Original Sin | Darksaber!Din
Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)
Word count: 3.4k~
Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.
Warnings/tags: DUB CON?Âż, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry
Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, itâs in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I donât mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldnât be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, Iâm an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyoneâs work. Thereâs an embarrassing amount I havenât read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldnât believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. â¨
Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why Iâm sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write thisâ thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but reallyâ REALLYâ thereâs absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )
Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!
The days stretch long like morning yawnsâhours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.
It wasnât always this way.
They used to be filled with pitter patteringâ with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionistsâ with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.
But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.
Time fills itself like this; thereâs little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come backâto come home.
Home. You used to be so certainâyouâd bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwiseâ but youâre not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deckâitâs all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. Butâ
Itâs different. It feels different. Something is...
off.
You canât quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but itâs everywhereâlike gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.
Killing you.
Thereâs no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.
Was that a shadow? No.
Is someone there? Itâs just you.
There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.
Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Dinâin all of his plated exteriorâeven Din has succumbed. Even Din has
changed.
The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. Thereâs less of him nowâ more, too: thereâs less where it matters, and thereâs more where there shouldnât be.
You donât remember when it startedâwhen he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.
When this Other became.
On multiple occasions youâve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if heâs shrinkingâenveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. Itâs not Basic; youâd recognize it if it were. You donât think its Mandoâa either. Itâs too sharpâ too vile. Thereâs none of his languageâs elegance in it.
âDid you say something?â You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.
A beatâand slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.
âNo.â
Your throat bobbed. âOh, I-I thought I heard-â
âCome here, meshâla.â
And you did. You always do.
The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.
By you, too.
Din has always been stoicâof scant words and physical timingâbut now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyesâ the oaky comfort you once found in themâ have blackened. He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man.
And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adamâs rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have thisâthis wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft fleshâ his tawny hideâand it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guardâ leeway, an entranceâ as to slip in undetected.
To inhabit.
The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lustâ for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.
For all of you.
Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs itâlike itâs oxygen. He lives off it. Heâs sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. Heâs gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like heâs been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. Heâs ravenous as he tears his way across your bodyâall too pliant for him, all too willingâletting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.
You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after nightâceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countlessâhis need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.
Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.
And you should be scared. You should be terrifiedâhe should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of himâat the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leashâa great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.
Butâ you arenât.
You couldnât place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldnât name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,
lower.
It settled in your cuntâthe gnawing. And you named it Want.
You want him. You want thisâyouâre addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until youâre smothered with it, just like itâs smothering you nowâ blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.
Youâre nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. Youâre so enrapt in itâin this dizzying, wanton actâyou donât register the ramp lowering. You donât hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â
You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he loomsâexpressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire thatâs glazed over your eyes.
âY-Youâre back,â you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. âI uhm, I didnât hear you come in. I thought you wouldnât be back until, u-until..."
Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energyâunbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.
âIâll ask you again,â Din starts.
âWhat-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, âdo you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, âyouâre doing?â
Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until youâre sure itâll burst.
âIâm-"
Iâm sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesnât want it, and he knows you wouldnât mean it even if you offered it to him.
Your brow wavers. âI-"
He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefullyâexposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.
âWhatâs this?â he asks, and fuck heâs patronizing you. Heâs smirkingâyou donât have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You canât bring yourself to answer himâyou can hardly look at himâand you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.
âYou fuck yourself speechless, little one?â
Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, youâre drowning in him. Din is tarâheâs an oil slick, and youâre plummeting through itâgasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. Heâs everywhereâhis broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.
âAnswer me,â he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.
âYesâyes,â you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. âI missed you,â you squeak out.
Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. âYou missed me?â he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.
He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weightâall of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.
âHow much?â
For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.
âYou claim you missed me. Prove it.â
Your cunt bottoms out.
He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. âTell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.â
Fuck, it feels like youâre going to rattle apart. There isnât an inch of you that isnât hummingâisnât seizing up wild. âI-I trust you,â you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or notâyou trust him with your life, to make or ruin.
âFuck, youâre wet mesh'la,â he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. âSo ready for me. So eager."
Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. âShh,â he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesnât feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloyingâ like arsenic.
You donât dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesnât matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.
âFuck,â you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of itâ itâs all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at onceâeverything inside you constricting.
âShow me,â he grits through clenched teeth. âShow me how much you missed me.â He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. âI know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.â
Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.
He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and youâre nearly thrashing with itâ with all of thisâ hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, youâre so full. Maker, youâre stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of itâ and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.
You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and begâ beg for release. Beg for it to end.
Beg for more.
âOh gods, oh g- Maker, pleaseââ
Your bleary eyes shoot open as youâre silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.
âNo.â Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. âNo, your God isnât here,â he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. âPray to me.â
Fuck.
Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. âD-Din.â
He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. âThatâs it. Thatâs my good girl.â
Heâs deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy piecesâgutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. Theyâre slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and itâs not enoughâits all together too much, but stillâitâs not enough. Youâre hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.
âDin, pleaseâmore," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.
A blip of static huffs through his modulator. âYou want more, you filthy little thing?â He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.
You nodâyou try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. âYes.â
Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.
âDin-â
Youâre whining now, tinny and depraved. Itâs wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you canât stop the way your body convulses at his every touchâyou canât stop the heat roiling in your core.
âDin, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-â
Itâs like heâs trying to split you in twoâall of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soulâheâs bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. Itâs only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: youâll never be whole again.
And scarier stillâyou donât think you want to be.
No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.
You want to be possessed by him.
âFuck yourself,â he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. âBe good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.â
Be good be good be good
He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. Youâre vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end thatâs peeking out from you.
A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. Heâs pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.
Finally, you begin to move the hiltâfinding an aching, undulating rhythm ďżźand he canât fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.
âDin,â your pray, âDin, I think Iâm going to-â
Youâre wrecked â fried like a livewireâ as you look for him, as you search and searchâfor that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimesâin the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his noseâ but here, now, he is gone.
He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyssâyou want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.
âTell me youâre mine. Tell me, sweet girlâ tell me.â Heâs fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.
âIâm yours,â you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. âJust for you,â you cry, âIâm yours Iâm yours Iâm yoursââ
Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto youâ painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.
âLook at youâfucking, look at you,â he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.
Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, emptyâlike a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you raspâthe wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.
When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. Youâre so fucked outâyouâre practically a parsec awayâ it went unnoticed.
Undetected.
It brushed past you. You didnât feel itâyou didnât recognize the whisper that has slithered in in itâs place, nestling within your swollen folds.
Breeding there.
âBeautiful,â Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. âFucking beautiful, meshâla,â he growls. âMineâall fucking mine.â
Youâve gone heavy. Youâre too heavy to keep your eyes openâyouâve been hollowed out and youâve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motionâintervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. Youâre spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Dinâs mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fitâ with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.
Itâs not long before you hear it again, as you have beforeâ as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understandâmade indecipherable in your strung out high.
âDâyou say something?â you mumble, half consciousâhalf dreaming.
Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. âNo.â
You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.
/
Finally, when heâs satisfiedâwhen heâs spent with driving you mad, making you rileâ he grants you respite. He permits it â generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night untilâ
until you donât.
Eyes. You feel them somewhereâ there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You donât know what youâre listening to at first. Itâs a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hissâ
A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.
No, not a hissâitâs a voice. Itâsâ no-
You pat around for Din beside you but heâs goneâheâs long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without himâand your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.
Inside you.
The voice, the sharp hush of itâitâs inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.
âWake up, sweet girl.â
/
Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec
602 notes
¡
View notes
MARE'S RECAPS ~ THE MANDALORIAN: CHAPTER 9 "THE MARSHALL"
Oh wow! It's been a while since I've done something like this. Last year, I caught up with season 1 about 2 days before the finale, so I didn't have the opportunity to write reviews/recaps. This season, though, I'm going to đ so here it is the first one!Â
For the folks that haven't seen the premiere and don't want spoilers, scroll past this, fast and furious, because it's full of them. If you want to blacklist tags to avoid spoilers from me, I suggest that you add #mando spoilers, #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers, and #mare's mando recaps to the list.
I've seen the episode a few times (yeah, I'm that obsessed with the show) so some of my reactions are more visceral than others since I was too excited the few first times I watched it and I missed a lot of details (another reason to rewatch the episode more than once). This recap is loooooong, which is an indication of how amazing it was.
So this my final warning to those avoiding spoilers. Stop reading, right now. The rest of you⌠enjoy and let me know if you share some of my opinions. I'm always open to chat đ
Chapter 9 ~ The Marshall
So it begins! It's so exciting!
I knew that Mando and baby Yoda walking in the street at night was going to be the opening scene. I started to think about it after watching the second trailer, and I'm glad that I was right.
It turns out that the red-eyed creatures were not jawas as I saw some people saying.
Baby Yoda was not happy with the little excursion to the fighting arena. Not walking on the streets nor inside watching the fight. I still laughed when he locked himself up in the pram, even if I've watched the trailer like a gazillion times by now and I knew he was going to do it.
And talking about the baby, he's getting more vocal I think. He's making a few new noises, whimpering more, which I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. That he complains more means that he feels safe with his buir and isn't afraid of retaliation for it as he probably was with others in the past and the reason he didn't cry much in season 1. But it breaks my heart that he is stressed. And that child is anxious, I can tell you that much.
The fight with Gor Koresh's thugs was awesome! The gamorrean flying to squash Mando and failing had me cracking up. And omg! Din'd moves! Using his helmet as a weapon and throwing his vibroblade. And leaving Gor Koresh to be eaten! Man of his word, he didn't kill the guy.
On a side note, I would've never guessed it was John Leguizamo who gave voice to Koresh until I saw the credits. Of all the actors who could play the part, I never thought of him.
Umm, I'm curious about the time Mando has spent in Tatooine, which according to him it's been a lot and it makes sense since he knows so much about the Tuskens, their language and culture. I'm guessing he spent a while among them. He had to learn all that somehow.Â
When I speculated that Mando was going back to Tatooine after watching the trailers, I said that I was going to riot if he didn't visit his favorite mechanic. Thankfully, I didn't need to worry. I loved Peli in episode 5 of season 1 and I loved her even more now remarking on Din's dislike of droids and trying to keep the baby for herself. Not to mention she complaining about not getting good help these days đ¤Ł
And I ADORE the (improvised?) Birikad Din got for the baby. Of course, the baby is safer in the pram, right (guessing that's why he used it when he met Gor Koresh), but there's something sweet watching him carrying his son so close to him.
And I tell you, Mando has been spending credits lately in baby stuff. I mean, he got a new pram (which I initially thought it was the original that he had somehow retrieved from the garbage in Nevarro, but no, it's not the same, and neither it's the one that Kuiil made) and he also got the bag/birikad thing, which looks brand-new. I wonder what else he bought.
Watching the droids doing maintenance of the Razor Crest makes me think it's all for nothing, knowing that in a few episodes (it might be even in the next one) Mando is going to crash the ship. More than once perhaps.
đ The baby still loves speed! I think riding on the speeder bike was the only moment that he truly enjoyed in this episode. Look at that happy faceÂ
When they arrived at Mos Pelgo and Din went into the cantina, leaving the baby outside, I was like: Din! That's not responsible. How can you leave your son out in the inclement sun, alone! Then baby Yoda peeked in and I went: never mind. I take back what I said.
Oooh. Cobb Vanth! I love him! For a moment, I thought it could actually be Boba but it seemed illogical and that's what Mr. Feloni and Mr. Favreau wanted us to think. I was correct.
My gawd! Din's shock when Vanth took the helmet off. I just knew he would freak out the moment Cobb asked for drinks and I said to drink they need to remove their helmets and Mando is going to lose it when this guy does. And the standoff! Was so good! "Take it off or I will" is going to become a quite popular phrase in fics from now on, not in the same context, but yeahâŚ
The krayt dragon⌠oh shit! Or rather Dank farrik! We can't see Mando's face or expression but I can imagine which one was when he saw the dragon eating the bantha the first time.
Oh my goodness. The baby hiding in the pot! Too adorable!Â
I know every hardcore SW fan lost it watching Vanth modified speeder because is a callback to the Phantom Menace and Anakin but my first thought was: is he compensating for something? Sorry, I couldn't help itÂ
The dog-lizard creatures were kinda scary at first but then became adorable. Almost as much as baby Yoda getting out of hiding
Baby Yoda doesn't like dog-lizards things. He looked afraid to be eaten I think. Poor little guy.
And look at that! Din showing such growth! To think he was the one incensing others in negotiation đ this is a total callback to the jawas in Arvala-7. And I gotta tell you, Din freaking loves his flamethrower. He doesn't waste the opportunity to use it.
The krayt dragon eating the Tusken raider instead of the bantha was quite of a plot twist đ
When they were planning the attack on the dragon, Cobb Vanth's face when Din told him that the bones and pebbles were to scale, and then when he had volunteered the villagers to help⌠priceless!Â
I like the fact of banding together with others for a greater good, relying on others to accomplish something is going to continue being the theme of this season. It started last season but I think it's going to be stronger this time around along all of the episodes.
đłđ˛đłđ˛ this thing vomits acid?! What. The. FUCK?!!!
Cobb: I don't think it's dead
Mando: me neither
Me, at the same time as Din: yeah, nope it's not dead
Oh yeah! Teaming up with jetpacks!
When they showed the bantha with the remaining explosives my first thought was why didn't they use all those before?! That's why they didn't kill it!! Of course, it was just an excuse to grant Din a more grand win in the end, but you know, it's stupid not to use everything you have to kill the monster on the first try. Just saying
Wait, what? Din! What are you going to do? No! Taking care of the child is your responsibility, not Cobb Vanth's! I hate this plan of yours, Din Djarin!! Whichever it is!
Oh! Nice callback to the flaw on that jetpack. But makes me wonder, do all the rising Phoenixes have the same flaw? Cuz unless Din knows Boba in person and that it's his armor with that particular flaw, it means it's a common problem for all and I don't like it.
Get away, Din! Get away, Din!! FLY AWAY!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! NOOOOOO!Â
There he is! Damn, Mando! Don't scare me like that! Altho, it was a nice move.
Okay, but now I want someone to explain something to me. If the dragon's acid melted people at contact before, how the hell is Din so whole? I mean, sure for argument' sake let's say his beskar armor provides some protection, but he's not entirely covered in it. His cape and undersuit seem just fine, albeit sticky. Where's the logic in that?
The tuskens getting the pearl reminded me of the jawas and the mudhorn's egg, chanting zukka, zukka (or however egg is spelled in Jawa).
That's quite a piece of meat. The baby is going to be happy eating off it for daysđ¤Ł
đŽđŽđłđł BOBA FETT!!!!! Yesssssss!!
Okay, I've seen other people's thoughts and some think that Boba was after Cobb Vanth because he had the armor, but I don't know. If that was true then why he hadn't gone to Mos Pelgo and got it? It seems to me that it's more likely that Boba is following Din somehow because it's the second time in as many Mando's visits to the planet that they sort of cross paths. Could they know each other? Have some score to settle? It's possible. Din has spent much time on Tatooine -his words, not mine- so it wouldn't be so out of consideration that they actually know each other. That if Mando knows Boba is (fake?) Mando, I don't know. Probably not, but who knows?
Extra thoughts
I gotta say that Ludwig GĂśransson is killing it with the score music! Oh. My. God! So so so so good! I could tell from the trailers that it was going to be awesome this season but it astounded me in chapter 9. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous! My favorite piece is when they're going to the dragon's cave to kill it. The orchestral sound of the already familiar music blew my mind!
26 notes
¡
View notes