maintenance in any of the last five systems you’d stopped lately.

You’re fond of this system, however, being one you visited before. You offhandedly mentioned it to him a while ago, telling him that this planet in particular was one that had stuck with you throughout your travels, even though it had been years since you last visited, far before you even met him.

What you didn’t know is that the sun doesn’t set here around this time of year, instead painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, dusting the days and nights in this soft, warm light that accompanied the comfortable warmth around you.

You needed this more than you’d like to admit, the absence of Grogu’s excited brabbling cutting into you far deeper than you imagined it would.

“Mesh’la.”

The word startles you, the stack of daggers and blasters at your feet falling over as you scramble to get up.

Mando.

He rarely addresses you directly, usually requesting things around you or through you. Hold the kid, flip the orange switch on your right, ask Peli if—

But this? This is new. The word, the intonation. The fact that he’s addressing you and only you. Your heartbeat roars in your ears as you slowly turn around.

“Mesh’la,” he repeats, the word distorted through his modifier, but still you sense something you can’t quite place in the two syllables. He’s standing a few feet away from you, beskar gleaming in the orange light.

You hesitate, shifting on your feet as you take him in, trying to figure out what he’s trying to say, whether it be spoken or unspoken.

“There’s not a living thing for at least another twenty five klicks,” he continues. “No matter where you turn.”

“O…kay…” you reply quietly, eyeing the Mandalorian, trying to find the hidden message. It takes mere seconds for you to break, and you frown as you ask the question. “What’s it mean?”

“What does what mean?”

You scoff, turning around and bending down to put the weapons back in the metal transport case. “I’m really not in the mood to play games today, Mando. I’m here to enjoy this place, not to solve riddles I didn’t ask for.”

“Din.”

You pause, hands resting on the edge of the transport case in front of you as you turn your head, not quite able to see him but listening intently, making sure your mind wasn’t playing a trick on you.  .

“My name is Din.”

You turn on the balls of your feet and look at him, mind running miles a minute. The words were steady and secure, matching his unwavering posture. One hand resting on his belt buckle, the other at his side as he towers above you, a position you’ve become well acquainted with over time.

“Okay, Din. What does mesh’la mean?” you ask, rising from your crouched position and wiping your hands on the sides of your trousers.

“Beautiful.”

It’s short and frank, yet it still causes your head to short circuit, nailing you in place and leaving you unable to do anything other than dumbfoundedly stare at the man opposite you.

“It means beautiful.”

“Yeah, I… I got it,” you stutter, face turning warm as you look anywhere but him, that stupid hulking mass, covered in armour nearly as impenetrable as his heart, staggering a few beats back as he takes a step forward, softly saying your name.

He repeats it, stepping closer again and reaching for your arm, stopping you from moving back any further as his gloved fingers wrap around your wrist, anchoring you in place.

“I…” he hesitates, a waver audible even through the modifier. “The kid.”

“What about the kid?”

He drops his hand and you subconsciously bring it up to your chest, rubbing the spot where his fingers had circled your wrist. You see him eye the movement and worry floods your system, icy in your veins. You move the motion up to your fingers, keeping them busy as a way not to chew the inside of your cheek to shreds.  

“What about the kid, Din?” you repeat, the words soft, as if you were trying to approach an easily startled critter. No sudden movements, no visible breathing, trying to quiet the heart trying its hardest to burst out of your chest.

“He’s gone.”

 A sigh escapes your throat, your shoulders sagging in the process. As much as the loss seems to be tugging at you, it hit the Mandalorian even harder. So hard that no matter how stoic he presents himself, how many jobs he takes to take his mind of things, the melancholy slips through the cracks of his armour at every breath. It radiates off him, the loss of a child, his child, his family eating away at him.

You know he tries to make peace with it, repeating the same phrase over and over when people inquire about him, telling them that he’s back with his kind. His mission is complete.

The words get stiffer every time, as if someone had programmed a droid and placed it under the helmet.

The only reason you know that’s not the case is because there is not a droid in the galaxy that could move itself with the disgruntled grace that seems to be ingrained in the Mandalorian’s stride.

“I know,” you say, the words barely a whisper. “And I’m sorry. I am so sorry he’s gone, Din.”

“I need you to promise me something.” He approaches you, leaving you bolted in place until he’s so close that you could count each of your individual lashes in the reflection of his helmet. He moves a hand up, fiddling with something underneath it, just above his neck guard. When he speaks again, you hear that he turned his voice modifier off, the sound unfamiliar and muffled through the helmet.

“I knew I would have to say goodbye to the kid when it come down to it, but I can’t say goodbye to you, too. I don’t…” he quiets down, pausing before continuing. “It’s unfair to ask—”

“Ask me.”

His head shifts, tilting to the side as his vizor is aimed directly at your face. You don’t know what colour his eyes are, only that his hair is brown, but you can only imagine the surprise etched on his face, the confusion clouding his eyes.

“Ask me, Din.”

He doesn’t immediately reply, instead tugging his gloves off, exposing tan hands that hesitantly grab hold of yours, thumbs cautiously rubbing circles across the back of your hands.

On one hand, all you can think is that they’re surprisingly soft for someone that hunts for a living. On the other, it doesn’t surprise you at all. The armour is merely that: an armour. Beneath it, you’ve found a profoundly lonely man that deserves so much more than he grants himself.

Something had to have changed. It had to, or he wouldn’t be here, asking something you thought both of you to be incapable of. A shift in both you and the man standing in front of you, a mirror in more ways than one.

“Stay. Please, stay.”

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 11: Battleground

The fight has come to Bisneth and it leads to a breaking point that will change things forever. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-10, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 6.4k

It was surprisingly easy to avoid the Mandalorian while preparing for battle. There was so much to do that you could just find something else when he drew too close or you felt his eyes linger on you for too long. 

You really shouldn’t blame him. You’d basically thrown yourself at the man in your sleep and were holding it against him that he wasn’t interested in you the same way you were in him. So he’d seen you as a physical outlet, so what? You were adults, you could give each other orgasm and not have it mean something. He’d made it clear that you were little more than cargo. Friendly cargo, maybe, but cargo. Why were you upset that he was treating you like it? 

Everyone in the settlement worked into the night, digging trenches for explosives and reinforcing the hall to withstand attack. You mapped out places for sentinels to perch in the tree line, places that would offer the most safety while getting the most information. 

“You should get some sleep,” Keci said eventually as you sat in front of the map you’d drawn in the dirt. You sighed. “We’re all about to shut down. I’m going to set some night patrols, we’ll know if anything goes to shit.” 

You looked up, finding Mando easily in the firelight. His damned helmet was so reflective it stood out like a beacon. He was showing someone something you couldn’t see. If you slipped away now, you doubted he’d even notice. 

“You need to rest, too,” you said before getting up and offering Keci your arm. She took it and you pulled her to her feet. “This is your fight, your people. You need to make sure you’re not too exhausted to lead.” 

“I know,” she smiled. You gave her a nod and started up the hill, the sound of the settlement working together growing quiet as you walked. The stars were bright overhead and you stood in front of your temporary home, looking up at them, remembering just how small you were. Inconsequential. 

You went to the bedroom where you’d stored your bag and tried to set up a place to sleep in a corner, one where you’d feel safe. But it didn’t work well. You sighed. You’d gone and gotten yourself dependent on someone else. It had been days - at least - since you’d last slept alone. It was good to try to break the habit now, you’d be on your own again soon enough. 

After a while, you gave up on trying to sleep. Instead, you got up and went outside, walking into the woods behind the small house until you found a tree that looked sturdy. It was dark, but you pulled yourself into the thick lower branches, wanting to be up high, close to the sky and all that it held. You weren’t quite sure how long you climbed, but eventually the branches were thin and you could see the haze of starlight. You managed to find a place to be in the branches, somewhere that was somewhat safe though it was still a conscious effort to hold yourself the right way, balancing your weight. You could fall at any time, go crashing to the ground and then it’d all be over. 

It was another, oddly comforting, thing to hold your own mortality like that. Alone, inconsequential, a slip away from never longing for home and the dead again. You breathed in the scent of the forest as a star twinkled overhead. At least it was a beautiful galaxy. It had been worth the fight. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, enveloped by the branches, when you heard him calling for you. 

“Mesh’la!” The Mandalorian’s voice sounded strained. You sighed. “If you’re out there, answer!” 

You groaned. 

“Where else would I be?” You called down. 

“Asleep,” he practically stomped over to your tree. You rolled your eyes, looking back at the stars. “I thought I asked you to not get yourself killed. Get down.” 

“Still alive, for the record,” you replied. “Don’t need you to babysit me.” 

“Doll,” he growled. “If you don’t come down, I will make you come down.” 

You ignored him, looking at the stars. Maybe he’d leave if you just stopped answering. 

“I’m not joking, Doll,” he said, his voice picking up the same tone he’d had in the city when he’d seen the bruises on your face. “Get down. Now.” 

“Fine!” You snapped, turning and starting down, only then truly realizing how high you’d climbed in the darkness. You had to take your time getting down, checking for branches less with your eyes and more with your feet as you worked your way lower. Eventually, you saw the ground and hung from a branch for a second before letting go from higher than you usually would. The force of the landing made you stumble and Mando caught you before you went too far. 

“There,” you snapped, looking into his visor, your arm still in his grasp. “Happy? I’m down, I’ll go lay awake and stare at the ceiling for hours since that what the great Mandalorian desires.” 

You yanked your arm from his grip, skin tingling where he’d touched you, your body still responding to him the way it had in the morning, longing stretching into your limbs and sinking low in your stomach. 

“Don’t know why you act like you care,” you muttered to yourself when you thought he was out of earshot, brushing plants aside with more force than necessary.

“What did you say?” He snapped, coming alongside you so quickly it made you jump. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you glared at him. 

“Tell me what you said and I won’t.” 

You stopped walking and looked at him, eyes narrowed. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his fists clenched. So you’d pissed him off then. Great. 

“I said, I don’t know why you act like you care,” you said, chin out. “It’s exhausting. I wish you’d stop.” 

“You think I’m acting?” He said, voice dangerously low. He prowled toward you and you took a step back on instinct. In that moment, he was a predator and you were prey. You kept going until your back hit a tree trunk but he met you there, caging you against it, his forearm over your head as he leaned over you. “That I’m pretending to care?” 

“Yes,” you hissed. “You just shut down this morning. You left. It’s fine that I was just a warm body to you, I can live with that. But stop acting like you give a shit about what happens to me.”

His hand that was clenched at his side moved so fast that you flinched but he cupped your cheek so gently that it was almost shocking. You instinctively pressed your face into his palm, his fingers stretching over your jaw, into your hair, thumb brushing your lip. 

“You think I don’t care what happens to you?” He asked, voice strained. “You believe that I’m not thinking about you - what you’re doing, if you’re safe, what you’re feeling - every second?” His body pressed into yours, pushing you into the rough bark of the tree but you didn’t care. “You think I haven’t been haunted by seeing you hurt? That I don’t want to kill everyone who’s ever laid a hand on you?” His breath was ragged. You swallowed, your hands cautiously going to his waist. His voice dropped to a whisper. “That I haven’t ached to touch you? Does that sound like a man who doesn’t care? I care, Cyare. Far more than I should.” 

“You left,” you said softly. 

“It has to stop,” his grip on you deepened. 

“Why?” You breathed. 

“It does,” he said, voice tense. “It wouldn’t work. So it stops. Now. But don’t think it’s because I don’t care.” 

He stepped away from you, leaving an ache between your thighs as you fell away from the tree at your back, bark imprinted on the skin of your arms. He took a final, longing look at you and went back to the house. 

You gathered your thoughts for a moment before following. Inside, he was kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting it aflame. You frowned. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You get cold on this planet,” he said, still sounding frustrated. “If you’re not by a fire, you shiver all night.” 

“I’m not sleeping in here,” you crossed your arms. He looked over his shoulder at you. You shrugged. “Sorry.” 

He sighed and got to his feet, moving to stand almost against you. 

“Why.” 

“You never ask a question,” you ignored him. “You just make statements, act like you know everything…” 

“Doll,” he growled. “Why are you not sleeping in here?” 

You shrugged. 

“I don’t want to.” 

You started to the bedroom you’d picked, hoping that he’d just leave it. He didn’t. 

“It’s too open, isn’t it.” His voice was gentle.

You stopped, grinding your teeth. You didn’t want to look back at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, still not moving. Your feet felt rooted to the ground, the bedroom only steps away but you couldn’t make yourself go there. He approached you slowly, cautiously, his hand going to your lower back. 

“I’ll stay with you,” he said. You could feel him beside you, your body remembering what he felt like between your legs as you came undone. 

“I’m not going to force my company on you,” you glared at him. 

“I’ll stay with you,” he said again. “Doll. I… care. Don’t make me say it again. Don’t shiver and make me worry all night because you’re stubborn.” 

“Fine,” you said eventually. “I need to get my blankets, though.” 

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Go sit by the fire.” 

You glared at him again but obeyed. The Mandalorian being nice out of pity was worse than him being cold and distant. You might be able to forget how he touched you - or maybe at least hate it - if he was cold to you. 

But you settled in front of the fire, anyway, staring into the flames. You weren’t sure what time it was and your body felt tired but you didn’t want to sleep. Din draped the blanket over you before sitting beside you on the ground. 

“I’m… sorry,” he said after a moment. You didn’t look at him. “I wasn’t trying…” 

“It’s fine,” you cut him off. This was painfully awkward. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

He looked into the fire, too. You weren’t sure what to say to him, only that you wanted to tell him something. About the way you felt with his arm brushed yours, how everything was better when you were close to him - something that no one else had ever done. How you were starting to think you didn’t want to go to Dantooine at all, that you wanted to stay with him and do whatever you could to help so long as he was willing to keep you around. 

Instead, you just sat in the slightly uncomfortable silence, watching the fire devour the wood. Your head drifted onto his shoulder and he looked down to you. 

“You should sleep,” he said after a moment. “I’ll stay with you. You’ll be safe.” 

You nodded against his armor. You hated that you believed him. 

***

The settlement was as ready as you could make it. Everyone at Bisneth was gathered around several fires, the air full of the tension there always was before a battle. Din knew it well and he knew you did, too. 

It had been a chilly two days between you and the Mandalorian. He hated that he’d hurt you by breaking off… whatever there had been between the two of you. He hadn’t let it exist long enough for it to be anything. 

Even though you’d been distant, you still gravitated toward him when not doing something else. You seemed to resent it, though. It was like you’d find yourself beside him without thinking about it, your eyes would narrow at nothing in particular, and then you’d go find something to keep you busy. You’d dug trenches, scaled trees - a hobby of yours Din was finding frustrating - or set barricades. But it was done now. The cartel was expected tomorrow and everyone seemed to understand that this was the last night they would all be together. The fight wouldn’t be without casualties. 

As had become your habit, you’d settled in beside him, the pair of you sitting on the outskirts. 

“You should stay with the vulnerable tomorrow,” Din said after you’d been sitting there in silence for a few minutes. You frowned, eyebrows coming together. 

“No,” you said flatly. “Why?” 

“Because they’ll need a skilled fighter in case anyone gets through and you have experience protecting people,” he replied. “And you have a better chance of staying alive there.” He knew you were about to protest, but he cut you off. “You need to get them to sign the agreement. You’re the only diplomat here, Doll.” 

You went back to staring at the flames. 

“You don’t like that,” he said after a moment. 

“No,” you said. “And I’m not doing it.” 

“Doll,” he growled but your head whipped around to him, eyes narrowed. 

“You’re not my commander,” you hissed. “I can back up the hold as needed, I don’t need to hide there. You don’t get to tell me to act like a coward and expect me to obey.” 

Before he had a chance to argue with you, Keci slipped around the outside of the ring of people, sitting beside you. 

“Do you think we’re ready?” She asked, looking at you. Your face softened before you turned to talk with her, twisting away from Din, seemingly happy to ignore him. 

“I do,” you said. Keci looked skeptical. “Really.” 

“You probably think we’re crazy,” she said, looking out at the people gathered around fires, sharing food and laughing and dancing. “Fighting this hard for this place. It’s not like we have much here but…” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You have the only thing worth fighting for. So many battles over things that don’t matter… credits, power… You’ve got peace here. A quiet, peaceful life with those you love? That’s the only thing worth killing over.” You shrugged. “It’s all I want.” 

Keci nodded slowly. 

“It just feels small,” she sighed. “But after the war everything feels small.” 

You shrugged again. 

“The small stuff is what’s important.” 

After a while, Keci left and you went back to ignoring Din without an excuse, but for some reason not leaving, either. He wasn’t arguing. He liked being near you - far, far too much. He didn’t mind silence, especially if he got to sit beside you. 

“I’m manning a barricade tomorrow,” you said eventually. “You’ll have to deal with it.” 

He flinched below his helmet. 

“That’s dangerous.” 

“I know.” 

“So why don’t you care?” He asked, looking at you. You found his eyes beneath his helmet - he almost wished you couldn’t do that with such unnatural skill - and frowned. 

“Some things are just worth dying for.” You stood up, brushing off your pants. “I’m going to bed.” You turned to leave but paused before turning back to him. “If I die… do me a favor? Tell my parents I made it somewhere good, that I’m doing well. OK?” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond, instead stalking off. Din watched you go, knowing that you would curl up on the floor and not admit that you were cold but would press your body into his in your sleep when he lay beside you. 

***

It was about to begin. 

The entire settlement had woken up early, everyone tense. If they kept to their usual cadence, the cartel should be there that morning. The almost celebratory mood from the night before was gone, replaced with solemn silence. You helped seal the most vulnerable into the hall and did final checks, readying to take your place at a barricade when the first scout report came in: They were coming. 

You were at one of the final barricades before the center of town, ready to pick off runners without real power and try to capture the ones who had control. 

It was strange, just how quickly being in battle came back to you. It was like the war had never left you at all. The tension of waiting, the finality on the horizon. Win or lose, there were no half measures. This was it. 

You tried not to think about where the Mandalorian was. You couldn’t expect this to go well if you were distracted. The last time you’d been in battle, worrying about someone besides Sosha’s well-being, he’d died. You weren’t going to let that happen again. 

Keci fired the first shot. The cartel wound their way up the path to the settlement, growing suspicious at the quiet as they drew near. They didn’t make it as far into the settlement as you’d hoped, but it was enough. 

Once the shooting started, it was like an eruption, the fighters screaming and launching themselves at the cartel. You felt it in your stomach when the first body dropped. 

You tried to be judicious in your shooting, taking out who looked like the equivalent of infantrymen. One made it to you who was shouting commands over his shoulder. 

“Leave him!” You yelled to the man beside you. He gave a stiff nod and you ran out from cover, vibroknife in hand. The target saw you running for him but he was too slow and you were able to duck the one blaster shot he was able to pull off before knocking his weapon free and putting your knife to his throat. 

“Move!” You ordered, shoving him out of the line of fire and into a barricade. The woman fighting there pulled him over it and you followed, pinning the man down and holding the knife tighter against him. 

“Who’s in charge?” You demanded through gritted teeth. 

“Do you really think you can win?” He asked, laughing. 

“Who’s in charge?” You pressed the knife tighter. “I’m about to stop asking nicely.” 

There was an explosion, one that didn’t sound like it came from where you’d laid the explosives. 

“He’s coming,” the man below you smiled. 

“So you’re not in charge,” you sighed. “Pity.” 

You slit his throat, the man looking genuinely surprised that you’d done it as the life left his eyes. The woman next to you winced as her com came to life. 

“East side, east side!” The crackling voice was cut off by blaster fire. 

“Shit,” you swore, looking around. The smoke wasn’t far from the hall. You were on the wrong side of it to intercept anyone coming from that side, but you’d have to cross the battle-snarled settlement to get to it. 

You looked at the roofline, catching a flash of beskar on a nearby building. You kept your body low and moved quickly before pulling yourself up the building, barely enough foothold to clamber up the side. But you made it to the roof, Din hauling you onto it, rifle still in his grasp. 

“Are you OK?” He asked quickly, looking you over. 

“I need to get to the hall,” you said. 

“I thought you didn’t want to hide in the hall,” he replied. You glared at him. 

“They’re blasting their way into town, bypassing the barricades,” you said. “I need to get there.” 

He peered over the edge of the building. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You scoffed. 

“Do I have a choice?” 

“I’ll clear a path,” he said, looking at you. “I won’t let you get hurt. Just keep moving and trust me.” 

“Remember what I said,” you replied after a moment. “My parents…” 

“I’ll protect you,” he cut you off. 

You gave him a last look and a stiff nod before dropping back down the side of the building, staying tucked against the wall as you waited for a hole. The cartel had to have more than 200 men moving through, the funnel not enough to even the odds. 

“Go!” The Mandalorian yelled and you took off, launching yourself over a barricade and into the street. Men dropped in front of you and you heard blaster bolts making connections behind you. You ignored them, focused on moving through the field as quickly as you could. Din kept his word, keeping your path clear until you were through. 

You’d barely made it to the hall when you heard a scream from inside. Your eyes went wide. They shouldn’t have been able to make it in. 

You ran around the building, crouching low to avoid getting shot, until you found the hole they’d blown in the side of it. They’d brought more charges than you’d anticipated. You drew your blaster and crept inside the opening. 

“Please, don’t hurt him!” A woman was sobbing. You slipped into the room, the handful of cartel with their backs to you. A man in the center of the room was holding someone, you couldn’t quite make out who. 

“Call off your people!” The man shouted. “And then maybe the boy can live.” 

Found the boss then. 

You took a quick inventory of your enemies, a total of eight cartel and about 60 civilians, with one cartel you’d need to leave alive. You opened your knife and slipped it up your sleeve. You picked the two cartel you could hit with the lowest risk and fired two shots in quick succession, dropping both of them. The rest of the cartel spun, weapons trained on you - except the leader. As he turned, you saw his weapon to the head of a boy - one who couldn’t have been more than 10.  You dropped the blaster and put your hands up. “You’re going to want me alive,” you said before they got a chance to shoot. “And you’re going to want to let him go.” 

“Oh yeah?” The leader pressed the weapon tighter to the child’s head. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice calm. You stepped forward, arms still raised. A com at the waist of one of the fallen cartel crackled to life. 

“They’ve got backup on the ground!” He yelled. “Mandalorian!” 

The leader gripped the boy harder. 

“Now now,” you said, voice calm. “Let’s not do anything we’ll regret. You heard what’s out there. And that boy? He’s not going to get you anywhere with the Mandalorian.” 

It was a lie, you knew. Din would never let a child get hurt. 

“So what?” The cartel man snapped. He was stressed. 

“I’m the only other off-worlder here,” you said. “Guess why that is? Who I’m here with? You want to get the Mandalorian’s attention? I’m who you want. Let the kid go, take me outside. Maybe we can make a deal.” 

“Why are you so eager to cut a deal with me?” He asked, but his grip loosened on the boy. 

“Because I know a lost cause when I see one,” you said. “And I want to make it off this rock alive. This isn’t my fight.” 

The man considered you for a second, but you were a good liar. You always had been. 

“Agreed,” he snapped, shoving the boy toward his mother and turning his blaster to you. You approached him slowly, letting him grab you and pull you into his body. His breath was hot on your ear. “Lets see if your boyfriend will make a deal.” 

He shoved you out the way you came, blaster pressed to your head, his lackeys trailing behind him. He walked you to the front of the hall, toward the closest thing the town had to a square. The Mandalorian was already there, his chest rising and falling quickly, blaster drawn but held low when he saw you. 

“If you want to leave here alive,” Din said, his voice dangerously low. “You should take the blaster away from her head.” 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate, Mandalorian,” he shouted. You winced, his mouth right by your ear. You adjusted your sleeve slightly, the tip of the blade of your knife slipping into your palm. You raised your hands slowly, exposing the metal to Mando. 

“Remember the point,” you said, glancing quickly to your hand then back to Din, hoping he saw what you meant. “What we need.” 

He gave you a stiff nod. The cartel leader pressed the blaster harder against your head. 

“What you need,” he said, pressing himself into you. “Is to leave here alive. And you’re not doing that without giving me what I want.” 

“Start by pointing the blaster at me,” Din said. “I’m not going to shoot you while you have her. Point it at me.” 

The man obeyed, aiming for the Mandalorian while pulling you back further into his chest, his arm tight around your body. 

You lowered your arms slowly, sliding the knife further forward in your grasp. 

“You’re not in the position you think you are,” you said, the handle of the knife slipping into your palm. You looked at Din. “Now!” 

He started shooting, aiming for everyone except the man who held you. You took care of him, raising the hand with the knife and thrusting it down, fiercely, into the man’s leg. He let out a scream, instinctively loosening his grip on you, and you pulled the knife free as you broke out of his grasp. You knocked his blaster aside while he was distracted and, in one swift motion, moved to the back of him, shoved him to his knees and pressed your knife to his throat. A dozen cartel lay dead in the square, more shooting and screaming not far away.

“Now,” you said, your lips nearly brushing the man’s ear. “I think it’s time we discuss why you’ll never touch this village again.” 

***

You’d made quick work of the leader, laying out the parameters of the agreement with precision. He’d tried to intimidate you, Din’s hand never leaving his blaster, but you hardly seemed to notice. He supposed a drug runner’s posturing was nothing compared to Imperial leadership and he found himself picturing you as a teenaged spy, just a girl holding powerful men in the palm of her hand.

Once you’d forced the cartel’s hand, Din took the leader by blaster point to the remaining fighting, putting an end to it. Keci stood beside him as the remaining men left town, smoke still on the air. 

“It’s really over,” she said, almost to herself. Din just gave her a single nod. “We owe you…” He glanced at her. 

“No,” he shook his head. “It was… the right thing to do.” 

She looked back over the settlement. There were bodies in the streets, some fires still burning. 

“Recovery will take some time,” she said. “But we’ll actually be able to get there.” 

The cartel gone, Din went looking for you. It took some time but he found you, kneeling next to a body in the square, a man from the settlement who was injured but had survived. You were cleaning a wound at his side, his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it as he winced in pain. He watched you for a moment, the intense focus on your face as you worked. Your sleeve was torn, your upper arm shiny with blood. 

Without meaning to, he remembered what you looked like with a blaster to your head. The way his heart clenched in his chest when it looked like you’d been captured. Someone could have stabbed him in the back in that moment and he never would have sensed them coming, he could only focus on you. It was a danger. He’d put you in danger and it was going to get you both killed. 

The settlement lost 15 people, small numbers compared to cartel losses but huge when there were fewer than 200 people who lived there. It was going to be a sorrowful time for the people there, a time the Mandalorian didn’t particularly want to stick around for. When the wounded had been tended to, he pulled you aside, the injury at your arm from a blaster shot that had grazed you still open. 

“We need to fix your arm,” he nodded to the wound. You frowned at it, like you hadn’t noticed it before. “And we should get back to the Razor Crest.” 

You looked at him for a moment. 

“Fine,” you said, starting up the path to the home you’d shared while here. He tried not to think about how much it hurt to see you walk away from him, how much it would hurt when it was permanent. 

The two of you made your way back to the ship in cool silence, darkness falling as you walked. Keci had tried to convince you to stay for at least another few days, if not forever, but you’d politely declined before hugging her goodbye. Your arm was bandaged now but you’d refused to let Din carry your bag and he was preoccupied by the way it kept snagging on the bandage likely irritating your wound. 

He knew what he needed to do now. He couldn’t keep putting you in danger, he was too attached to you to properly protect you. It had been a stupid mistake to get wrapped up in you the way he had. You were cargo and it was time to take you to your destination, where you wouldn’t be shot or have to extract information from slavers or patch up his injuries when he was knocked out. It was the only safe choice. 

You weren’t paying attention when he programmed the jump to Dantooine and he didn’t say anything. He wanted to keep you to himself for a bit first, without the goodbye hanging over your heads. You stared out into the stars for a bit before you turned to him. 

“Chess?” You asked. It was the first word you’d said in hours. He gave you a nod, and you went into the hold. Din couldn’t focus on the game but he didn’t want to. He was trying to memorize you for when you were gone, the precise way your fingers absently curled around the side of your throat when you were thinking, the way you sat with your back straight and chin high like the crate in the hold was a throne, the way you unknowingly pursed your lips when puzzling something out. The arch of your brow, column of your throat, curve of your breasts. Yes, he’d remember it all. 

***

“So where are we going, anyway?” You asked after two days of sullen almost silence from your shipmate. You hated where you’d gotten to. It seemed like, after Layari, you were in a good place. He respected you, wasn’t suspicious of your every move. He might have even liked you. You liked him, more than liked. But the night in Bisneth had taken the first connection you’d had to another person in years and shattered it. You wished you could take it back, even though - as Din went to sleep in his bunk and you stayed on the floor in the hold - you found yourself thinking about it as your fingers slid down your body to where you ached to be touched. It didn’t matter how good he’d felt, how much you wanted to do so much more. That night had broken something you hadn’t even realized you treasured. 

The Mandalorian was strangely quiet, even for him, to your question. Instead, he just moved a pawn on the board in front of you.

“Din?” You asked, not bothering to see where he’d placed his piece. “Where are we going? What puck are you after?” 

You felt his eyes lift to yours and your mouth went dry. 

“Dantooine.” 

“No,” you shook your head, resisting the urge to press your hands to your eyes to keep from crying. “No, you have contracts.” 

“They can wait,” he shrugged. “I’ve dragged you around enough. It’s time to get you where you need to go.” 

“Why now?” You demanded. You were on your feet but you didn’t remember standing. “You weren’t in some big hurry before, why are you taking me now?” 

“I told you,” he said, standing up, too, and coming to stand in front of you. “I’ve dragged you around enough. Your father paid more than a fair price for passage. I should have gotten you there sooner.” 

“Bantha shit,” you said. “What, you decide to trade me in? Got what you could out of me so you’re going to sell me to the Imps? That why you’ve been so quiet, taking calls in the cockpit? Been negotiating?” 

“No,” he said. He didn’t try to defend himself or even sound mad, he just stated it. You knew he wouldn’t do that, he’d never do that to you. But there had to be an explanation for why now. There had to be a reason, even if it was something you knew he’d never do.

You pulled your blaster on him anyway, holding it in front of you and pointing it at his chest. 

“I can’t leave you alive,” you said, jaw set firm. A tear slipped down your cheek. “You know too much. It’s too dangerous. It’s too dangerous for my parents, for Sosha, for me.… I have to kill you.” 

“You won’t,” he said. 

“Try me,” you snapped. “Don’t act naive, Mando. You know that I’ve killed people, you know what I’ve done. Do you think killing you is somehow a bridge too far for someone like me?” 

“No,” he said, walking closer to you, slowly, until the barrel of the blaster was against his chest. “But you won’t hurt me. And you know I won’t tell anyone where you are. It’s against the code of the guild. Once the job is done, it never happened. No one will know.” 

“It never happened?” you said, gritting your teeth and pressing the blaster harder into his chest. “Really? That’s what you want?” 

“It’s the code,” he said. He reached up slowly, his hand covering yours, holding the blaster to his chest. “Are you going to shoot me, Doll? No one will ever give you a clearer shot than this.” 

“I hate you,” you seethed at him, ripping the blaster away from his chest. It was lie. But you were good at lying. 

“I know,” he said, reaching his hand up to your face, his thumb against your cheek, gloved fingers dipping into your hair. You didn’t want to lean into the contact, didn’t want to want him to keep touching you, but you did. He took his hand back. “We’ll be landing soon. You should make sure you’re packed.” 

By the time you joined him in the cockpit, you weren’t crying anymore but he could barely look at you. You thrust a data pad at him, on world coordinates on it. 

“That’s not a spaceport,” he said, frowning. 

“That’s the point,” you snapped, strapping into the copilot’s seat. “Easier to slip on and off world from farmland.” 

He gave you a stiff nod. The planet loomed large in front of you and you wanted to enjoy it. But enjoying what was taking you away from Din and this ship was hard. This is why you didn’t get attached to people. They die or they leave you or you have to leave them. Being alone was better. A man who’s face you’d never seen, who you’d barely touched, and you were trying to keep it together enough to go. 

The Mandalorian put the ship down in an open field near a small house. It looked almost idyllic, reminding you a bit of the Naboo countryside. A couple - around your parents’ age - came outside, shielding their eyes with their hands as they watched the Razor Crest touch down. The second the ship was on the ground, you all but jumped up, wanting to cut ties before your eyes betrayed you again. 

You grabbed your bag and almost ran down the ramp as it opened, Din following close behind. 

The woman, you could tell, was your mother’s cousin. You’d never met her, but the family resemblance was clear. 

“You made it!” She said, running to you. She was small, a bit shorter than you, and she reached up and brushed your hair back from your face. “We weren’t sure when to expect you, if you were OK…” 

“I’m fine,” you smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. “My transport just had other jobs to finish first.” 

She noticed the Mandalorian then, her eyes going a little wide before looking back to you. 

“Thank you for bringing her,” she said, smiling at him. He just gave her a stiff nod. “Would you like to come in?” 

“No,” you answered for him, shooting him a glare before looking to the woman. “He doesn’t really like people. Besides, now that I’m here, this never happened. Right?” 

He was silent for a moment, staring you down. 

“Yes,” he said, voice low.

“Good,” you said cooly. 

“Thank you for delivering her safely,” your mother’s cousin smiled kindly, looking back and forth between the two of you. Din nodded to her before looking back to you. 

“Take care of yourself, Mesh’la,” he said. You could feel his eyes on you, like he was looking right through you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to shove him back onto his damned ship or run to him with open arms and see if he would catch you and hold you to his chest. 

“You too.” 

You watched as he went back aboard the Razor Crest, watched until the ship was off the ground, your hair and skirt blowing and twisting in the rush of air as he left, watched until you couldn’t see him anymore. You kept watching where he’d been, like you were waiting for him to come back for you, until the emptiness of your new life swallowed you up and you went inside, refusing to look back again.

[corellianhounds]

Analyzing The Mandalorian’s Motivations — “The Heiress” Criticism

Part I / Part II

Word Count: 2k

I have several issues with how Mando is characterized in Season 2 of the show, and some of the most concise examples come from actions in “The Heiress” and “The Rescue,” which have parallels in their ending fights and character takeaways. In Season 2 it often felt like the end result the writers wanted dictated how certain plot points had to be accomplished without taking into consideration what the characters logically should have done in the situations that came up based on their prior scenes and established characterization. It didn’t feel like Mando’s reasoning, choices, or personal motivations were explored or exemplified, so his agency as a character was put to the side in favor of meeting certain plot beats (though he wasn’t the only one).

The biggest conflict of this show is the fact that being a Mandalorian makes Din susceptible to danger at every turn, which he feels is no life for a kid to be a part of, and the longer the things he holds dear are in proximity to each other (him being a devout Mandalorian vs. keeping a mostly helpless Force-sensitive child), the more he’s in danger of losing one for the sake of the other. Both are at the core of Mando’s internal conflict, which sets up the biggest question of the series: “If forced to choose, which will be more important to the Mandalorian in the end?”

That gives us an overall objective of Mando needing to give the child to somebody else so the kid will be safe and he can continue to be the kind of Mandalorian he aspires to, even if it means he and the kid will be separated as a result. That internal struggle should dictate each of his smaller choices within the individual episodes because at this point in their story he doesn’t see any other way for him to have both.

For some reason, Season 2 felt like the writers missed the obvious reason Grogu needs a Jedi teacher. Mando needs to find a Jedi to train the boy so that not only will Grogu be safe (and presumably happy) with a person who better understands him as a Force-sensitive child, but so Grogu will be able to defend himself when he is alone. It’s important to remember that the Jedi code wasn’t just a belief system and way of life, it was also a martial art.

Even if Din were to keep the child and protect him to the best of his ability, he knows his own past as a hunter and his reputation as a Mandalorian make the child a target by association (to say nothing of the Empire and whoever they send after them, though he won’t know those are still a threat until later). The child does not age at the same rate humans do, and Mando knows there’s no guarantee he’ll always be around to save him. Even if he survives to old age with the child by his side, he doesn’t know if the child will be mature or capable enough of even caring for himself, especially if he doesn’t grow to be much bigger than he is now. Grogu needs to learn self defense and strengthen his skills if he is to ever have a chance at surviving those he outlives. Din has to reckon with the fact being the best Mandalorian he could be isn’t enough to keep the child safe on his own (which is another inner conflict we don’t get to hear about from him).

We never hear Din’s perspective on his quest outside of “This is what I was told to do,” which makes him a character the story is happening to instead of him driving his own narrative. The external goal is good because it means we get to see him struggling to keep the child at arm’s length, knowing he’ll have to give him up and not wanting either of them to be hurt by that separation, but Mando needed to have that internal motivation because it ties directly back to his main objective. Yes, the Armorer tasked him with returning the child to his own kind, but it was not only because she understood the importance of him being raised with his own culture, it was because the child is virtually helpless if his strength and control over the Force is inconsistent like Din has seen.

Without that internal motivation, Mando ends up not having much choice in where the story goes, making his character in the second season weaker as a result.

So now we’ve clarified his overarching goal and given him a more driven role and perspective in the story. Everything that follows should be a result of his active ambition in achieving it, which brings me back to his choices in “The Heiress.”

This episode introduces the idea of different Mandalorians having different customs/placing importance on different aspects of the code, but has Din choose to set those thoughts regarding ritual aside in order for him to receive information now that he realizes he’s so close to getting it (showing us him prioritizing the child over himself). What we didn’t get and what we should have gotten to see was Mando more visually desperate to achieve the episode’s tasks in exchange for the connection Bo-Katan has directly to a Jedi. The internal conflict of the episode now comes down to “What is Mando willing to compromise on to achieve his goals, and how far is he willing to deviate from his own code to get it?”

The main external conflict the writers/show-runners initiate but don’t resolve is Mando’s problem with Bo-Katan not sticking to the terms of their contract. Bo-Katan changes the terms of the deal midway through the heist, having kept her real motive from him the whole time. His character has no reason in these circumstances to honor the deal that she broke first, and I think his willingness to continue with the heist in order to get the information deviates too far from another seldom-explored, nuanced character trait of Mando’s: while he does give everybody at least one chance, if they prove to be a continued threat or refuse to back down, he reacts with swift, decisive justice.

This should have been the point in the episode where her actions were the last straw; she put him in a much more dangerous position and proved by her deception that she was using him. This should have been the point he said “No.”

I made a post before talking about Gor Koresh that puts Mando’s actions into perspective, but there are plenty of examples in every episode to back up the fact Mando has a tipping point. That’s a good thing. Yes, it’s admirable how much Mando shows restraint, but there has to come a point where your characters refuse to do something because otherwise they’re just a pushover and a doormat. Characters shouldn’t have to say yes to everything, and they should be able to make decisions that result in the story becoming more difficult for them. His choice here, outside of saving his own skin so he can guarantee being able to get back to the kid he is responsible for, should be to let Bo-Katan experience the consequences of her actions. He should have refused to let her be rewarded for her deception. He doesn’t have to shoot her to prove a point, but he certainly doesn’t have to help her.

If he’s willing to let their dishonorable actions slide, what else would he be willing to let others do at the expense of himself without holding them accountable or without them receiving the consequences they deserve? What aspects of himself will he compromise? I’m not even talking about compromise in the choice to take the helmet off in “The Believer,” I’m talking about who he is as a person.

Bo-Katan changing the terms of the deal reveals to the audience that she knew he wouldn’t have agreed to do the job in the first place because otherwise she would have told him at the beginning. Hijacking the entire Empire ship is intensely riskier and poses a danger to himself and by extension the kid if he doesn’t make it back. She gets him onto the ship and only reveals her intentions midway through, thinking she’ll be able to coerce him because they’re both Mandalorians.

That should have been the moment Mando decided the cost of this job outweighed the reward because if she was willing to deceive him about this, what reason does he have to trust her at all? She could have simply lied about having any information about a Jedi to begin with, or could withhold the information once the job’s done. Season 2 has several episodes with the theme of honoring one’s word being what marks somebody as a good Mandalorian, or at least as an ally Din can trust. Cobb Vanth, the Tuskens, the Frog Lady, later Boba and Fennec all have story elements that relate to the idea of honoring one’s word.

What Mando should have logically done based on what we’ve seen of him up to this point was tell Bo-Katan “No deal. I’m done. I’ll find the information I need elsewhere.” And then we see him jump off ship.

This has two major consequences to the show’s story moving forward.

• One: Mando doesn’t receive information about the Jedi and will have to find it somewhere else, a cost he is willing to take because staying with Bo-Katan would have meant putting himself at undue risk, with the possibility of her having lied about ever having the information at all. As it stands in canon, he’s forced to allow somebody he thinks SHOULD be honorable to reap the benefits of their dishonor, and what does that say about his character’s sense of justice in the end?

• And two: Bo-Katan’s heist fails, losing her the shipment (and potentially, in her eyes, the information about Moff Gideon she could have gotten if Mando had continued to the cockpit with them to interrogate the Imperials), meaning Bo-Katan’s already established antagonism would have pushed her into open animosity, pitting her against Mando as an enemy. That makes for a much more interesting and compelling narrative conflict Mando has to overcome in the finale when he has to convince her to join him, which would heighten interpersonal tensions and have the audience truly not know whether or not Mando is going to succeed in the end.

It also sets up a stronger villain for Mando after Moff Gideon is defeated. The show already presented Bo-Katan as an antagonist, and it would have made more sense to lean into that especially with the conflict over the Darksaber coming up at the end.

When Mando goes to her in the finale to recruit her for the ambush, Bo-Katan initially refuses anyway. I don’t have reason to think she entirely cares about Mando’s kid because her actions in the heist put him at risk. He is the sole caretaker and provider for the kid, and being willing to risk his life as collateral shows she only cares about Mando insofar as he’s willing to do what she says. With that change to “The Heiress,” each of them becomes a more strongly written character and he now has to make a more compelling argument to get her in the finale. It’s still the fact he knows exactly where Moff Gideon is that wins her over.

Their interpersonal conflict comes to its Act III at the end of the finale when it’s revealed Mando won the Darksaber in combat, and to add insult to injury Mando offers it up in forfeit in front of witnesses, so now she can’t even challenge him to a duel; people will know he never wanted it in the first place, meaning they’ll assume he’d throw any fight the two of them have. It’s the perfect setup for Mando’s next primary antagonist.

[meshlasolus]

House Of Memories (3/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: angst, death of mentioned character, overthinking (not sure if it's a warning but maybe a trigger??)

Summary: Following the death of his Master, Obi-Wan tries to pick up the pieces of his future plans. His life will never be the same, only because of a boy named Anakin Skywalker.

A/n: Okay so we're getting another episode tomorrow. I'm going to do my best to keep up with posting until the rest of the series is out.... There have been rumors about another season.... I pray to God that there is bc it's easily the best show on disney+ already there's no denying it. I'm a hardcore mando girl, but... come on

Words: 1.4k (ew)

A thick solemness hung over the temple when the transmission came in. At the expense of his life, Qui Gon Jinn fought to destroy the Sith Lord named Maul. Obi-Wan Kenobi avenged his master's death by killing him, but it didn't bring back his mentor whom he'd grown so close to.

It gave him a fresher outlook on life, on his own and the people around him. The jedi must have thought of themselves as expendable to a certain point, otherwise the order would not exist. Their very goal in everything they did was to put others above themselves and their colleagues, no matter the relationship or the time spent together. The mission comes first, and the people of the republic are to be protected.

Flying back to Coruscant gave him time to reflect before he had to face the council. He made his Master a promise on his deathbed that was first and foremost important... even though it was going to change the plans that had already been set in front of him for the years to come. It had been a year since Master Yoda told Obi-Wan that he would train the youngling he brought back as his padawan, but now he knew he may not be able to. He was to train Anakin Skywalker, the boy who very well may be the chosen one among the Jedi, said to bring balance to the force and fulfill the ancient prophecy.

Anakin was a bright boy for sure, but training him would present Obi-Wan with a newfound set of problems he couldn't even comprehend right now. He knew that you would be assigned to someone else, and that they wouldn't be able to connect with you the way he could. As was aforementioned, Obi-Wan was not particularly a favorite among all children, especially not the younglings in the temple, you being the only exception. He wondered if he might fail Anakin as a teacher, not knowing enough about him to pass on his knowledge in a way that could be useful later on. He didn't know much about the boy at all, other than the fact he had the highest midichlorian count of anyone recorded in history. He was a good pilot, and a spry little thing.

Once the ship had landed, there was little time for him to decide what he was going to say to the council, before he was taken directly to them and asked a series of questions, most of them a little bit unfeeling, given that he is still grieving the loss of his master, whom he'd known since being a youngling. He was glad when it was over, and everyone left the large room, filing out one at a time.

"Reassignment of your designated padawan, this means," Yoda floated by him on a hoverseat, hoping to catch him as he was leaving.

"I understand, Master, but I have decided. This is what Qui Gon wanted," he paused, and Yoda caught the slight discrepancy in his wavering tone.

"Not what you want, this decision is, hmm?"

Obi-Wan was scared to question his meaning, because after all the thinking he'd done, no, this is not what he wanted. He was being compelled by the force and the dying words of his Master to do what was asked of him, but it made him afraid. He had everything planned out until now, and one day has changed the trajectory of his entire life.

"I sense in you great fear. Ruin your future, it could," Yoda moved his hoverseat to the side upon seeing the younglings passing through the hallway, the Masters that lead them bowed in reverence, not only to Yoda today, but for Obi-Wan.

"I only want to carry out my master's wishes. His life shall not be lost in vain."

Yoda sighed, his words clearly went in one ear and out the other. The only person he ever seemed to truly listen to was Qui Gon, and as of today, he was lost to the cosmic force. He pondered for a moment before he was interrupted by a high pitched, shrill voice.

"Obi!" You saw him as you were walking at the end of the line of the other padawans, and he looked sad. That's not right. He shouldn't be sad when he makes everyone else so happy.

You ran out of line, nearly getting held back by the arms of the Master who walked behind you. You crashed into him, wrapping both arms around his legs, as it was the only place you could reach. You were late to your growth spurt... again. You supposed being small wasn't a horrible thing, because it allowed you to still be picked up and carried places, though usually you had to fake being tired for that.

"Hello, little one," Obi-Wan scooped you up, holding you to his eyeline to where he could see your excited smile. "Did you have a good time training today?"

He only asked because he knew you got to go to the city today, as a field trip of sorts. It was part of the fun for the younglings.

"No, it was awful," you said nonchalantly. he was almost flabbergasted, and Yoda snickered under his breath before floating away, seeing as the young Kenobi was now quite busy.

"What do you mean awful? Didn't you have a nice time in the city?" He waved off the Master who seemed to be waiting for your presence. They knew he would probably bring you to the children's quarters before curfew. He often took you to the library for some late-night reading upon your request before heading off to bed.

"I got pushed to the back of the tram, I was too small to see anything," you expressed, playing with his braid like you often did. He wasn't sure what you would think when he cut it off after the trials. Hopefully you wouldn't be too upset.

"I'm sorry about that, little one... perhaps we can go read some before I have to take you back?" he suggested, watching as your features lit up and you nodded rapidly.

-

He wasn't sure how to break the news to you. He had completed his trials with flying colors, and he was sure to hold records for some time after. You had been told in the past that Obi-Wan was to be your master. Now he would be taking on Anakin, and you would be assigned to someone who could quote on quote 'control your behaviors' in training. He didn't like that. He knew that whoever your Master was would overlook the best qualities and only focus on the faults. Most jedi in the temple had heard of you by now, and not very good things. It was you that kept him conflicted over the decision the most, still, he went through with it.

He was brought before the council, ready to receive Anakin as his padawan, and all the council members were there.

"It is with great pride that we grant you the rank of a Jedi knight, and give you your first assignment as such," Windu announced, beckoning to the guard on the other side of the room to let the doors be opened.

In came Anakin, freshly presented in his new training robes, adorning a new haircut than what he had before, including his own training braid, to mark his future progress. He had a smile on his face as he stood before the council again.

"Where's the other one?" Windu prodded to the man at the door.

"The other one?" Obi-Wan snapped his head around to meet the council once more, but then turned it back when you trotted in, cowering into yourself for your fear of the council. It wasn't necessarily even fear, but anxiety that they brought upon you. Every move you made under their scrutiny felt wrong.

"After much deliberation, we have found that it would be in the best interest of both padawans to be placed under your watchful eye. This is purely experimental, and if we see you struggling to uphold both of their training, we will revoke one of them to be reassigned immediately."

Obi-Wan didn't even care the stress he was about to take on. He was happy enough that he could keep both his promise to Qui Gon, as well as continue on with his original plans in the order.

"I will do everything in my power to bring the order pride by them."

A good response, one the council was pleased by. They sent the three of you off, ready to find your new living quarters.

Standing at the age of seven and a half, you felt so grown up having moved into your own room, away from the other younglings in the temple.

You were ready to begin your evolution from a youngling to a Jedi, and this was only the beginning. Obi-Wan was a good mentor and was convinced he would train both you and Anakin into great heroes of the republic one day.

-

Tags: @spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer

[phoenixyfriend]

if you’re doing the fanfic trope mash up, can i suggest 42 and 56 for jangosoka?

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.

This ask meme is from over a year ago. Please don't send new prompts.

42. The Big Damn Kiss 

56. Awful First Meeting

Okay, so: time travel, as is standard for this ship

We'll say Ahsoka is ehhhh 23, has been doing Fulcrum stuff for five or so years, is very competent but not perfect. She falls into the past, as one does, shows up about a year pre-Galidraan, so Jango is 21.

Ahsoka has slipped into some undercover work, eeling her way into the upper echelons of society, attending galas and events and so on in fancy dresses and jewelry. How is she funding this? However you want. Maybe she robbed a Hutt. Maybe she has the codes to some shadow accounts nobody knows she's accessing. Maybe she found teenage Bail and talked him into bankrolling her based on The Future. Doesn't matter.

(Actually, the Bail thing would make a great fic on its own, especially if Ahsoka were young enough to pretend to be his girlfriend. Tell me that wouldn't be hilarious. Not here, but somewhere. Bail is absolutely in love with Breha, but like... the fate of the Republic! The fate of the Jedi! That's a cool thing to be doing! With a cool person!)

Point is, she's lying to a lot of very wealthy, very dangerous people when she shows up at these things. She could have theoretically tricked her way into being someone's long-term date, but that would mean dating to attend more than one, and she's not doing that. Better to just pretend to be the heiress to a company from the rims that's very rich but not quite rich enough for everyone in the Core to have heard of.

She is using these events to spy, of course. Slipping into hotel rooms to slice datapads, bugging white collar criminals with a tap to their favorite watch, wandering into servant's tunnels while pretending to be drunk, all the usual fun stuff.

She gets caught, of course.

Jango's side of the story starts about when Ahsoka's does, with him hearing tales of someone stealing information and sabotaging deals, and he gets hired as security by one of those especially important events. He keeps an eye on this, and he... notices Ahsoka.

He does not notice her as a spy, but as a person who is being harassed by an intoxicated, rich old man, whom she'd clearly like to ditch but cannot safely do so.

(At least, as far as he can tell. We know her better than that.)

Jango steps in, because it's not like he's got a lot to do right now, and intercepting drunk old men has been about the only interesting thing he's had to do all night. Ahsoka... I mean, she thanks him. Technically. She doesn't hide her distaste for him as a person. Jango would think this is just about him being Mandalorian, except she doesn't react as negatively to any of the others. She's neutral and ignores most of them, but there are two moments where she interacts positively, laughing at a joke or something. So. She just doesn't like him.

The night ends without incident. It's not until weeks later that there's an information leak. It could have happened during the party Jango was guarding, but it could have happened at any of three other incidents that same month. There was at least one midnight break-in, several days after the party; there's a solid chance his presence did discourage whoever this spy was from engaging, and made them delay their actions to a Plan B.

Months later, he's doing personal guard duty for the king of something or other. It's another gala or fundraiser or coronation or--honestly, he doesn't care. He's getting paid to keep this one specific person safe, and that's all that matters.

He's not the only mando there, so when he sees a young woman, vaguely familiar, stumble out of the hall with an expression that says 'drunk' as much as it does 'roofied,' he doesn't commit any dereliction of duty by excusing himself to just... see that she's okay. The woman is familiar, even if he can't place her. That usually means something; what if she's an assassin he's run into before, here to kill his client?

(That really is why he's following her. If she's familiar but unplaceable, that usually means she's In The Business.)

He follows her at a safe distance, and sees her ask for a bathroom, get pointed in the right direction, and then... go down the wrong hallway, and enter a room that he's pretty sure is supposed to be locked.

He gives it a few seconds, edging closer slow enough that his boots can't be heard (the music and carpet both help muffle the noise, but he's still wearing a lot of metal), and then opens the door to a library-esque space.

The "drunk" girl is hard at work slicing into a computer terminal she 100% should not be at.

They stare at each other.

"Give me one good reason to not shoot y--"

"I can give you intel on Death Watch."

Jango pauses. Considers. It is not his job to keep information safe, this time. His job is to just keep one specific man alive, and this is an unrelated crime.

There are footsteps in the hall, and he sees her start to look around the room for an exit route. He tries not to think too hard on how she was planning on making the very-much-screwed-into-the-wall vent work.

"Fine," he says, and she looks quick at him, and then at the door, and then disengages from the computer and hops the desk to--plaster herself against him?

She giggles, high and drunken, and fumbles for his helmet. "Oh, come on, Mr. Mando, just a kiss? Just one ki--I told my friends I'd run into a Mand--ma--Mandaloriana... Just a kiss! I wanna--wanna one-up 'em..."

He hears the door crack open, and has no idea what he's supposed to do to play along to this... cover? Cover, sure. "Ma'am, I'm on a job."

"And you can't play? Your friends are totally--"

There's a cough from the door, and Jango turns, and the security guard that actually works here is grimacing.

"You can't be in here."

They manage to talk their way out of suspicion, something about how she claimed she'd seen something important but was just trying to seduce him, does the guard know anywhere a drunk guest can be deposited? Thanks.

She does give him information, but she disappears before he can learn anything more about her.

(Galidraan is avoided, oh so narrowly, because of what she gives him. He may never know how close it really was.)

Months pass. He gets invited an event that isn't a job, but is rather some large gladiatorial event. He's not a fan of it--he's pretty sure the fighters aren't nearly as voluntary as people are claiming--but he goes. He watches.

A familiar face enters the arena. He stiffens.

His helmet can zoom in and analyze, and he finds that the cuffs she wears are Force-dampening.

Definitely not willing.

He dithers too long to figure out how to help, or if he even can, because she wins her fight (no deaths in these matches; makes it expensive to find new combatants), and is ushered out, and Jango himself is invited to an afterparty. Someone tells him that the winning gladiators get to attend. It's a reward, the food and fancy outfits. Even 'the pretty one you seemed to like' is going to be there.

People are still pretending that the combatants are voluntary. Jango grits his teeth. He goes.

He finds her, removes his helmet, meets her eyes from across the room. She is bruised and bandaged, but alert. She blinks at him, slow and measuring, and then taps her lips twice.

He doesn't understand, until she signs--where did she learn Mando battle sign?--and asks him to lie and say they're a couple.

(Well, she's using battle sign, not actual MSL, but he's pretty sure 'cover spouse you self extraction' is... yeah. Sure, that sign for cover is usually about cover from fire, and 'spouse' is a splice of 'law' and 'partner' that is usually hard enough without trying to hide everything, but he thinks he got the gist.)

(He does kind of owe her; the information she gave him was more useful than he'd expected, and even if it hadn't been, he can probably convince her to share something else as 'payment' for getting her out of this.)

He stomps through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, and then sweeps her into his arms and bends her backwards to plant the showiest kiss he can on her.

He holds it long enough for the silence to spread, and then pulls them back upright, closes his eyes, presses his forehead to hers, and hopes that it's enough to sell it to the people around them.

His hands drift down to her wrists, a calculated move that looks natural if he's lucky, and asks quietly for them to remove the cuffs.

Jango Fett is a very heavily-armored, heavily-armed man. People read into his quiet the way he wants them to: that he is very close to slaughtering a whole lot of them, and trying incredibly hard to stay calm.

There are cuff removals, and 'negotiations' for Ahsoka's freedom (he still doesn't even know her name, but he hears the fake she gave to the people who arrested her), and she leaves the planet on his arm, and on his spaceship.

She explains that getting arrested and sent to the gladiatorial arena was part of a greater plan, but that her extraction partner was delayed. They might be dead. She doesn't know, but she was already planning her own escape. She tells him she's gotten out of worse scrapes before.

The fic would end with them separating, and her promising to come find him again. Any sequel would involve a reveal of the Future thing, possibly after a one-night stand.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Gus Fring

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Breaking Bad is known for its fantastic cast of characters, all of whom have some level of critical acclaim and iconic status. Seriously, go to Wikipedia and go to any character’s page from the show (basically every major character has one) and look at the “Reception” part, pretty much all of them are universally beloved. Chief among that crowd is the only villain in the show to give our rascally villain protagonist Walt a run for his money, the criminal mastermind that is Gustavo “Gus” Fring.

If you think I’m going to do anything other than add to those heaps of praise, you’re surely mistaken; I love Gus as much as anyone else who has seen the show. But where most are willing to overlook certain aspects of the character that don’t work so well because he is cool and gay, I acknowledge those flaws and love Gus anyway. We are not the same.

Motivation/Goals: Gus is a businessman, plain and simple. Be it Los Pollos Hermanos or his secret meth business, Gus wants perfection in every aspect of his professional life. That being said, he’s a pretty fair boss, and if you pull your weight you will be rewarded; he treats his employees at Los Pollos Hermanos so well that you know the show takes place in a fantasy world, because no boss is that nice. And he was way too lenient with Walt all throughout that man’s career working with him.

Of course, Gus is also driven by revenge. Don Eladio, Hector Salamanca, and the rest of the cartel are responsible for the death of his lover Max, and Gus refuses to rest until the entire operation has crumbled, with only him left standing tall and Hecor lefty broken and crippled to be finished off last as he’s the one who pulled the trigger. It’s a very classic villain motivation, and it helps give a little bit of sympathy to a character who is otherwise too cold and mysterious to really delve into the mind of. At any rate, it makes it very easy to root for Gus and cheer him on as he plays his supposed superiors for suckers and orchestrates their downfalls all while coming up with dozens of plans to cover his own ass.

Performance: Giancarlo Esposito has such an air of elegance and menace to him when he’s playing Gus. You can really see why he man ended up typecast after this, playing cunning antagonists, because he really kills it here. He does have one incredibly major flaw, though: He’s not a native Spanish speaker like Gus is. This leads to pretty much any point where Gus is required to speak the language falling flat, especially since most of the time he’s up against actors who are actually fluent and even if you’re not a native speaker you can pick up on how clunky he is in comparison to Michael Mando or Tony Dalton.

Final Fate: Gustavo Fring got outplayed by both Walter and Hector, and the result is perhaps one of the single greatest villain deaths of all time.

As many have pointed out, it is genuinely hilarious how Gus hated Hector so fucking much that he refused to die in the same room as him. And hey, maybe this isn’t very accurate to how a person would realistically look after taking an explosion directly to the face… But it’s one hell of a cool visual. Sometimes it’s better to check realism at the door for the sake of symbolism and cool prosthetic gore.

Best Scene: I think it is genuinely hard to top Gus’ awesome moments, even if he doesn’t ever really get an entire episode of focus. I think his crowning moment, the moment where we as an audience and Walt as a character learn that us is not even remotely fucking around, is his silent preparations before he comes up to his lackey Victor and violently slits his throat in “Box Cutter,” before equally silently getting dressed once more. Right before leaving, he simply says, “Get back to work” before leaving a stunned Walt, Mike, and Jesse behind.

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There’s also Gus taking down Don Eladio and all his capos in “Salud.” It’s such wonderful, beautiful vengeance, and it’s all made better by the fact Gus poisoned himself, went to the bathroom, neatly placed a towel on the floor and knelt down on it, and then induced vomiting. This man would pick the fruitiest way imaginable to save his own life.

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Finally, there is his scene in “Fun and Games,” the first and only time we see Gus just out enjoying himself. We get to see him pretty obviously flirting with a sommelier, but as soon as the man leaves for a moment Gus makes the decision to commit himself fully to his mission and rule out the possibility of love again after what happened to Max. This is the moment where we see Gus fully become the man we know him as in Breaking Bad, and it’s honestly pretty tragic. He could have been happy if he’d just let go some of his hate, and maybe he’d even still be alive.

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Final Thoughts & Score: Gus is one of the best villains ever to grave television, and considering he’s in a show filled to the brim with some of the greatest villains ever devised, that’s really saying something.

Part of what makes him so genuinely great is just how utterly unknowable he is. Over the course of both Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, he is almost like a god of the criminal underworld, untouchable and mysterious. What very little tidbits we get of his past paint a conflicting picture that could mean any number of things, and at every other point he manages to command respect and fear from all those around him, with those not wise enough to do so ending up dead by his masterful machinations. It ultimately makes the single scene where we see him not doing business, the one where he flirts with the man at the bar, so much more impactful. We see that Gus has rejected his humanity, his chance at ever being happy again, so that he can be consumed by his work and his vengeance. Gus is what he is by choice.

It’s why, even if it’s not really “good” that Walt won, it is so satisfying and cathartic. Gus spends his screentime pulling off superhuman schemes and feats of vengeance, orchestrating the deaths of the entire Salamanca family and his own cartel superiors, and yet he is done in by an absolute bumbling buffoon of a criminal like Walt. It’s a classic case of David and Goliath, with the untouchable adversary being taken down due to viewing his foe as so far beneath him that he didn’t realize he was screwed until it was too late. Gus was sadly too smart for his own good, never bothering to consider the erratic chemistry teacher could ever pull off anything big enough to defeat him.

With all that, Gus gets a 10/10. With how much I love Gus and how I consider him one of my favorite villains ever, you might be wondering why I didn’t bump him up to a 10.5 to denote him being a cut above the garden variety 10. Well, Gus has one issue with his character that I feels really hampers him in crucial moments: His inability to speak Spanish. Giancarlo Esposito, despite being an absolutely fantastic actor in every other regard, does not speak Spanish and needs his lines given to him phonetically. Native speakers have called his accent stilted and unnatural, and it has led to moments that should be epic and powerful such as his monologue to Lalo before killing him becoming nonsensical gibberish to trained ears. Considering that character is a native Spanish speaker, this is an absolutely unforgivable and glaring flaw. It certainly doesn’t ruin the character, but it does hold him back just a little bit.

But it really does speak volumes that as soon as Gus is taken out, the quality of the villains just plummets. The final season has Walt facing off against a bunch of Nazis and fucking Lydia, the annoying businesswoman. The final season is still peak, but boy are those villains living in Gus’ shadow. In spite of his flaws (or, well, his singular but rather major flaw), he’s still one of the greatest villains in television history, and is up there with Walt and Saul as the greatest villains in the series.

[gwaedhannen]

Of the Advent of Ancalagon the Black

Or: First Age Black Breath Hits Different

(Context)

“I think I started screaming and didn’t stop until I’d been in Mandos for a month.”

“You know when you were a child, and you did something wrong, like break your mother’s prized Nessan festival puppet she spent the better part of two centuries drafting, and your parents are furious with you but are trying really hard to not show it because you’re just a child and you’re terrified and sobbing? It felt like that, except my parents weren’t the angry ones, the Song of Arda was. And it wasn’t hiding it.”

“There was a voice in my mind—no, it wasn’t a voice. It was my own mind, it seemed, telling me that the only logical action I could currently make was to cut out my own eyes, eat them, then help my comrades do the same. That last step wasn’t terribly easy now that I was blind and covered in blood and choking on vitreous fluid, but by the Valar did I try.”

“Reality itself was telling me to die, so I did.”

“The one good thing I can say about the experience is that the memories of the Ice don’t seem so bad anymore.”

“I was…I was in chains again, before His throne, His eyes. I’d left, I ran away from Him. And He was so, so—disappointed. The King of the World was angry, was angry at me, and—I–I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I was far enough away to avoid the worst of the Song. But instead, I could only watch as half our armies dropped dead on the spot, and the other half started screaming, turned their weapons on themselves, turned their weapons on their neighbors— It was almost worse, in some ways, to see what was happening and be helpless to do anything about it.”

“Imagine the worst possible pain you have ever felt. Magnify it a hundredfold. Scream until your lungs collapse and then keep screaming. You are not allowed to inhale. Every second is the new worst agony in existence. You are not allowed to die. I survived, and it was nearly two thousand years before I could even begin to think of Beleriand again.”

“I threw myself down, and curled up like one of those little woodlice in Nan-tathren, and wouldn’t stop shaking until it was over. Not that I could know when it was over. Nienna herself needed to pry my fëa out of the shell I’d wrapped myself into, and, though I didn’t realize this until centuries after I was re-embodied, she was furious. Not at us, of course; at Morgoth and his pet. I didn’t even know she could be angry! But there were so many slain who needed her help, so many who had survived who needed her folk’s help, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. It’s a little ironic to pity the Pitier, isn’t it? But I went to Fui, afterwards, and asked if she wanted a hug, and I’d like to think that made her days just a bit brighter. It was a very nice hug, if you were wondering.”

“I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think I couldn’t scream I couldn’t hope.”