#anyway so like this is a show trade and she's having me watch the mandalorian after we finish bf lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 3 years

Text

Comms

Title: Comms

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Teen reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: PG

Warning: Cursing, mention of wounds, blood, scared Mando.

Description: In an unexpected raid, Din finds himself unable to find his foundlings and searches for them.

Request: Hey! I love your stories and thought that I would submit a request myself. So this is about Din having a teen foundling/adopted child. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now and even if they don’t show it a lot they’ve grown attached to each other. So this particular story would be about the foundling nearly dying and Din being a scared Dad (I hope you get what I’m going for. Kind of a fluff/Angst story with comforting afterwards😅)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to write, I've been travelling and my computer has been messing up so I have not had time to write at all. Anyways, here it is! I hope it's to your liking. It took me awhile for inspiration to hit but I am pretty happy with how it ended up. Enjoy!

....

“Okay kid, what do we do when we get in trouble?”

“Call for help and signal our location.”

Call for help and signal your location. That was all you were supposed to do, the one rule Din gave for you before he took you along with him anywhere outside of the safety of the Razor Crest. He considered himself lucky that you rarely wandered off without letting Din know where you were going, and that you always seemed to be able to handle most dangerous situations on your own. Maybe it was because you fretted to be too much of a bother for Din, seeing as he took you in almost a year ago when he could have easily left you. Din didn’t see it that way, if he was honest. You were valuable to the group, taking care of Grogu and the ship when Din could not, and he believed it his duty to protect all on the ship. Only once or twice did you call for him, and he was quick to come to your aid.

He did not think that today would be the day where his timing risked your life.

The Mandalorian found himself aiding a local trading village with a raider issue in exchange for information about a bounty he’d been pursuing. He’d led a group of men over to what they’d suspected to be the raider’s hideout and set up for an ambush. The Entrance of the cave’s dunes felt barren, and only after the mens’ legs grew sore from crouching and backs ached from huddling in the dark was it that Din began to suspect something was wrong. The quiet environment was abnormal behavior to the raiders he’d encountered before, no doubt this specific group would be any different.

“They’ll see you!”

Startling the men surrounding him, Din shot into the air and stalked the vicinity. The dunes’ walls stretched for meters long as he kept his piece raised, occasionally scanning weak spots for life forms or any piece of equipment. He paused, frowning a moment when his scanner detected nothing.

That was the first sign that things weren’t going as planned that day.

“...hiss…”

“...m..do... v.llage... here…”

There was the second.

Din raised his arm to speak into his comms.

“Y/N?” Nothing but static came back from the comms. Din fidgeted and smacked it a couple times before grunting in frustration.

Damn, comms were jammed.

Wait, they were jammed.

And in a moment of a horrible realization, Din was quick to grab the men and make their way back to the village. When they arrived they found the village in chaos- buildings were burning, villagers running, and materials and pieces and bodies strewn across the ground. For a moment, Din froze in fear and worried that you were on the ground as well, your comms still ringing static and Grogu taken from you, lost to the raiders, or worse, the Empire.

Din quickly made his way throughout the village, barely rounding the first corner when a group of raiders assaulted him. He threw punches at the first raider, using their momentum to kick them hard into another. After several dodges and shots from his blaster, most of them were dead aside from one that laid on the ground and clutched his blasted leg.

Din marched over and pressed his blaster against the wound. “Where are the hostages being held?”

As it turned out, the raiders had no plan of keeping hostages. When Din finally tracked the building where captives were supposedly held, he was unable to remain collected when he found that you and Grogu were nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood before raiders responsible for the attack, their blasters disturbingly put away as they argued amongst one another. Din didn’t bother listening, he looked around but saw no sign of his foundlings.

“Wrong door.” He said simply before taking out his blaster and shooting the raiders.

Pocketing his piece Din ran out of the stronghold and went outside, calling for you and Grogu. He thought about the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to you two as he took out the raiders pillaging the village, until all but one remained, the leader. He found him in the main courtyard of the village, his face hidden though his body seethed with labored breaths. He stood there for several moments before Din heard one last labored breath before the leader’s legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground with a sickening crack of skull on stone. Hm? Din didn’t know what to make of this, and further stalked over, hand on blaster, examining the body. Upon closer look a blaster wound to the stomach was made more visible. So, someone got to the leader before Din could. That leaves the question… who?

A quick look around the area pointed out a trail of blood.

The Mandalorian followed this trail without any real reason behind it.

He found the remainder of the villagers at some point along the way. Sullen masses of faces mixed together, mourning the loss of their villages and lost ones but kept busy with treating the wounded. Women sat in huddles cooking with what food was salvaged and children sat quiet. One stood out apart from the rest in Din’s eyes, a large male leaning over a group of medics. Din recognized him as Cyrukee, the villager’s chief, who noticed the lone bounty hunter from the corner of his eye and stood up. In his arms was the most beautiful thing Din had seen all day, Grogu. The baby gurgled in joy as he walked up to the chief.

“There you are.” Din didn’t realize that he was holding his breath when he sighed in relief, taking Grogu into his arms.

“Sir.” Cryukee barely got a word out before Din turned to him.

“I’m looking for a youngling- my kid. Have you seen them?”

“Sir, please.”

“They’re this tall,” Din rears a hand near to your height, “they were with this little green baby. Your husband, he took them to the school. Where is he?” The Mandalorian made a full turn around to look for the red robed headman who was last responsible for your care. He reached for his comms and tried to reach you again. His voice rang back at him, and in a terrible moment of realization he realized that that was your comms.

“Where are they?”

“Sir, let me explain.” Cyrukee wore an exasperated expression and looked as though he was about to speak before one of the medics from the group he was with requested to speak with him. He spared a glance at Din as though he struggled whether or not to say something. And then, Din followed his arm towards the medics he was just with. Din didn’t know what to make of it, not able to recognize any of them. The Mandalorian took one last look at the chief, whose grave expression gave him reason to worry, and slowly walked towards the group of medics. He buzzed through the comms, trying to pinpoint your location. As he got closer he heard medics speak in soothing voices and their patient hyperventilating. Had it not been his own voice coming from the center of the personnel he would have moved on, instead he could not find the will to move. Grogu looked at him expectantly.

One medic in particular took notice of the beskar-armored man. He and some others quickly got up and pushed Din away before he could force his way through the medics to take a look at you.

“Hey, wait-wait-please.” Din grunted at the force and staggered several steps back. He took a moment to collect himself and Grogu sneezed in his arms. Dust must have gotten into his nose during the scuffle. “Please, my ward- my kid. That’s my kid.”

“Just a moment,” one of the bloodied nurses kept her hands on Din’s chestplate longer than he would have liked. He didn’t push her away though.

“I need to see my kid.” Din looked her in the eye, hoping that she could see his desperation through his helmet.

His kid. When Din looks back on this he would think about how he’s never referred to Y/N as his own before. He would have liked to think he said that so the nurses allowed him to pass easier. But deep down, he knew it was because of how much he cared for them.

“I understand but please let me explain. Sir, Sir!” Din retreated in defeat on his second attempt to get past her and the other nurses. She stared into his eyes and patted his shoulders, Din didn’t know whether she was trying to comfort him or control his movements. “They’re traumatized enough right now, and you moving around in that armor of yours will only make it worse.”

“What happened to them?”

“They had an encounter with Jetwal,” Din’s blood boiled at the recognition of the raider’s leader who’d died before him. “according to the children, your child was leading them to the outskirts when he found them. They killed him, he was threatening the children, and they shot him. Now, listen to me. They did get injured. Several blaster wounds to their limbs and upper torso- sir, listen please I cannot allow you to go to them just yet- they’re still panicking right now but I assure you their wounds are being treated right now. They’ll be fine, but disrupting our work will only inhibit us from treating them properly.”

She watched his gaze linger to the sound of your crying. “How much longer until I can see them?”

Din was not pleased to find that he was only allowed to see you when the nurse came for him herself. Reluctantly he walked a little farther away from the medics when asked to give them more space, and sat down with Grogu bouncing on his knee next to a young Twi’lek running their hands over their lekku to soothe themselves. Between glancing at the medics to keeping Grogu entertained, Din didn’t realize how much time had elapsed before noticing the nurse had come to his side to collect him.

She took a seat next to him. “They’re hurt very badly, but with time their injuries will heal. All they need to do is rest. You can see them now.”

Grogu giggled and played with the nurse’s finger that was threateningly wiggling on his little tummy. “Can you take him for a moment?”

Din stood up and gave Grogu a pat on his little head and rubbed his large ears out of habit. Something you used to do to calm the little green alien down after a terrible meltdown. Even under his helmet Din smiled at the alien before dredging towards you. You laid on a pile of fabrics that functioned as a makeshift cot, but you looked like you had a pile of fabrics on you with the amount of bandages that wrapped your body. You didn’t notice Din approaching you as you stared straight into the sky. Din wondered what you were thinking. What could you be thinking? From his knowledge, this was your first time dealing with major injuries from blasters. It must have made this whole ordeal so much more frightening to you.

Maybe Din was too light on his feet, recoiling instantly when you jolted at his touch and groaned in pain.

“It’s me, it’s me.” His voice was soothing, even more than normal which surprised him.

A sort of wheeze escaped your lips and you coughed. “Mando.”

“Hey kid.”

“I tried calling for you.” A gasp. “They jammed the frequencies.”

“Your message barely came through, kid. But it made us realize what was going on. We got here before more damage could be done because of you.”

Your form relaxed. “Good, good. Grogu?”

“With a nurse.” “The one with the sweet voice.”

“Yeah.”

“I liked her voice-” A cough. “Sounds like my mom’s. She was nice. She helped calm me down.” At this point Din had stared at you long enough to realize how puffy your eyes were from crying. He didn’t stop himself from reaching over to brush your H/C hair out of your face. You leaned into his touch.

“I’m pretty fucked up, huh?”

Your eyes were already locked onto his when he met your gaze. A tick passed, and Din’s eyes fell to the wounds you were referring to. He shook his head. “No, kid. That’s not what you are.”

“Feels like it.” Din scowled at your words.

“There are too many fucked up people in the galaxy, kid. You´re not one of them.” You look at him with a raised brow. “Y/N, you barely have any combat experience yet you took on Jetwal? What were you thinking?”

And you said something that surprised him.

“I was thinking of you.”

And Din couldn’t find any words. He cleared his throat and you continued, “We were alone and I had no idea when you’d come, I was scared something had happened to you because I couldn’t get a hold of you through the comms and that guy was coming at us and-” You inhaled sharply, wincing at what Din assumed was a jab in one of your wounds but he didn’t know how to help. You calmed a moment later, closing your eyes and furling your brows together. “I thought about what you would have done if you were there. You always looked like you knew what to do.”

To say that Din was proud of you would have been an understatement, he was beaming wonders underneath his helmet but realized that you couldn’t see through the beskar.

“I thought I’d lost you both.” Din admitted. “But I’m very proud of you. You saved lives, Y/N. That’s no easy feat for someone of your age.”

You grinned at him and laughed. “Did you do something like this when you were my age?”

“Yes, but I didn’t end up as fucked up as you did.” “Hey!” Din laughed and raised his forearm to block your playful hits.

A moment of silence falls between the two of you before you look at Din again. “Do you know how long we’ll be here for?”

“With your injuries, no clue. I’ll talk to the medics and Cyrukee to see what is to be done.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your fingers twitching involuntarily. Din’s hands find their way to your hair again. “Mando, I’m tired.”

“Rest. I’ll be here with you.” He watches you half-heartedly nod at his words and doze off in a matter of seconds. The injuries have taken a toll on your body, Din suspects, and he pulls a sheet over you. He sits with you, watching villagers talk amongst themselves, speaks with those who come by to thank him for his help, and accepts Grogu from the nurse when she comes over, thanking her for all she’d done for you. She told him that a thank you was not owed to her, and that if you were to need anything she was only a call away.

And when he was finally left alone, Mandalorian took one look to take account for his two foundlings. They slept soundly and with luck, heads full of dreams. Most importantly, they were safe in his care once again.

Din realized he’d been holding in a breath, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

.....

Taglist:

@kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek

#din djarin x teen!reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin is a dad #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #star wars x y/n #star wars requests #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfiction

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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ladyrynofsunnydale · 3 years

Text

Bo-Katan Week Day 1 / Childhood/Younger Years

Title: End of One Era, Beginning of Another

Rating: T

Summary: It’s the start of the Great Clan Wars and Bo-Katan and Satine have had to flee Mandalore. While Bo-Katan is willing to fight for her sister, Satine instead wishes to follow their parents’ belief in peace. With their parents dead, they are all the family each other has left. Is that enough to keep them together?

Author’s Note: Day 1 of Bo-Katan Week! I am so excited to be writing fanfiction again, especially about one of my favorite Star Wars characters! For Day 1 I decided to go with the alternate prompt of Childhood/Younger Years. Hope you enjoy! Mando’a translations at the bottom.

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Tagging: @bokatanweek

Ever since she’d heard the Republic had contacted them about sending Jedi guards, Bo-Katan could not keep still. As an avid student of Mandalorian military history, she knew the history between Mandalore and the Republic and their Jedi. Their war had left Mandalore a wasteland. And now they wanted to send them here to protect them? More likely they wanted to send them here to control Mandalore.

Bo stormed into Satine’s office and dramatically flung herself on one of the chairs.

“Who do they think they are?”

Satine sighed. She was sitting behind a scarred wooden desk, datapads littered around her, with the setting sun warming her back and causing her blonde hair to almost glow. Absentmindedly tugging on her long braid, she glanced up at Bo then struggled to focus back on the datapad in her hand.

“Who’re you talking about Bo?”

“The Republic! Who do they think they are, sending Jedi here?!” The anger was impressive on her ten-year-old face as she scowled at the desk, her arms crossed over her chest.

“They just reached out to us. They’re not sending any Jedi,” Satine answered, closing her eyes to rub her temples. “Just like I told you this morning.”

“But they could! What if they decide to just send the Jedi anyways? Do you know that they put a Jedi regent on Pijal for eight years?! I bet that is what they want to do here.”

“I’m old enough to not need a regent Bo.” Satine was now staring fixedly at the data pad in her hand. “And how did you hear about Pijal anyways? I thought you were supposed to be doing school work?” she glanced up at Bo, her brows pinched together. Bo shrugged, looking down at her lap.

“I did some school work. Then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” Satine grumbled under her breath. Bo could be an amazing student. She could tell you the most obscure facts about Mandalorian history, tell you who ruled which clan when, but gods forbid you ask her to study something she wasn’t interested in.

“You know,” Bo started, looking up at Satine and sitting up straighter in her chair. “We wouldn’t need aruetii protection if we just stood up for ourselves.”

Satine put the datapad down and gave Bo a severe look.

“We’re trying to show Mandalore a new future, Bo, where everything doesn’t have to be settled by warfare.”

“But Satine!” Bo exclaimed. “They attacked first! This is defense!” Bo had always looked up to her older sister, but she never quite understood her pacifism. Once she’d been old enough to understand, she’d wanted to put on their family’s beskar’gam and take up arms against those who threatened her family. Be a true Mando’ad. She could defend Satine, she knew, even if her sister didn’t want to fight.

“Violence begets violence. It’s not the way.”

“The Protectors have weapons!” Bo said, pointing at the two Protectors currently flanking the office door.

“The Protectors are here to protect us,” Satine responded, exasperation filling her voice.

“Well I don’t need protection,” Bo said confidently. “I’m a verd. Just like Ba’buir.”

“Ba’buir died at thirty during a clan dispute!” Satine finally snapped. “And since then Mom and Buir have worked hard to show Mandalore that violence just gets good people killed!”

The room went silent as Bo went completely still, staring at her sister. Shame passed over Satine’s face.

“Well Mom and Buir are dead. So a fat lot of good that did them,” Bo said, standing up and running for the door.

“Bo!” Satine called, rounding the desk, but Bo was already gone.

“We’ll send someone after her,” one of the Protectors said, and Satine nodded and sank into the chair Bo had just vacated, her head in her hands.

Bo didn’t stop until she’d reached the storage room beside the armory. She found the darkest corner of the room and slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest while wiping the back of her hand against her nose and willing herself not to cry. Verda did not cry.

She didn’t know how long she sat there until there was a knock at the door and Fenn Rau stuck his head in.

Fenn was young, maybe a little older than Satine, and Bo really liked him. He was funny and was one of the few Protectors who didn’t treat her like a little girl. He’d even taught her how to shoot a blaster and don armor, behind Satine’s back of course.

“Hello, Bo-Katan,” he said, stepping into the room.

“I’m not going back,” Bo said petulantly, sniffing and wiping at her nose again. She picked up a fallen spare droid part and launched it across the room. “I hate this place!” Fenn walked in and closed the door behind him before coming to sit beside Bo, leaving about an arm’s length between them. “I just want to go home,” Bo said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“I know, verd’ika,” Fenn said gently, leaning his head up against the wall. “I miss home too.”

Fenn pulled something out of one of the pouches on his belt and began messing with it. Bo lifted her head off of her knees and watched him before scooting closer.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A puzzle box. You have to align everything quite right,” he said, twisting the beskar box in his hand around, “and then,” and the box popped open.

“Ooh!” Bo exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “May I try?”

Fenn nodded, putting the box back together and twisting it a few times before handing it over. Bo eagerly took it and turned it around and around in her hands, looking at every detail, before gingerly twisting it. After a few minutes she pulled at it and…nothing happened.

“Dank farrik,” she grunted and Fenn hid a smile behind his hand.

“Language,” he said.

With her head still bowed over the box she looked up at him from under her sharp red brows.

“Haar’chak,” she deadpanned. Fenn shook his head as she went back at it. She kept at it, all her focus on the tiny box, mumbling to herself when she’d pull at it fruitlessly, until finally he heard the click and when she pulled it opened. She whooped in triumph, her yell reverberating off the walls and Fenn smiled at her proudly. Turning the pieces over in her hands she took the time to examine the inner mechanisms.

“You know, your sister didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said softly. Bo didn’t react for a few minutes, just turning the box around and around in her hands. She then sighed and reached the box back out to him.

“I know. I just…miss them.”

Fenn remained silent, staring at the box in Bo’s small hand. He reached over and closed her hand around it.

“You keep it.” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Keep it safe for me.”

Bo kept staring at the box, her eyes narrowed in thought. She then gently placed the box in one of the pouches on her belt and reached into another pouch, pulling out a leaf-shaped piece of metal. She weighed it in her hand, watching the way the light bounced off the beskar, before holding it out to Fenn.

“A trade,” she said. “I’ll keep your box safe if you keep this safe for me.”

Fenn gently reached out and took the offered leaf. Turning it over, he inspected the etchings and detail. He could see Bo-Katan’s work in it, and her initials on the back.

“When did you make this?”

“Before we left the palace. It’ll bring you luck.”

“Are you sure?” Fenn asked, meeting Bo’s eyes. She nodded resolutely. “I promise to keep it safe for you.”

Standing, he offered his hand and she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Side by side they left the storage room and headed down the hall.

Satine and Bo hugged when Fenn brought her back, but Bo didn’t bring up the Republic or the Jedi again.

A week later she stood next to Satine as they waited for Prime Minister Rogaar who’d just landed outside the compound. Her tunic was scratchy and uncomfortable and she kept pulling at it and shifting around. She didn’t know what the big deal was. She’d met Minister Rogaar before.

The compound doors opened and Minister Rogaar, flanked by a couple guards and two of his aides, walked through. He was a large man, older with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, with kind light blue eyes. Walking towards them he smiled widely.

“Your grace, it is so good to see you safe,” he boomed and Satine smiled back at him, inclining her head.

“It’s good to see you as well, Minister. I appreciate you coming.”

Sorrow filled the minister’s eyes as he nodded.

“Of course, my dear, of course. And Lady Bo-Katan, it is good to see you again!” he said, turning to Bo-Katan and brightening. Bo inclined her head stiffly.

“Minister.”

Rogaar looked back up at Satine and Bo noticed his smile slipped again.

“I come with some news. Shall we?” Satine nodded and began leading the way to her office when she paused and turned to Fenn, one of the Protectors behind them.

“Rau, do you mind taking Bo-Katan to the library? She has lessons she needs to attend to.”

“What?” Bo exclaimed, and all eyes turned to her. “I’m coming too!”

“No, Bo-Katan, we talked about this.”

“No YOU talked about this. I want to be a part of this too!”

“This is not something you need to concern yourself with. And you have lessons. Mom and Buir would want you to keep up your education.”

Bo opened her mouth to retort but Fenn turned her around and guided her down the hall.

“I’ve got her, your Grace,” he said.

Bo, surprisingly, allowed herself to be guided and just glared at Satine as she walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Satine said, leading the way again. “This all has been…tough on her.”

“And not just her, I am sure,” Rogaar said and Satine glanced away.

“It has not been easy.” Satine said and her shoulders sagged.

Bo was quiet at dinner, pushing her food around her plate. She wondered what Satine and Rogaar had been talking about and what was happening down on Mandalore. Did they discuss the Republic’s offer? They were currently discussing the weather on Concordia.

“So, Bo-Katan,” Rogaar suddenly said and Bo looked up. “I’ve heard you enjoy playing dejarik.” Bo’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! It’s the best game! Do you play?”

Rogaar nodded.

“Indeed I do, though it has been a while.”

“Can we play after dinner?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. Rogaar smiled at her and shrugged.

“I’d be willing,” he said, then looked at Satine. Bo quickly turned her attention to Satine too and she smiled and softened her rigid posture.

“But you have to finish your food first,” she said. Bo scarfed down her food and waited impatiently for everyone else to finish before leading the way into one of the sitting rooms where a circular dejarik board was set up in the corner. She wasted no time turning on the table and choosing her characters, Rogaar sitting across from her and choosing his own.

The game started out civilly, Bo trying to determine Rogaar’s strategy, but once she got her pieces where she wanted them she attacked ruthlessly, her face screwed in concentration. Rogaar’s look changed from one of pleasant amusement to one of intense focus as he tried to counter Bo’s increasingly aggressive moves. Satine couldn’t help but smile at how quickly Bo was taking down Rogaar’s pieces and at one point leaned down beside her.

“Hey, hey, go easy on him,” she said quietly. Bo stopped and looked up at her, an unconvinced look on her face.

“I’m ten. He’s the minister of Mandalore. He’s fine.”

Rogaar started laughing, his laughs deep and booming and Satine stood up, shaking her head, though a large smile was on her face. Finally the game was over with Bo having two pieces remaining.

“Well, my lady,” Rogaar said, chuckling and shaking his head. “I don’t believe I have ever been that soundly beaten. You are quite good.”

Bo smiled broadly at the praise then turned to look over her shoulder at Satine.

“Wanna play?”

Satine’s heart soared. Since a week ago when she’d snapped at Bo, Bo’d been standoffish to her. To be honest, she missed her sister’s fire the last few days, but she looked over to Rogaar first.

“Oh, I am quite done. She’s too good for me.” He quickly stood and vacated his seat so Satine could replace him, so she heartily agreed. Both sisters quickly went about picking their characters and Bo grinned devilishly at Satine while Satine smirked back at her.

“Oh, you’re going down Bo,” she said.

The fun game quickly devolved into a competitive sibling war.

“You can’t do that!” Bo shouted as one of Satine’s pieces took out one of Bo’s.

“Yes I can! Look, see!” Satine responded, showing Bo the piece’s stats.

“There’s no way that’s right.”

“Yeah, well, it’s on here, so…”

Bo slammed the controls and moved one of her pieces, countering one of Satine’s and trapped it against one of her other pieces.

“Hey!” Satine shouted as her piece was slammed to the board.

“I can play dirty too!” Bo said, her face screwed in concentration.

Both sisters moved pieces rapidly here, there, clashing them against each other, until Satine had one piece left and Bo’s two descended on it. As Bo’s piece picked it up and slammed it to the board, Bo stood up and let out a war whoop that had one of the Protectors stationed outside poking their head in. Satine laughed.

“Well, I concede Bo. You’ve gotten too good for me.”

Rogaar shook his head, looking over the board and at Bo’s characters’ stats.

“You did better than me!” he said.

“Don’t mess with Kryzes and dejarik, sir,” one of the Protectors said and Rogaar looked over to him.

“You couldn't have told me this before?”

Bo then yawned and Satine looked at the chronometer.

“I think we will be retiring. Thank you for a lovely evening, Minister Rogaar.”

“Good night, your Grace, my lady,” he said before Satine and Bo-Katan departed for their rooms.

Satine had just finished tying off her braid when she heard a soft knock on her door. Padding over and looking through the view hole, she saw Bo and quickly opened the door to reveal her younger sister standing there, dressed for sleep.

“May I come in?” she asked, unusually shy. Satine stepped aside and nodded, worry creasing her eyebrows. Bo stepped in and looked around, her fingers fiddling with the bottom of her sleep shirt, before meeting Satine’s eyes. “I’m sorry for being so difficult this last week,” she said and Satine had to really listen to hear every word. Satine shook her head at her little sister and led her over to her couch and sat her down.

“No, Bo, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bo sat there quietly, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“I miss Mom and Buir.”

Satine smiled sadly and pulled Bo into a hug.

“I do too, vod’ika.”

Bo let herself be held then pulled back.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” Satine responded and led Bo into her room, tucking herself and Bo under the covers. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Bo.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Satine.”

A week later and Satine was in the study going over possible safe houses with Minister Rogaar when the first explosions went off. At first, she stared dumbly out the window at the blasts of light and explosions that were visible outside. Then she was being dragged to her feet and out the door by her Head of Security, Lars.

“Get her to safety,” he directed to the two Protectors that were outside the door, pulling out his blasters and preparing to block the hallway. Satine felt one of them, Ca’tra, she thought her name was, grab her arm and start to lead her towards the hangar when a sickening thought struck her and she dug her heels in.

“Bo!” she yelled. “She’s in the library!”

Lars traded a glum glance with Rogaar and Satine tried to pull herself free, but Ca’tra held her firmly.

“We have to get you to safety, your grace,” she said.

“I’m not leaving her! Bo!” she screamed futilely, fighting against the Protector. At that moment Fenn ran into the hallway, skidding to a halt, alone. “Rau! Where’s Bo?!”

“It…it was my day off.”

“Carlson is with her,” Lars finally supplied and pulled out his comm. Fenn turned to Satine.

“I’ll go get her,” he said, but Lars stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Stay with the Duchess. Carlson,” he called into his comm. “Carlson, do you read me?”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at the comm.

“Ay sir, I read you. We’re ok here. Bo-Katan and I are headed for the hangar.”

A sigh of relief echoed around the room.

“Jax, Riss, I want you to meet Carlson and help him bring the Lady Bo-Katan safely to the hangar,” Lars added into the comm.

“Copy that, sir,” a female voice replied and Lars turned to Satine.

“We’ll get her there safely. Go your Grace.”

Satine looked hesitantly from Lars to Fenn to Rogaar and finally nodded and let herself be led down the hallway, Rogaar and another Protector following. Fenn hesitated.

“Go with her Rau.”

“But sir,” he started to protest.

“Go. Carlson, Jax, and Riss are more than capable of getting the girl there safely. The Duchess needs you. Now go!”

Fenn nodded and with one last reluctant look towards the library he followed Satine.

The hallways around the library were filled with smoke and the too close sounds of explosions and blasterfire. Bo was letting herself be dragged down the hallway to the hanger, Carlson’s long strides covering much more ground than her small legs ever could. They were turning into the back of the compound when a thought hit her.

“Buir’s beskar’gam!” she shouted, digging her feet in and stopping.

“What?” Carlson whirled on her, confusion clear on his face through the opening in his helmet.

“I can’t leave it,” she said and tried to pull away, but Carlson held fast. Bo grunted and pulled to no avail until she finally reeled back and kicked Carlson in the shin. The shock caused him to drop Bo’s arm and she bolted. Recovering, he ran after her, but he quickly lost her in the smoke. He knew where she was heading and hoped he could cut her off and took another hallway, almost running into Jax and Riss.

“Where’s the girl?” Jax asked as she looked around.

“She took off on me. Pretty sure she’s headed for the armory.”

The three of them began to run in that direction but were met with a face full of blaster fire. They took cover and pulled out their blasters, returning fire.

“We don’t have time for this!” Riss shouted over the noise.

In the armory, Bo was quickly throwing all of her Buir’s armor into a bag. Once done she hefted it over her shoulder and grunted as it banged painfully on her back. It was heavy, but she gritted her teeth and ran. Ahead to her right she could hear blasterfire so she ran to the left, coughing as smoke entered her lungs. She tripped and almost went down but kept running until a dark shape blocked her path and she slid to a halt. An armored unfamiliar Mandalorian stepped out of the smoke and moved towards her. She dropped the bag on the ground and groped inside. Time slowed as the Mandalorian raised his blaster, then Bo raised hers, the one Fenn had taught her how to shoot, and fired, right at the unprotected part of his shoulder. The bolt struck true and he yelled, dropping his blaster and she shot again, hitting him in the leg and he dropped. Bo again picked up her bag and ran around him, not looking back.

Carlson, Jax, and Riss finally dispatched their attackers and arrived, limping in Carlson and Riss’s case, at the armory to find it empty.

“Dank farrik!” Carlson shouted, knocking over a stand and sending its contents flying. The Kryze armor was gone.

“She had to have headed back to the hanger,” Riss said and the three of them took the left hallway towards the other side of the compound. They passed one of the Mandalorian attackers shot and bleeding on the ground and Carlson finished him off.

“Does the Kryze girl have a blaster?” Riss asked as they ran down the hallway.

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Carlson shouted back, but all three looked up in alarm with the sound of rending steel and the roof caved in on them.

Bo’s lungs were burning as she ran along the hallway away from the blasterfire and explosions. She then heard a large rumbling and screeching of metal behind her and turned to see a wall of dust come from one of the hallways behind. She found herself shaking but pushed herself to move. Rounding a corner, she slid to a stop and threw herself back as she heard helmeted voices up ahead and glimpsed unfamiliar Mandalorian figures round the corner and head up the hallway, the hallway she was about to take. Panic started to take her but she bit the inside of her mouth and looked to the left, to the hallway that led to the garden. Turning that way, she hiked the bag more securely over her shoulder and mapped out in her head the path from the gardens to the hanger.

Satine was beside herself just waiting in the ship. Rogaar’s aides had joined them, but his guards had remained to help the Protectors. It had been at least twenty minutes and Fenn tried to get a hold of Lars, Carlson, anybody, but to no avail. No one answered.

“We have to go back,” she said, heading for the door, but Rogaar stopped her.

“We can’t let you do that, Duchess.”

“She’s my sister!”

“I know.” He looked over her shoulder to where she knew Fenn was standing and nodded his head. She turned and Fenn was checking his blasters and heading for their landing ramp.

“I’ll find her, I promise,” he said, but as he was stepping down onto the ramp, blasterfire emptied into the hanger, pinging off the ship, and he ducked just in time to avoid a bolt headed straight for his head. Backpedaling, he hit the button to raise the ramp.

“We have to take off,” Rogaar said, heading for the cockpit.

“No!” Satine exclaimed, running after him. “We can’t! Please!” Her voice broke and she dropped her gaze away from his pitying look.

“The garden,” Fenn supplied, his face a stony mask. “We could try getting to her through there.”

Rogaar nodded and Satine looked up with hope. He tapped the pilot’s shoulder.

“Take off and try to circle back towards the garden.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded and Fenn came to stand next to Satine. His face was pale and drawn and his fists were clenched as he stared out the front viewport. Satine felt the engines fire up and the ship lift then accelerate forward to the hangar opening. They cleared it and were banking back towards the compound when a huge explosion rocked the ship and propelled it forward, throwing Satine and Rogaar to the ground, Fenn barely keeping his feet. Satine cried in dismay and when she gained her footing she ran for a side viewport and sank to her knees at the sight. The compound, her and Bo’s home for the last month, was gone. She fell forward onto her hands, heaving sobs shaking her shoulders, her voice just a long drawn out wail of pain. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, beating her fists onto the person’s armored chest as they wrapped her in their arms and just held her. Eventually the fight left her and she sagged against their body, her breaths coming in gasps, and she sank into darkness.

Bo had just made it into the garden and was circling one of the decorative metal statues when the compound behind her exploded. She threw herself into the hollow in front of the statue and could see and feel the flames as they split around the metal, red with tinges of blue and white. When she raised her head, her ears were ringing and she could see the garden was littered with debris: pieces of the wall, roof, even furniture. She saw some movement off in the distance and looked to see a ship, their royal ship, growing fainter as it rose then disappeared into the atmosphere.

No, no, no, she repeated to herself, staring at that spot in the sky. Her stomach dropped. They left her. She sank down onto the ground and curled around the bag with her dead Buir’s armor.

Mandalore’s other moon was rising when the ringing in her ears abated and she heard the crunching of boots on the debris around her. She grasped for her blaster and blearily peaked up and saw moonlight glinting off of Mandalorian armor. She fired.

“Osik!” a male voice shouted as the blaster bolt pinged harmlessly against his beskar armor. He pulled his blaster and aimed for Bo before another man came up and pushed his arm down.

“Hold your fire!” he called. Bo, exhausted, let her arm drop. The new man was wearing Mandalorian armor as well, though his was painted blue and black with a cream-colored trident above his T-visor. He looked her over through the helmet then removed it to show a young man with an angular face, bright blue eyes, and almost white blonde hair.

“You’re the younger Kryze girl, aren’t you?” he asked, coming to kneel by her. She didn’t react. “They left you, didn’t they?” She opened her mouth to deny it, then looked off into the distance where the ship had disappeared and dropped her eyes back to the ground. Anger suddenly welled up within her and she lifted her head, her eyes flashing.

“You!” she growled. “You killed my parents! You destroyed my home!” She lifted up her blaster to shoot him, but he was on her in a second, disarming her.

“I can see you are quite unlike your sister, Lady Kryze.”

“You know nothing about my sister,” she growled, spitting at the man. He wiped the spit from his face and laughed.

“You’re right. Only that she and your parents were trying to destroy our culture. Our culture that’s made us who we are for thousands of years.” He looked at the bag beside her. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling it towards him.

“Give it back!” she screeched, launching herself at him, but the other man, the one she’d shot, grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked, but he held firm as the other man unzipped the bag and pulled out her Buir’s helmet, emblazoned with the Kryze symbol.

“You are quite unlike your family.” He looked over her shoulder to the man holding her. “Bring her back to camp. Get her some food, water. And watch her.”

“Let me go!” Bo shrieked as he dragged her off into the night. “Satine!”

Satine came to on an unfamiliar cot in an unfamiliar room. She looked around, panicking, and then reality came crashing back down and she curled around herself and the sobs began to wrack her shoulders again. Her sister, her baby sister, who she’d vowed to protect, was gone.

“Your grace,” Fenn Rau’s soft voice broke through her sobs, but she wouldn’t raise her head. Wouldn’t look at him. She felt the cot dip and then felt his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.” Satine only curled tighter around herself and cried harder. Finally, she felt like she ran out of tears and gently pushed herself up. Fenn was sitting beside her, his eyes red and filled with sorrow. He broke eye contact and reached for a mug off to the side. “I thought you could use this.”

Satine gingerly reached out and took the mug from his hands, bringing it under her nose to smell. It was some herbal tea, but she couldn’t tell what. She took a sip and couldn’t really taste much either.

“Thank you,” she croaked. Her throat was raw from crying. The tea helped some.

“Here, I have something else for you,” he said and reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of metal. He held it out to her and she gingerly took it. It was a brooch shaped like the leaves of the Concordia tree. “Bo gave that to me a few weeks ago,” he said, and Satine found more tears as they started slipping down her cheeks again. “I think you should have it.”

Satine fingered the piece then turned it over to see the Kryze symbol hammered there along with a B and a K.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting Fenn’s eyes. He nodded and smiled sadly at her and she collapsed against his shoulder, his arms encircling her and holding her as she cried.

Aruetti- outsider

Beskar’gam – armor

Mando’ad – Mandalorian

Verd – warrior

Ba’buir – grandparent

Buir – parent (in this case, father)

Verda – warrior (plural)’

verd’ika – little warrior (fond)

Dank farrik – generic curse word

Haar’chak – damn it

Vod’ika – little sister

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum – I love you

Osik – shit

#bo katan kryze #bo-katan kryze #bo-katan #bo katan #bo-katan week #bo katan week #fanfiction #star wars #Duchess Satine #satine kryze #fenn rau

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poly-space-nerds · 3 years

Text

aha im finally going to type this up properly. Here is the Dinluke au! that includes the sequel characters as kids! (its basically Din and Grogu fix everything)

So, Luke has his jedi school on Yavin IV and it’s coincidentally quite close to Mandalore. (i still don’t necessarily understand what is and isn’t outer rim territory so like...bear with me here). And we have the basic setup of Din travelling between the two planets to visit Grogu and establish Mandalore and on the way he falls for Luke and so on.

Mand’alor Din travels quite a lot to establish trading and treaties with other planets. Along the way he ends up going to Jakku, and finding lil force sensitive Rey. She’s hesitant to leave with him, but he knows what it’s like to hope for parents to come back. He promises her that he knows someone in Jakku, and that if anyone comes by looking for her, to send them to him. and after maybe a bit more convincing, she agrees to train with Luke.

It’s not all peace treaties with Din though, and i imagine he still does some bounties or maybe he has to help run Imperials out of a town. After the battle, he opens a room that has a bunch of kids. They were taken from a nearby town, their parents all slaughtered. Din takes them in as foundlings and it isn’t until weeks later as he’s with some of them, does he realize one of the children, one who calls himself Finn, is actually force sensitive. He also goes to start training with Luke.

Yavin IV isn’t just a Jedi school. As far as I know it has actual towns? Or at least homes. It’s where Shara Bey and Kes Dameron reside, along with their son, Poe! The jedi school isn’t close to any of the homes, but lil Poe still manages to “sneak” into it. Luke knows full well that the kid watches in on lessons, but he lets him be. He brings it up to Din when they’re making dinner, and the mandalorian decides to teach him some things. This gets popular as it goes around the school and more kids decide to join in until Din also gets his own class to teach. Poe makes friends easily with Rey, Finn, and Grogu, and they get into trouble a lot.

Now it comes to Ben. I kinda debated putting him in this au but since he’s a child, i decided he deserved a chance. He feels like an outsider in the school, with his mom being a senator and his uncles being the teachers. But that’s how he gets close to Grogu. They have something in common that allows them to connect and i think that before the other three joined, it was mainly just them playing around and being friends, especially at family get togethers.

When the other kids showed up, he distanced himself from Grogu. He got really jealous and almost quietly possessive and decided to retreat into himself. it didn’t help that he had this voice in his head that was making his everything worse. Grogu wasn’t having any of it though. He didn’t really understand why Ben kept trying to pull himself away and he talks to Luke about it. Luke, who does understand, starts to have actual conversations with Ben about what’s going on and Ben opens up to him about the voice, and the other bad stuff going on in his mind. They both decide to work together to figure this out.

In turn, i think Ben starts accepting the other three more. Actually hanging out with them and Grogu. They absolutely become the troublemaker crew and would be the bane of Luke’s existence if he wasn’t so fond of them all. I’d like to think that with actual support from his friends and family, that voice that tempts him to the dark side slowly quiets, especially since he knows now how to overcome dark emotions like jealousy and anger. (yes i did write three paragraphs about Ben that just means “please let this kid get therapy”)

this is long but i’m not done yet im sorry.

I don’t know how old these kids are. I’m thinking like 8-11? Finn being 8 and Poe being 11? fuck canon age gaps idc.

anyway, this all started because i fell in love with retired dinluke so we gonna skip a lot of years in which Din is no longer Mand’alor. He probably passed it off to someone else. not any of the kids though.

Luke’s students are all off on their own adventures. Some became Jedis and have their own students, some aren’t Jedi and are just doing their own thing, and who knows, maybe some swore to the Mandalorian creed. Regardless, Luke and Din are both content with the world. They get to have their happy peace after years and years of doing what the world demanded of them, even if they did it willingly. Luke’s students still come and visit. The troublesome five have been off into the world (maybe resolving some palpatine shit idk), but they like coming home and causing trouble for old time’s sake. Din and Luke don’t mind, that’s just what comes with being in the Skywalker family.

yeah so thats my little fix it au in which Din and Luke falling in love saves everything so the sequels never happened. if y’all wanna add something or talk about it with me please do! i know this was a lot to read but i appreciate it!

#dinluke #yikes this is long #but ive had this in my head for more than 2 week snow #weeks now #skydalorian #star wars #sw #sw sequels #sw rey #sw finn #poe dameron #kylo ren #ben solo #also im sorry for making 3 paragraphs abt ben #but i decided if this was a fix it au #child ben needs a lot of helpin #look kylo ren was a piece of shit but child him didnt do anything yer #the mandalorian

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tessiete · 3 years

Note

(2) In a world where Anakin doesn’t exist and Qui-Gon is alive and is being an amazing grandpa to Korkie and super supportive dad to both Obi-Wan and Satine… I am 100% sold!! This is such an incredible AU!! I can’t get enough of it! With that being said, do you mind writing more stories set in this world/universe? If you don’t mind, then for the Spotify ask I‘d choose #7 with Qui-Gon, Korkie, Obi-Wan and Satine. However, the ficlet can be based on whatever song you like the most on your playlist

Hello! To my dear @anakin-skywalker-is-my-hero - alright, so I know we talked privately because I wanted to make sure this would be something you liked, and you very graciously let me include Anakin...

But then...

The song you picked was um...”Mommy, What If?” Which is a children’s lullaby, because I like to relive my childhood as often as possible, okay? Yes. Essentially the Canadian version of Sesame Street (Sharon, Lois & Bram), was my #7 Spotify wrapped.

Anyway, that meant that I actually ended up writing a lot more about Korkie & Anakin than anyone else.

Mind blown, they’re only like 3 years apart. Anakin is only 5 years older than Ahsoka. WHAT IS GOING ON OVER THERE!?

So, while in this AU is does very much end up still being Obi-Wan & Anakin, platonic soulmates, right now they’re just too far apart in terms of maturity to make that a thing.

All this to excuse myself, but I do really hope you like this fic! <3333

NO SINGLE EFFORT

Kiorkicek Kryze has learned a secret.

And it’s one he doesn’t think that anyone else around him knows. Not Master Windu, who always looks at him with a frown, but slips sweets into his hands when others aren’t looking. Not Knight Vos, who once let Korkie try out his lightsaber in exchange for his word that he’d not tell Master Kenobi how the glass panel of his datapadd got shattered. And definitely not Padawan Briss, who claimed to have sneaked into the Forbidden Archives one night, and met a ghost that granted wishes to those brave enough to look for him.

There are no Forbidden Archives, and there are no ghosts - he’d asked Master Kenobi - so he’s convinced that Padawan Briss must not know much of anything, let alone his secret.

Masters Jinn and Kenobi don't know it either, he's certain, for they're much too old, and much too serious to even imagine the wonderful thing Korkie has found.

There is a boy who lives in the wall.

Korkie hadn’t known it at first. He’d thought himself quite alone in his room, as he lay awake in his little bed. The light of Coruscant’s city streets were too far below the Temple to be seen, the cacophony of life too distant to be heard, and Korkie’s thoughts far too quick to be quieted by sleep, so to pass the time, he’d tapped out a pattern upon the wall.

After that, he’d knocked again, enjoying the sound. The soft percussive beats fell like rain from his fingertips. He knocked louder, like thunder, striking the wall with the flat of his hand. Then with his littlest finger he knocked as gently as he could, just to see how small a noise could be.

And then, the wall knocked back.

Startled, Korkie cautiously tried again - three sharp raps. And three sharp raps came back. He traded knocks with the wall for hours, until he fell asleep, and then the next night, he knocked again. And so did the wall. Soon, a sort of language developed between Korkie and the echo in the wall. Two small knocks were made in greeting, and two small knocks replied. Sometimes he knocked out the fractured rhythms of Mandalorian marches he recalled, sometimes the taps were secret codes for the echo to decipher. Sometimes they meant nothing at all but comfort. And sometimes, the wall would send its own patterns back.

Then, one day, after a month of such late night encounters, Anakin Skywalker looks at him from over morning meal with his head tilted to the side, his short braid brushing over his shoulder, and says, “Oh, you’re the boy in the wall.”

Korkie feels silly then, for he’d begun to think of the little knocking ghost as his own, something part of himself, held safe between the walls and revealed only to him, at night, in the dark, and alone. But everyone knows about Padawan Skywalker. He is Master Jinn’s padawan. He is bright, and loud, and strange. He is the Chosen One. There is nothing secret about Anakin.

Even Master Obi-Wan seems unsettled by Anakin, and watches him out of the corner of his eye.

But Anakin is afraid of nothing. He gives Korkie an appraising look, staring in a way that Korkie’s mother had taught him was rude, and reaches to take a second helping of yuka seed pudding without asking first. Korkie doesn’t know what to say.

“I’d kind of thought it was only my imagination,” says Anakin, instead.

“I thought you were in mine,” says Korkie.

Anakin talks with his mouth full when he replies, “Well, anyway, I guess it’s better that you’re real. I’d rather a friend who can go places with me.”

So Korkie does. Anakin Skywalker is a whole head taller than him, and comes from a planet with a desert you can live in. He speaks six different languages, and knows about a million ways to slice a droid, but he also is new to the Temple, and doesn’t mind when Korkie needs extra help in finding his way. And in return, Korkie helps him with the other things - the things that Anakin can’t do so well. He helps with his Basic, and remembering when to bow, and in what order. He helps with ID chits, and chain codes, and how to navigate the holonet. He lets Anakin have his commlink when he breaks his own, and doesn’t protest when it’s returned with cinder smudges and scorch marks.

And at night, when everyone is asleep, when Korkie knows that Anakin thinks most of home, he knocks on the wall between them to remind him he is not alone.

And Anakin knocks back.

“What is it that you’re saying to me?” he asks, when next they meet. Master Jinn is always over for tea, and Master Obi-Wan makes frequent calls for counsel, so they are in company more often than not, and more often than not, they choose to be these days.

“Oh, nothing,” says Korkie, prodding at his holocam until a staticky, and uncertain solar system is thrown into the sky. It flickers out of existence just as quickly as it came, and Korkie sighs. “Just old songs my belli used to sing to me.”

“Let me have that,” says Anakin. He grabs the holocam from Korkie’s fingers, and turns it over and over in his hands. “Who’s your belli?” he asks.

“From Mandalore,” Korkie explains. “My buir. Who I came from.”

“Oh!” exclaims Anakin. “Your mom!”

Then he goes very silent for a moment, his brow furrows, biting at his lip and concentrating very hard on the cam in his hand.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about your mom.”

“Oh,” says Korkie. “Why not?”

Anakin shrugs. “Master Jinn says we’re supposed to let go of the past. And my - my mom said we don’t look back.”

Korkie thinks about this, while Anakin pries open the belly of his unit, prodding at the silicon innards.

“Master Obi-Wan has never said that.”

“Well, does he talk about your belli?”

“No,” concedes Korkie. “She only makes him sad.”

“Like I said,” he says, restoring the metal plate, locking it in place, and handing the device back. “Try it now.”

Korkie thumbs the switch, and the two boys are caught in the orbit of a million worlds, and a billion tiny stars. They rotate through the air, casting glittering light over their faces, and the burnished glow of their hair.

“Perhaps they don’t say anything only because they have no mothers of their own, and they don’t know what it is to miss them.”

“The Jedi don’t have moms or dads,” insists Anakin, scowling at the stars.

“Well, we do,” says Korkie.

Anakin has nothing to say to that, and so emboldened, Korkie presses his suit.

“Maybe, perhaps, we can do both?” he suggests. “Maybe we can talk about them to each other, and not to our masters, and that can be our secret, and that way no one has to be sad.”

For a moment, Anakin says nothing. He sits as still upon his knees as Korkie has ever seen him, his eyes tracking one bright object then the next. Finally, after an eternity, he nods slowly, as if unconvinced, but unable to resist.

“Okay,” he says. “Our secret.”

And Korkie grins in delight.

That night, their mouths pressed to the wall, and then their ears in turn, they speak to each other about their homes.

“Shall I go first, or you?” asks Korkie, his voice low and eager.

“Me,” replies Anakin. “I’m the oldest.”

“Alright. What is your mother’s favourite colour?” He turns his ear to the wall as soon as he has finished, not wanting to miss a word of Anakin’s response. He presses close until the cartilage pinches, and his temple beats out his pulse against the flat.

“Blue,” he says. “Like the skies. Like my eyes. What about your mom?”

“Blue, too!” he says, and in his excitement, he nearly forgets himself. “And my eyes are blue like yours.”

“Of course,” comes the voice. “We are brothers, after all.”

They sit in silence for a moment after that, because it is difficult to speak through the wall. It is hard to be precise, and harder still to think of good questions. None of them really show anything about what it is they miss most.

“Did your mom ever sing to you at night?”

“Yes,” says Korkie. “Did yours?”

“Yeah. And during the day. Everyone sings on Tatooine. To tell the time.”

“Sing me one,” says Korkie, “For late at night.” And he falls asleep to Anakin’s voice humming softly from behind the wall.

In the Archives, Korkie asks him about the song.

“It’s about the market at the Pika Oasis,” Anakin says. “Old women go to sell their fruits, but sometimes, everyone is too poor to buy anything.”

“Could you buy anything?” Korkie asks.

“No. We were always too poor to buy,” says Anakin. He almost says something else, but changes his mind, and says instead, “I know another one you’d like.”

“Okay!” Korkie agrees.

Anakin checks his shoulder to make sure they’re completely alone, and leans low over his holotext. Korkie leans closer to hear. In a sweet, lilting voice, Anakin sings words that Korkie has known since birth.

“Buir, buir!” he goes. “Te ik'aad pir'ekulor, te ik'aad pir'ekulor par gar, a te kar cuyir dar teh te kebii'tra, bal Ni dar'taylir tion'jor. O meg, o meg, kelir Ni vaabir?”

“That’s Mando’a!” Korkie shouts. His eyes are wide, and his surprise so great that it awakens some holobooks on a distant shelf. They flicker blue, before steadying again, and going back to sleep as Korkie wrestles his emotions back into a respectable form. “How do you know Mando’a?”

“My mom,” says Anakin, smiling like a felinx. “She learned from the traders, and then she taught me.”

“Sing it again,” Korkie demands.

So he does, and when he’s finished, Korkie frowns and tugs on his own short braid.

“It’s almost right,” he says. “But you sound funny.”

Anakin bristles. “That’s exactly how I learned it.”

“No, no,” says Korkie. “It’s just the tune. It should be more like this.”

And that night, Korkie sings Anakin to sleep as he recalls the strange reciting tones of his belli’s gentle voice.

This goes on until one day, Master Jinn tells Anakin - who informs Korkie in turn, who then tells his master who, of course, already knows - that they have been assigned a mission. They are being sent to a nearby Core world in order to mark the first anniversary of a long-awaited conurbation of planets.

Anakin is thrilled.

Master Qui-Gon is calm as ever as he lays his hand along Obi-Wan’s forearm, and presses a palm to his cheek.

“We’ll return soon,” he says. “And under far less duress than the last time we ventured forth.”

Obi-Wan smiles, but it is a grim little thing, and Master Jinn’s words do nothing to chase the tremulous shadows from his eyes.

“It’s only a few days,” agrees Anakin. “And we’re going to attend a banquet!”

He grins at Korkie, who feels similarly uneasy. He sidles closer to the thick folds of his master’s cloak, and reaches up to find buried between them his father’s hand. His palm slides easily into Obi-Wan’s and they take comfort in how they cleave to each other.

“Be careful,” says Master Obi-Wan.

“Always, my padawan,” replies Master Jinn.

They leave without a backward glance, and Korkie eats alone with his master that night.

It is only later, after the sun has set, and he’s tucked tightly beneath the soft blankets of his bed, that Korkie reaches out to knock against his wall, and is surprised when no one knocks back.

He knocks again, but still, he is alone, and in the silence of his lonely room, he begins to cry.

He knocks, and weeps into the down of his pillow, and weeps, and knocks again.

And then, someone knocks back.

But the sound comes from his door, and is followed by the hiss of pneumatics, and the warm spill of light from the hallway beyond.

“Kiorkicek?” calls his master, with the light at his back. “What’s wrong?”

He cannot say, and only cries louder, calling out for his master, and relief from the dark. The Jedi doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps into the room, the edges of his robes gilded with bronze, and leans over to pull Korkie into the cradle of his arms. He clings to his father, his legs kicking free of the blanket to wrap about his waist, and his arms thrown about Obi-Wan’s neck.

But though he reaches for Obi-Wan like he reached for his mother, it doesn’t feel the same. His father holds him, but doesn’t rock him in his arms. He rubs circles on his back, but does not press a kiss to his brow, or stroke his hair. He whispers in his ear, but he does not speak his tongue. He is nothing like his mother.

Until he starts to sing.

It is not a song of Mandalore, or of desert markets in the Outer Rim. It is neither happy, nor sad, but something balanced in between, like dawn. He sings of night. He sings of light. And he sings of them, together, promising himself to Korkie until time beyond knowing.

Gradually, his breathing calms, and his cheeks dry, and he goes willing, and boneless back beneath the covers as Obi-Wan tucks them both into the narrow confines of Korkie’s bed.

“Is that a song from your belli?” murmurs Korkie, held close to Obi-Wan’s chest.

“No,” Obi-Wan whispers, so quietly that only the stirring of golden hair may mark it. “It is a song from the Jedi,” he says. “It is a song from Master Jinn.”

And together, they fall asleep.

#korkie kenobi #korkie kryze #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan kenobi #my fic #prompt fill

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headfulloffantasies · 3 years

Text

Consequences

The title of Mand’alore catches up with Din Djarin.

Part 4 of Clones and Kings

Read on Ao3

“Do you think all of Master Yoda’s species have Jetii powers, or are we just lucky enough to find another one?” Wolffe asked Rex.

They sat side by side on the ramp of Mando’s ship drinking in the first rays of sun Rex had seen since Jakku. The Mandalorian had left them to guard the ship at the landing dock while he took Not-So-Yoda to pick up supplies at the market. Five credits said Mando would come back with a new toy for the kid.

“I don’t know. The kid still gives me this look sometimes like he knows what I’m thinking,” Rex grumbled.

“That’s not hard, vod,” Wolffe joked. “You have a terrible poker face.”

Rex shoved his brother’s shoulder. He missed this. The camaraderie between clones. It had been far too long.

“Well?” Rex asked Wolffe. “What will you do now?”

Wolffe turned his mechanical eye towards Rex. “I want to rejoin our brothers. Do you know if any others live?”

Rex shook his head. “You’re the only vod I’ve found since the end of the war.”

“And the Jedi?” Wolffe asked.

“The baby or Luke Skywalker?” Rex asked.

“I was thinking Commander Tano,” Wolffe growled. “I’d like to serve under someone from the old days.”

Rex closed his eyes and basked in the sun. “I’m here on Commander Tano’s orders. She’s doing shadow ops these days.”

Wolffe scoffed. “You don’t look very undercover, brother. Babysitting doesn’t suit a Captain.”

“I’m doing my best,” Rex answered. “Commander Tano said watch the Mandalorian and the foundling. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Speak of the devil,” Wolffe nudged Rex.

Mando came lumbering out of the crowded port towards them. He had two bursting satchels slung over his shoulders and Yoda the Younger riding his hip carrier.

Rex stood and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Hold him,” Mando dumped mini-Yoda in Wolffe’s lap. Wolffe froze. Mando ignored the clone’s obvious discomfort. Rex smirked. Served Wolffe right for teasing Rex about the kid.

“Let me help,” Rex offered Mando. He took one of the satchels off Mando’s shoulder.

“Din Djarin.”

Mando went stiff as a board. His hand drifted to his blaster. Rex craned his neck to see over Mando’s shoulder.

“Kriff,” Rex spat. He unfortunately recognised the red-haired woman marching towards them with her blue helmet under her arm.

“Is it too late to run?” Mando asked.

“Pretty sure she’s seen you,” Rex answered. “You could try shooting.”

“Din Djarin,” Bo Katan repeated. She came to a halt with a respectable space between them. Then she dropped to one knee. “All hail the Mand’alor.”

Rex gaped. Mando still didn’t turn around. His shoulders had come up around his helmet.

Wolffe made a choked noise. “You’re the Mand’alor?”

“Mand’alor,” Bo Katan said to Mando’s back. “It’s time to return to your duties as ruler.”

“I am doing my duty,” Mando turned sharply to look down at her. “You and the other advisors were informed of my intentions to collect my son while the Jedi is busy.”

Bo Katan scowled. “Yes, but we assumed you’d bring the child home with you. Not gallivant around the galaxy reliving your bounty hunting glory days again.”

Mando went silent and still. Rex took a half step back. Mando radiated violence from every line of his armour.

“Inside. Now,” Mando finally ground out.

Bo Katan straightened up and followed on Mando’s heels up the ramp into the ship. Rex trailed behind. He glanced back at Wolffe still sitting in dazed confusion. Yoda in Training took the opportunity to climb up Wolffe’s arm and sit on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Rex snapped. “Bring the kid. They might reconsider tearing each other to pieces in front of a child.”

Mando stomped into the cargo space where the carbonite freezer blinked and the frozen bounty sat in its slab. Rex hoped Mando’s helmet was heat shielded from the death-rays Bo Katan beamed at the back of his head. Mando grabbed the bounty and spun the slab around so Bo Katan could see its face.

“Do you know him?” Mando asked.

Bo Katan barely flicked her eyes disdainfully over the frozen Devorian. “No. Should I?”

“This man,” Mando explained. “Was selling beskar. He claimed he got it off a Mandalorian he killed.”

Rex shuddered.

Bo Katan crossed her arms. “So, you avenged a brother. That doesn’t-.”

Mando cut her off. “The galaxy’s underworld needs to learn that beskar belongs to the Mandalorians. I intend to make the life of anyone selling beskar unprofitable. Once they realise the steep punishment for trading our heritage, no one will want to buy beskar. Then the Mand’alor can sweep in and claim the remnants to give back to our people.”

Bo Katan chewed on this. From her pinched eyebrows she clearly thought it foolhardy.

Rex found himself staring at Mando in a new light. The man had honour in spades. And patience and ruthlessness to carry out his ambitious plan.

“That will take time,” Bo Katan finally said.

“Yes,” Mando inclined his head.

Bo Katan visibly struggled with this concept. “Fine.” She bit out. “I assume you have your next target.”

“Yes.”

Bo Katan lifted her chin. “Then I will accompany you.”

“Absolutely not,” Mando snapped.

Bo Katan didn’t back down. They locked in an intense stare. It didn’t really seem fair when Mando had his helmet to shield his face. Rex read the resolution in the line of his shoulders while Bo Katan grit her teeth.

“You may accompany us on your own ship,” Mando relented, much to Rex’s surprise.

“How gracious of you,” Bo Katan bowed her head. Mando escorted her off the ship.

Rex watched them go by in bewilderment. He caught Wolffe’s eye. Wolffe looked twice as flabbergasted as Rex. Good. Rex was the superior officer. He shouldn’t experience the same surprise as someone under his command.

Itty bitty Yoda saw a chance with Wolffe distracted and wiggled out of his grip. Rex dove and caught him before the kid could make another of his famous escape attempts.

Mando came back with defeat dragging down his shoulders.

“Why’d you let her tag along?” Rex blurted out.

Mando took Yoda Junior from Rex’s hands. “She’d only follow us anyways. At least she’s not trying to kill me for the Darksaber this time.”

“You’re the Mand’alor,” Wollfe gasped. Mando refused to respond. He tucked his child into his arms and swept up into the cockpit and sealed the door.

Wolffe pointed up the ladder. “He’s the Mand’alor.”

Rex dropped a hand on Wolffe’s shoulder. “Steady. Take a breath.”

Wolffe’s hands came up and gripped either side of Rex’s face. “Holy kriff, that madman is the Mand’alor!”

Rex carefully extricated himself from Wolffe’s fingers. “Do you need to sit down?”

Rex assumed Mando had locked the cockpit because Mando had finally decided to indulge in his afternoon meal. He’d open it after he had his helmet back in place. For now, Rex reckoned he’d like to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

Rex laid out his bedroll on the floor and placed his blasters within reach. “Wake me in thirty,” he instructed Wolffe.

Rex woke in twenty to something punching the breath out of his solar plexus. Rex bolted up. Huge liquid eyes stared back at him.

“I told him to let you sleep,” Mando’s tired voice said from above. “I don’t know if he understands words yet.”

The twitch of Un-Yoda’s smile said he knew exactly what people told him but he enjoyed chaos too much to bother obeying. Master Yoda had shared the same wrinkled smirk. Rex narrowed his eyes. The child mimicked him and showed off his sharp teeth.

Rex scooped up the child and held him at arms length far away from those biters.

Mando took the kid again. “We’re almost there,” he said. He trekked back up to the cockpit, his cape swirling behind him. He left the door open. Rex took it as an invitation. He started for the ladder.

Mando had the Wee Little Yoda asleep in his lap. The kid made cooing sounds in his sleep.

Rex sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Mando said nothing for a long time. Rex relaxed into the silence. He stared out at the glowing streaks of stars passing by. Mando’s helmet caught the glint as he turned towards Rex.

“Do you think I’m being an irresponsible leader?” Mando asked.

Rex thought he was asking a question high above Rex’s paygrade, but he answered anyways. “I think a ruler’s responsibility is to take care of the people around him. So, if he never leaves the throne room, well.” Rex left that there. “But a ruler who knows the needs of his people because he’s out among them is a good man in my books.”

Mando sighed. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Rex nodded. He’d known the Mandalorian from the first day they’d met. The man was simple. That didn’t mean he was foolish. He was probably the wisest person Rex had ever met. That included Master Yoda, because the old gremlin hadn’t managed to see a Sith plot ten years in the making. Rex might have a bias. Didn’t make him wrong. The point was; Mando wanted two things out of life. To care for his son, and to live his Creed. It didn’t seem like much to ask. Too bad Bo Katan thought different.

“How many Mandalorians have you tried giving the Darksaber to?” Rex asked carefully.

Mando tipped his helmet. “Everybody but Boba Fett.”

Rex imagined Boba Fett leading an army of beskar clad Mandos. It would be like someone unleashing a nuclear bomb to get rid of an anthill.

“That’s smart,” Rex squeaked.

“Fett commed me right after I got it and threatened to dismember me if I offered it to him,” Mando finished.

That tracked actually. Fett had complicated history with Mandalore and he had his hands full on Tatooine last Rex heard.

“We’re here,” Mando announced. They dropped out of hyperspace.

Rex had to know something before they plunged into the lion’s den.

“What is this really all about?”

Mando leaned back in his seat. “Mandalorians have been hunted for our beskar ever since our ancestors abandoned Mandalore. There are those who would see our reuniting as strategically unwise. Before I ask them to make themselves vulnerable, I have to prove I can protect them.”

And that right there was why Bo Katan could never rule Mandalore while Mando lived. She just couldn’t compare. Nice try, Princess. Come back with some scruples and a better attitude.

The planet they’d landed on looked like a wasteland. Only sparse vegetation managed to poke through the grey dust. The trees grew twisted in spindly bunches. A dark fog spread over Rex’s feet as they exited the ship.

Bo Katan’s ship landed behind them. She emerged with her helmet on and guns at the ready. Mando leaned casually against the side of his ship with Yoda the Imposter snuggled into the satchel at his hip.

“Alright,” Bo Katan said. “Where’s your beskar thief?”

“This way,” Mando stalked silently into the gloom. Rex and Wolffe exchanged a look. They followed at a distance.

“Not many heat sources on this planet,” Wolffe reported, tapping his cybernetic eye. “Place seems abandoned.”

“So, it’s a good spot for lowlifes to hide,” Rex summed up.

Wolffe shrugged. They trekked through the fog. Rex kept his blasters in hand. Nothing moved in the sparse trees. The dry earth under their boots crackled with every step.

They approached a ridge of rock. Mando stopped.

“Hang on,” Mando started. “Something’s not right.”

A blaster bolt scorched the ground inches from Mando’s boot. He drew and shot in the blink of an eye. Rex pulled Wolffe behind a boulder. A bolt cracked against the stone above his head. Rex heard the sound of return fire.

Rex leaned out to sneak a peek. Mando hadn’t moved. He held his ground and aimed his blaster.

“We have to retreat!” Rex yelled. “There’s not enough cover here.”

Mando didn’t seem to hear. He sprayed the ridge with a shower of fire. The return shot clipped him on the pauldron. The force of the blow spun him to the side. Rex’s stomach jolted as he realised Mando had shown his vulnerable flank. He opened his mouth to shout.

Bo Katan barrelled out of nowhere and crashed into Mando. She tackled him behind a tree. Rex ducked back into his hiding spot.

“I thought the Jedi were bad,” Wolffe growled. “But Mando’s kriffing crazy.”

The blaster fire from the ridge stopped.

One by one their rag tag crew peeked out of their cover.

Rex risked stepping out from behind the boulder. He pointed his blasters. No bolts came careening to cut him down.

“All clear,” Rex announced.

Wolffe joined him, spitting curses.

Rex turned at a sound of surprise from Bo Katan.

Mando shoved himself into Bo Katan’s face. “Don’t do that again.”

Bo Katan met his ire with her own venom. “It is my responsibility to defend the Mand’alor.”

“You shame me in battle again and I’ll throw you in a sarlacc pit,” Mando growled.

A squeak came from Mando’s satchel. The tension dropped from his shoulders. He pulled Yoda the Pretender from his pouch. The tiny toddler gripped Mando’s thumb tightly.

If Rex wasn’t still worried about blaster bolts raining down from above, he would have melted over the Jedi baby.

“Can we please find some new cover?” Wolffe voiced Rex’s thoughts.

Mando and Bo Katan broke apart. Mando reached for the side of his helmet. Rex assumed he was shifting through heat scans, looking for the trail their mark might have left.

“This way,” Mando headed out around the side of the ridge.

Bo Katan watched him go. Rex gestured for her to follow, determined to keep his position as rear guard. He had some experience from chasing around kriffing Jedis.

They moved as a tight knot through the trees. Wolffe bumped his shoulder against Rex’s.

“Does this feel like an ambush to you?”

Rex nodded. “The shooter had us pinned down. He didn’t need to retreat. Unless.”

“Unless he went to warn his backup.”

Rex scanned their surroundings and cursed the fog.

The rounded a bend and ran straight into four bandits armed to the teeth.

“Kark!” Rex shouted. They were surrounded.

Wolffe and Rex moved as one; diving behind the nearest tree. Splinters and blaster bolts rained over Rex’s head.

Mando landed in the dirt next to him. Mando grunted and gripped his side.

“You hit?” Rex demanded. He raked his eyes over the spot where Mando pressed his hand. Bless the armour for saving Mando’s life and curse it at the same time for hiding the injury from Rex’s sight.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mando shouted back. He yanked out his blaster and took up firing along with Rex. Rex had a kriffing time getting a single shot off with the sharpshooter pinning them against the trees. He also had no eyes on Bo Katan. Much as he disliked her, Rex hated to think she might have fallen.

Finally, Rex caught a break in the assault. He peeked around the tree trunk. Two of the four bandits were advancing. Rex aimed at the Twi’lek holding an elctro-spear.

Sizzling electricity leaped from the tip of the spear and arced past Rex’s ear. He ducked back and jostled Wolffe.

“This feels familiar,” Rex shouted in Wolffe’s ear.

“We’re evenly matched now,” Wolffe yelled back.

“Hold your fire!” A male voice suddenly ordered. The bandits quit shooting. Rex leaned around the tree.

The tall Twi’lek twirled his electro-spear. He surveyed their little group.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” the Twi’lek bared his eye teeth in a nasty grin. “We’re going to pry those two Mandalorians out of their armour and sell that beskar for a fortune. You other two can either help us and take a share of the money; or you can die just the same.”

“I got a counter offer for you,” Wolffe shouted. “You can take that spear and ram it where the sun don’t shine.”

The Twi’lek’s face turned stormy. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The other bandits lifted their weapons and renewed their firing. Rex ducked back down.

Mando shoved Not-Yoda into Rex’s hands. “Watch him. I got this.”

Mando vanished like a puff of smoke. Rex cradled the child against his chest to shield him from the stray blaster bolts. Sharp claws found their way past the collar of his breast plate to cling to his shirt.

“It’s okay,” Rex promised. “Your buir has a plan.”

The crack of shots continued to deafen Rex.

A sudden explosion rocked Rex against the tree. He curled around the Jedi child as debris rained down. Rex poked his head out.

Mando stood in the center off the destruction. Even through the smoke Rex could see his chest heaving. Three of the bandits lay on the ground at his feet. Rex didn’t see the Twi’lek leader.

Out of the smoke, a figure tackled Mando. Mando threw him off. Rex heard the groan as Mando pressed a hand to his side. The thick fabric between the beskar plates looked darker than it should.

The Twi’lek rolled and came up with a vibroblade. He slashed at Mando with the knife. Mando brought his arms up and caught the blade on his vambraces. The screech of metal on metal shrieked in Rex’s ears. He grabbed his blaster and took aim. The Twi’lek danced around Mando, hopping and weaving so much Rex couldn’t get a good shot.

A lucky kick knocked Mando’s feet out from under him. He hit the ground in a clank of armour. The Twi’lek raised the knife over his head. Rex shouted too late.

“Djarin!” Bo Katan plowed out of nowhere. Her wrist blade blocked the vibroblade’s descent. She plunged her other wrist blade into the Twi’lek’s chest. The bandit made a gurgling noise Rex wished he could block out. The body dropped and landed on top of Mando.

Bo Katan kicked the corpse aside. She offered her hand to Mando. He smacked her hand away. Mando got to his wobbly feet. He wiped the blood from his breast plate. He left a horrible handprint smeared across the silver beskar.

Rex hurried to Mando’s side. Yoda’s Progeny whined and begged for his father.

For the first time, Mando ignored his son. He pressed his visor into Bo Katan’s face.

“I warned you not to do that again.” Mando’s voice growled through his vocoder.

Bo Katan lifted her chin. The painted eyes on her helmet were cold. “If you died in battle, that kriffer becomes the next Mand’alor. I can’t let that happen.”

“Not until you get your shot first,” Mando snapped back. “We’re done.”

“You can’t dismiss me,” Bo Katan snarled. “I’m the rightful heir to the throne of Mandalore.”

“You want your throne?” Mando unclipped the Darksaber from his belt.

Rex held his breath.

Mando extended the saber hilt to Bo Katan. “Go on. Take it.”

Bo Katan seethed in silence.

“That’s what I thought.” Mando turned his back on her.

“I will challenge you for the throne,” Bo Katan promised.

“I appreciate the warning,” Mando drawled. He limped back the way they’d come.

Wolffe caught Rex’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Rex shrugged. They fell in together and trailed behind Mando.

They were barely a pace out of Bo Katan’s view when Mando’s knees buckled. Wolffe snagged his arm and kept him from cracking his bucket against a tree.

“Kriff,” Wolffe hissed. “You got bacta on the ship?”

Mando nodded.

“Alright. You’re going to have to walk. I can’t carry your weight in beskar.”

Rex carried the anxious Yoda the Younger after his father leaning hard against Wolffe’s side. The child whined and wiggled, reaching for his buir.

“He’s alright,” Rex tried to soothe the tiny Jedi. “Your buir is strong.”

They got to the ship and Wolffe dragged Mando up the ramp. Mando directed Wolffe to the med kit. Wolffe flipped it open and started rifling through the contents.

Rex knelt beside Mando sitting with his back against the ship’s wall. Blood had soaked through the flight suit under Mando’s arm. Rex set the Jedi down and grabbed for the clasps on Mando’s breast plate. A gloved hand clamped down on Rex’s wrist.

“Don’t,” Mando growled.

“We got to get at the wound,” Rex explained.

“I’ll do it myself,” Mando grabbed the kit from Wolffe. He threw himself at the cockpit ladder.

Wolffe yelped a protest. “You’re going to need help.”

“It’s forbidden,” Mando insisted.

“Fine,” Rex snapped. “But if you die up there, I’m not delivering the Darksaber to Bo Katan. I’d rather eat my bucket.”

Mando managed a bark of a laugh. “I’ll make it my final wish to have that kriffing thing tossed in a supernova.”

“That I can do,” Rex promised.

The cockpit sealed behind Mando. Wolffe stood at the door and stressed in silence so strongly that Rex was certain he would manifest the emotion as a Force Ghost.

“Make sure to use plenty of gauze,” Wolffe called through the door. “And more bacta is better than too little.”

“Vod,” Rex snapped. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Are you sure?” Wolffe snarled back. “That kriffer jumped into an ambush to detonate a karking bomb. I don’t put much stock by whatever brains he might have left in that bucket.”

“Stop being a mother bantha,” Rex grumbled.

The door opened. Mando stomped out right past Wolffe and Rex to snatch up Small Fry Yoda. He slapped the panel that revealed his private bunk. Mando paused there, not turning to look at them.

“Thank you. I owe you a debt,” he said.

“The only thing you owe us for is forcing us to work with Bo Katan,” Rex answered.

They couldn’t see Mando’s smile, but Rex watched Mando’s shoulders relax. He retreated into the bunk and closed the door behind him. Rex and Wolffe exchanged a look.

“Do you think he sleeps with the bucket on?” Wolffe asked.

“I can hear you,” Mando’s muffled voice came through the door.

End

#captain rex #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #mand'alor #bo katan fanart #wolffe #grogu #baby yoda #fanfiction #fanfic #clones and kings #rex

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a-dorin · 4 years

Text

“you’re just like the kid” | the mandalorian

word count: 1,375

warnings: cursing, violence, blood, death, murder

a/n: hello everyone! i’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours (aha) so i apologize in advance if this is really written poorly. plus, i can never turn down mando. i love him too much. (din’s whore right here lmao) i’m sorry if this doesn’t totally follow the prompt! anyways, enjoy!

prompt: “mando and force user reader fighting together? like mando is in a pickle of a fight and close to losing but the reader comes in and saves the day ?”

“well mando,” a twi’lek hissed, licking her teeth, her incisors gleaming in the night, “it seems as if you’re quite the sticky situation.”

the mandalorian exhaled, “so far the odds are in my favor, it’s one-to-one.”

the twi’lek snorted, cocking her pistol, “i would choose your words very carefully, mandalorian.”

other individuals emerged from the shadows, boxing the mandalorian in. he gripped his blasters, jaw clenched, eyes scanning for any other potential backup that may slither out from the darkness. there were about eight of them, a variety of bounty hunters, all armed with a menagerie of weapons. blasters, pistols, grenades, even a flame thrower. even if the mandalorian had more weapons, he had to face the facts. he was hopelessly outnumbered.

his time spent on this backwater planet was overdue. he was only supposed to make a brief pit stop, trading some of his ammunition for rations and other supplies. although he did want to stay on dandoran long, the child was sound asleep in the razor crest. it meant that it was the perfect opportunity to seize some time to do some commerce, making some trades with the locals.

he was not aware at the time, but there was a ring of bounty hunters in hot pursuit of the mandalorian, tracking his every move. they cornered him in the forest surrounding the village, where they could hopefully be successful in their mission. their mission was to bring in the notorious bounty hunter, whether he was warm or cold.

the mandalorian gritted his teeth, whipping out his blasters. the bounty hunters who cornered him were not a part of the guild. they were rogues, banding together, traveling with one another, searching to fill their greed. hopefully, he would emerge victorious, not succumbing to their greed. however, he was aware of their fuel to kill him. greed had the capability to create monsters.

in a split second, he whipped out his arm, igniting his flamethrower. it temporarily shocked his attackers, the sound of blasters ringing through the air. the heat intensified as the mandalorian swung around his arm, the flame following in suit. the firing of blasters pierced the night air, all of the shots hitting anything and everything around the mandalorian, except him.

“get him!” the twi’lek screeched, “kill him at all costs!”

“shit,” the mandalorian cursed under his breath, the shots pitiful, ricocheting off the beskar.

the greenery around the confrontation was beginning to catch fire, the smell of smoke flooding the mandalorian’s nostrils. it was overwhelming, his eyes watering, blurring his vision. fire crackled, creating an orange glow that cast over the forest, illuminating the trees and shrubbery. the smoke filled the bounty hunter’s lungs, his throat tightening, every breath feeling like as if his chest was on fire.

the shots from the the blasters were not strong, but there were enough to wear him down. if he didn’t get out of this ring of firing soon, he would be in their possession. the bounty hunter set off a grenade, in desperate attempts to disable some of his attackers.

“fuck,” he shook his head, the attackers relentless, not ceasing their fire.

“please!” came a cry, “please don’t kill me!”

adrenaline pumped through the mandalorian’s veins, fueling his desire to keep fighting. to going at all costs. till there was no fight left in him. however, it seemed as if the bounty hunters surrounding him were disappearing in the smoke, their cries echoing through the forest.

“hey who are-”

a body soared through the air, one of the attackers thudding against the tree with a horrid crack, a branch impaling through his shoulder, blood splattering the forest floor. the mandalorian grimaced, fear creeping into his thoughts. he kept his guns in his grip, thumbs resting on the triggers.

the smoke dissipated, clearing the area. a shadow stepped forward, the mandalorian’s breath hitching in his throat. the confrontation left him panicked, his thumbs ready to pull the trigger. however, when he noticed who stood before him, the mandalorian was speechless.

it was a young woman, her features illuminated in the glow of the fire. her hair flowed in the breeze as it rolled through the trees, her brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, glowing (e/c). the mandalorian slipped his blasters in their holsters, his chest heaving, scrambling to breathe.

“you can relax,” the woman snorted, rolling her eyes.

“who are you?” the mandalorian demanded.

“how is my name your business?” she arched a brow, “by the way, since you haven’t thanked me yet, you’re welcome for saving your life, buckethead.”

the mandalorian’s eyes scanned the woman. she was dressed in drab robes, more than likely a farmer or villager, “how did you find me? what guild do you belong to?”

the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes, “guild? what are you babbling about? are you sure you didn’t hit your head in the scuffle? i don’t belong to any guild, mandalorian. i don’t live far from here. the sounds of blasters caught my attention. as well as the scent of the smoke. i was worried that someone was starting a fire on purpose.”

the mandalorian cocked his head, pointing a finger at the woman, “you don’t have a single weapon on you. how did you fend off those bounty hunters? no offense to you, but you appear to be the typical defenseless villager.”

her eyes hardened, “you’re not good with conversation, are you?”

“you’re not too good yourself,” the mandalorian countered, folding his arms over his chest, “how did you throw that bounty hunter against that tree like it was nothing?”

the woman’s eyes drifted towards the bounty hunter who fell victim to her surprise attack, his body hanging limp, limbs swaying, “oh, i didn’t mean to kill him.”

“you didn’t mean to kill him?” he repeated, “how in the fuck did you manage to attack eight fully armed bounty hunters with nothing?”

“i guess you could say i’m gifted,” the woman shrugged, “i’m (y/n) (l/n). do you have a name besides mando?”

“it’s din,” the mandalorian could sense that the woman was not a threat, “din djarin.”

“cool name,” (y/n) breathed, a shy grin forming on her lips, “well, since you want to know so badly how i saved your life, let me show you.”

din eyed (y/n), watching her every move as she squeezed her eyes shut, face twisting into concentration. she stuck out a hand, a rock beside din rising, levitating in the air effortlessly. din’s jaw dropped, shock rippling through his being. (y/n) was no ordinary farmer or nobody. she was special. extremely, utterly, important.

“how did you do that?” din inquired, curiosity rising.

(y/n)’s eyes snapped open, her breathing ragged, “i-i’m not sure. i’ve been able to do stuff like this since i was young.”

din cleared his throat, “i want to introduce you to someone.”

“you do?” (y/n)’s eyes widened.

“yes,” din nodded, reaching out with a gloved hand, “do you trust me?”

(y/n) stepped forward, hesitantly taking din’s hand, “i do. besides, you’re a mandalorian.”

din began to make his way towards the razor crest, “what does that have to do anything?”

“you’re a skilled warrior, i know you’ll protect me,” (y/n) chuckled, “i saved your ass though.”

“you don’t have to remind me about it every five minutes,” din teased, his voice warm.

eventually, the two made their way to the mandalorian’s ship, silence between them. once din opened the up the ship, (y/n)’s heart skipped a beat. a small, green lifeform was standing before them. its eyes were wide and omniscient, deep obsidian pools. it cooed, reaching up towards the mandalorian.

yet, (y/n) felt a pull towards the child. like they were meant to find one another. it was a sense of familiarity, even if she had never encountered this creature before. the child’s attention shifted towards (y/n), gurgling happily. din allowed you to scoop the child in your arms, a giggle bubbling up in your throat when the child tugged on your hair, his mouth wide open with joy.

“you’re just like the kid, (y/n),” din’s voice was cool, smooth, “and i think he knows you’re just like him too.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin fluff #din x reader

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capsironunderoos · 4 years

Text

Little One - Part Three: “This is the way.”

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

Summary: Din Djarin is sent to collect a bounty that he has limited information on. What he finds on the journey is unexpected, complicated, and even a little green.

Warnings: Flashbacks to the first chapter. This is based off of The Sin, so it gets real tense. Real sad boy hours out here.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: This was actually a lot of fun to write, and I’m in a Mando mood now. I hope to have the next chapter out soon because the fourth episode of the show was my absolute favorite. Anyways, we’re learning a bit more about our characters, but we’re still following the plot of the show for the most part. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know! Thank you to everyone who reads, you guys mean the world! (Also, a little bit more hints at a possible romance with Luke Skywalker, if you know how to look closely...)

Oh and I haven’t said this before, but if he’s referenced as Mando, then it’s the readers POV, and if he’s referenced as Din, then it’s his POV.

This is a link for the last chapter:

Little One - Part Two: “I have spoken.”

And this is a link for my master list, where all the chapters are located:

capsironunderoos masterlist

When the Razor Crest leaves hyperspace, your heart plunges to your stomach.

Actually, you think that if you looked down, you’d see it laying in your lap.

Nevarro has come into view, and as beautiful as the planet looks from the cockpit of Mando’s ship, you know the scum living on its surface is as thick as the smog that clouds its skies.

Little One coos from his spot in the Mandalorian’s lap, mouth wrapped around the small metal ball from one of Mando’s many dashboard controls.

You wonder if this was the planet Kuill had referenced. Maybe this was where your story was to take place.

When Mando lands his ship just beyond the entrance into the city, you know he doesn’t plan to be on world long. He’s close enough for a quick departure.

He stands from the pilot seat and turns, stopping when you look to Little One held carefully in his arms.

Both you and the small green being look up to him, and you can almost sense his conflict.

Time seems to freeze as the three of you simply observe the other.

Mando breaks first, moving Little One into the crook of his left arm so he can wrangle the pod from off of the floor and into the seat beside you. Little One lets out a screech of protest, because he knows going in the pod could mean the doors being closed again.

“Let me carry him so he isn’t scared.”

You command, and the Mandalorian responds by placing Little One in the pod and turning to you. Even though you can’t see it, you hold his gaze, and neither of you flinches when he presses the button on his wrist that slams the pod doors shut.

“I don’t know who else has a fob for him. He’ll stay hidden until we arrive in the presence of the buyer.”

He then reaches into a cubby above your head and drops a piece of cloth in your lap.

“That goes for you too. Cover up those tattoos and wrap this around your face.”

You don’t argue, knowing that any number of groups could have placed a bounty on your head as well.

The Empire, the Resistance, the Guild.

You were not stranger to bounty hunters, or bounties for that matter.

When the Mandalorian is satisfied with your cover, he activates the pod and you exit the ship.

The short walk into the dingy town leaves you anxious, and you wonder what the plan is. Surely Mando doesn’t intend to actually trade you off for a lousy stack of credits. But, if those weren’t his intentions, then Nevarro would have never been your next stop.

He comes to a halt in front of a random door and you notice something move out of the corner of you eye.

Are you being watched?

Your eyes flicker to the pod that holds Little One.

A camera droid sticks itself out of the wall and Mando doesn’t say anything, just stands in view of it, holding up a card. It slams into the wall at the same time the door slides open, revealing two stormtroopers.

Your mind instantly takes you back to Alderaan and you are ten years old again, panic rising in your chest and choking any breath you held out of your lungs.

Mando must sense something is off, because he turns to you and grabs your wrist. You shake your head and his grip tightens as he pulls you into the dark hallway with him.

It takes everything in you not to reach for the blaster resting against your hip.

Not like you could anyway, with two sets of stormtrooper eyes watching and the death grip Mando has on your right wrist.

A thought suddenly pops into your mind and you glance over at him.

He’s scared, or nervous maybe, you can feel it, somehow, rolling off of him in waves.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist isn’t just to keep you in line, it’s for his sake as well. It’s working to ground both of you to your current situation, to keep you present, alert.

When you reach the end of the hallway, a trooper moves to activate the sliding door and you step into a room that resembles a bar, but now holds a desk where a man in Imperial robes sits behind it.

The trooper beside you moves and grabs the pod, pushing it forward and closer to the man behind the desk, who is holding a tracking fob similar to the Mandalorian’s that is beeping wildly. He stands and glances between you two before looking at the pod.

“Yes,” he starts, moving around the desk and holding the fob closer to the still closed pod, “yes yes yes.”

Mando inches forward, finally releasing your wrist and pressing the button on his that activates the doors of the pod to slide open.

Little One remains quiet, simply looking at the man standing in front of him.

Another man joins him, dark lensed glasses now trained on Little One as well. They seem excited and on edge, as if they can’t believe they are staring at this small green creature.

You don’t share their emotions.

The man wearing the glasses moves a tool that emits a red light over Little One’s face, and you step closer to Mando to see what they’re doing.

Little One flinches away from the lights that seem to scan his facial features, but they don’t stop, a smile working its way onto the man’s face. The man in imperial dress looks up at him as if he’s demanding answers.

“Very healthy,” he states, and cuts the light off.

You hadn’t realized it, but you had latched onto Mando’s arm, standing on your toes to see. Tears had begun to prick your eyes as you witnessed Little One’s discomfort.

They both rise to look at you and Mando and you slowly release him, once again standing flat on your feet.

“Your reputation was not unwarranted,” the man in imperial robes states, still refusing to acknowledge your presence.

“How many fobs did you give out?” Mando asks and it seems to irritate the man.

“This asset was of extreme importance to me. I needed to insure it’s delivery. But, to the winner, go the spoils.”

He moves back behind his desk, reaching for a container and placing it on top of the table. It’s heavy, you can tell by the way it’s impact echos. He presses a button and the container opens, revealing a large stack of Beskar.

Tears prick your eyes once more as you glance between the reward and Mando.

How could you have ever thought he wouldn’t turn you in?

He would be a fool to turn down such a profit.

He leaves you and Little One then, stepping to the desk and picking up a piece of Beskar. He seems to weigh it, and you wonder if he’s deciding if it’s real, or if he’s deciding whether to accept it for two innocent lives.

“Such a large bounty, for such a small package.”

The man remarks, and you can feel your blood beginning to boil. The blaster on your hip comes to mind again.

Movement beside you pulls you from your thoughts of an escape attempt and you realize that Little One is being escorted from the room by the man wearing glasses. He cries as he looks over the edge of the pod as you and Mando disappear from sight.

The sound breaks your heart and you jump forward, arms extended in his direction. A trooper behind you grabs you around your waist and you yelp in alarm.

“Wait!” You yell and the room freezes.

Mando looks over his shoulder at you as the scarf wrapped around your head has fallen down to rest on your shoulders.

“You can’t have him! He’s mine!” You cry, tears flowing freely now as Little One begins to wail too.

The man standing near Mando looks to him, anger etched into every wrinkle of his face.

“What does she speak of?” He asks through gritted teeth and Mando moves to look back to him instead of you.

“She is his caretaker.” He responds, and the man glances from you to Little One.

“Please!” You yell again and the stormtroopers grip tightens on your waist.

“We can take her off your hands, Mandalorian.” The man states, and your heart drops.

A beat of silence, and you swear you could hear a pin drop, when Mando nods.

The man glances over to the stormtrooper and he lifts you off the ground, beginning to pull you into the room behind Little One.

You thrash against him, spitting curses at the Mandalorian who doesn’t seem phased in the least.

A last minute effort cues you to take the blaster from it’s holster on your hip and you expertly aim it at the trooper holding you, who drops to the ground as soon as your finger finds the trigger. You aim again at the trooper across the room and he drops too, the blaster shot echoing against the walls of the room.

The Mandalorian still hasn’t moved, and you train your blaster on him this time, hands slightly shaking.

You could kill him, right here.

Grab the Beskar and Little One and escape and start a new life.

It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t done worse things in your life.

Before your fingers squeeze the trigger, you feel a pinch in your neck and the room grows blurry.

When your knees hit the floor, the last thing you hear are Little One’s wails.

—

Din watches as you fall to the floor, knees coming into impact with the dirt below you before you’re caught by a stormtrooper.

The trooper sweeps you into his arms, handing the blaster to the man across from him.

Din doesn’t say anything, just watches as you disappear into the hallway with the child.

“What are your plans for it?” He asks.

“How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation. You have taken both commission and payment. Is it not the code of the guild that these events are now forgotten?”

Din watches the man as he speaks, and notices the stormtroopers that enter the room.

“That Beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor.”

Din nods, closing the container and leaving the room.

As he makes his way back down the hallway and into the alley he entered through, he pauses for a moment.

Had he really just condemned you and that child to certain death?

He had witnessed the creature lift an entire mudhorn as if it weighed nothing, surely that could be a threat to someone of Imperial status.

He had no hand in the fall of the Empire, but he had not fallen deaf to the stories of the Jedi and the Sith. He had simply chose not to believe in them, until now.

His foot mindlessly taps into the dirt beneath it, stirring up dust around him. He shakes his head and begins moving again.

He had completed his job, and what happened past him collecting the bounty for it wasn’t any of his concern.

As he steps into the tunnels below the city, he swears he can still hear your screams and the Childs cries echoing against the temple of his helmet.

—

You watch beside a stormtrooper as the man with glasses, who you assume to be some sort of medical official, straps Little One to a table.

Your emotions are all over the place.

You’re seething with anger at the Mandalorian for thrusting you and Little One into what may be your final prison, if the blaster pointed in your side is any indication. But you’re also fighting tears as Little One screams uncontrollably. You’ve never heard him in such distress and it’s tearing you apart.

The doctor seems irritated as the screams drag on.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he barks through gritted teeth.

You watch as he sticks a needle into Little One’s neck and you wonder if it’s the same as whatever they injected you with, your hand subconsciously moving to rub at the still tender spot on your neck.

A moment later and he has grown silent, his big brown eyes lost behind his eyelids.

The silence bothers you more than his screams. At least when he was screaming you knew he was alive.

You’re surprised when you feel a slight breeze move across the room.

The hair on the back of your neck bristles and your eyebrows scrunch together. It’s stronger this time, but as you look around the room you can tell no one else feels it.

But you’ve felt it before, on the planet where you and Little One were held captive for so long, when you contemplated abandoning him.

It seems as if it wraps around you once more, and you sway slightly, which cues the trooper beside you to grab your arm as his blaster burrows further into your side.

You snarl in his direction, and turn to face him.

When you do, the wind shifts, and he is thrown against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Your eyes widen but the wind seems to grow stronger around you.

The doctor has stopped, his back against the table where Little One still sleeps.

You slowly raise your hand, channeling whatever this strange wind is in his direction. He begins to rise off the ground, struggling but never falling.

“Please! Don’t do this!” He yelps, and your grip only tightens.

“If something happens to me you’ll both be killed!” He bargains and your eyebrows furrow once more.

“What do you mean?” You spit, and he breathes heavily.

“While you were sleeping, I was instructed to dispose of the both of you, but I talked them into letting me run tests. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“Then let us go,” you ask. He nods furiously.

“If you let me down, I’ll release both of you.”

You somehow release the feeling of the rampant energy wrapping around you and this doctor, and it seems as if all of the air is sucked out of the room with it.

As the doctor falls to his knees, you bend and grab onto yours, trying to catch your breath.

In the moment you have your back turned, the butt of a blaster is rammed into your temple and you fall into darkness once more.

—-

Din makes his way through the dark room, blaster ready for fire and eyes trained to search for any more troopers.

He’s already taken out too many to count, and when he rounds the corner he stumbles into a room with Imperial medical supplies and machines.

A trooper shoots him but the blaster fire bounces off of the new Beskar resting against his shoulder.

He fires expertly and the trooper falls.

He sees a medical droid hovering over the child pinned onto the table under some sort of binder and he is infuriated, both at himself and at the ones who’ve done this.

He shoots the droid and turns.

The doctor is standing near the table, and Din aims his blaster at him.

“Please! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a child!”

Din is taken aback by his words, but doesn’t falter. He marches over to him and grabs him, throwing him out of his way and onto the floor.

“What did you do to it?” Din demands and the doctor squirms on the floor when he sees the blaster once again aimed in his direction.

“What did you do to it!” Din demands once more, voice more aggressive this time.

“I- I protected him! I protected him! If it wasn’t for me he would be dead! Please!”

The doctor has turned away from Din now, burying his face into the metal bucket he has grabbed onto.

While his head is turned, Din takes the chance to grab the child and leave the room, entering the hallway once more.

The creature rests in the crook of his left arm, still sleeping.

He has to find you now, because he knows if he leaves you, he won’t have any clue of how to care for the baby. He also thinks, deep down, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night either.

He quickly hides from two troopers who are discussing plans for transport of a prisoner, and he automatically assumes it’s you. He fights his way through a cargo room, surprised that the creature still sleeps.

When he enters yet another hallway, he blasts a trooper behind him and turns to one in front of him, who shoots in his direction but misses. He ignites the flame thrower on his wrist and burns the trooper until he lays lifeless on the floor.

He hears a coo and looks down to see big brown eyes staring up at him.

At least he knows the child is still alive.

He sighs and is on the move again, blaster raised as he enters the room where the earlier negotiations took place. His eyes sweep the area but he realizes it’s empty now.

Din moves across the room quickly and quietly, jolting to a halt when the door opposite the room opens to reveal two stormtroopers, with two more entering from the doorway he just left.

The two behind him have you in tow, possibly to be used as either a bargaining chip or a shield, whatever the situation warrants first.

“Drop the blaster!” One instructs and Din moves his empty hand to signal surrender.

“Wait,” he starts, “what I’m holding is very valuable. Here.”

He crouches then, placing both his blaster and the young one on the floor below him.

He hears a scuffle behind him and glances over his shoulder to see you restrained by a trooper, shoulders still shaking from the escape attempt.

“Stand up,” another commands and he triggers the whistling birds on his wrist, their blue lights flicking on.

“Duck,” he states and you drop to the floor as he shoots them off, each one perfectly hitting their mark.

The troopers drop to the floor and you stand, watching as he grabs his blaster and Little One. You grab a blaster discarded by the trooper beside you.

You follow Mando into the alleyway, relief and anger flooding through you.

“You couldn’t have done that sooner?” You whisper harshly, but he doesn’t respond, just continues in the direction of the Razor Crest.

Something keeps you on edge, and you sense that you’re being followed, but Mando doesn’t slow down.

You notice his hand resting just above his blaster at the same time you notice the group of people beginning to gather behind you.

You hesitantly pull the scarf back over your head.

When you leave the alley and enter the open area just before leaving the town, you hear it.

The faint beeping of a bounty puck.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t slow his pace, although you can tell he sees the bounty hunters gathering around the three of you.

When he notices their raised blasters he finally stops and you pause just behind him, your finger resting on the trigger and your other hand grasping the barrel of the blaster. Your gaze shifts past the Mandalorian as a man steps out from behind a group of bounty hunters.

“Welcome back Mando. Now put the package down.”

Mando’s hand still hovers over his blaster, which is holstered against his thigh.

“Step aside,” he says, “I’m going to my ship.”

The man smirks, chuckling lowly at the demand.

“You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kids coming with us.” He states, his voice still unfaltering.

You try to ignore the way your heart picks up when he says “us.”

“If you truly care about the kid then you’ll put it on the speeder and we’ll discuss terms.” The man demands again.

You both glance over to see the speeder and it’s droid. Mando looks back to the man.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I’m your only hope.”

The man responds, and his choice of words almost knocks you off of your feet.

The last time you had heard talk of hope had been in that Imperial droid repair shop all those rotations ago.

This day had been full of too many reminders of the past and you were ready for it to be over. The anxiety of the moment rests itself in your fingers, as they tap against the barrel of the blaster you hold.

Mando slowly begins to move towards the speeder and you follow his lead, staying close and in step with him.

When he reaches the speeder, you watch him and follow his gaze as he looks to Little One, who has fallen into sleep again.

In one swift movement, he aims his blaster and fires on a bounty hunter before jumping into the back of the speeder. You follow suit, jumping in after him and landing roughly beside him.

You both continue to try and shoot as the crowd around you begins firing on the speeder. The Mandalorian places Little One down in-between the two of you and rolls over onto his forearms, aiming his blaster at the droid.

“Drive!” He barks and the droid whirs out a noise of defiance.

“Drive!” Mando yells this time and the droid beeps loudly as he turns and begins driving the speeder out of the open courtyard.

As he picks up speed you and Mando take turns jumping up and shooting anything in sight.

Mando takes out a man on the roof above you and you can see the Crest growing closer and closer.

You’ve almost made it to the entrance of the city when a blaster bolt shoots out from the left and hits the droid piloting the speeder. The speeder crashes onto the ground and you and Mando glance at each other before he grabs his rifle and slowly muscles it into position. The whir of it powering up is almost equal to music at this point, and you watch him now as you did in the desert.

One by one the crowd around you disintegrates into nothing at the hands of the Mandalorian.

When the remaining hunters have hidden out of reach, the man from earlier begins to speak again.

“That’s one impressive weapon.” He calls and Mando turns in the direction of his voice.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let it happen.”

You watch him as he makes his command, and you can feel it again, the fear from earlier. Not as strong now, though, as it’s mixed with a pang of hope that this plan somehow works, and that you three make it off of this lousy planet alive.

“How about this,” the man starts again, and you cue Mando to the creature moving behind the speeder, “we take the kid, and if you, either of you, tries to stop us, we kill you. And then we strip your body for parts.”

Before he can finish his sentence, Mando kicks one of the supply containers into the creature who is now completely visible to the both of you. He falters and Mando shifts quickly onto his knees to shock him with his rifle. Another creature takes his place but you shoot him, as Mando falls back onto the speeder beside you.

The shooting starts up again and your thoughts of any escape are completely eradicated.

Mando shifts beside you and you don’t want to give up, but you’re beginning to run out of viable options.

Before you register it, he is on his knees again and igniting the flamethrower you weren’t aware was strapped to his wrist. You watch in silent awe as he lights up the hunters closest to the speeder. Some of them fall, but most of them simply move out of range.

When the flame sputters Mando shakes the machine to try and jolt any more flame into action. But it doesn’t work, and he hangs his head as a sigh of defeat escapes through his helmet.

The blaster fire begins again, and you watch as he pulls Little One just under him, making connection with those big brown eyes.

As you watch them, you know he is accepting defeat.

You can tell by the way he rubs the cloth of the brown blanket Little One is wrapped up in between his fingers that he is silently begging for forgiveness.

The war raging on around the three of you seems to fade away as Little One coos up at Mando.

You drop onto the speeder now, back coming into hard contact with the wood and eyes cast up at the sky as you begin to accept defeat as well.

When a streak of light blasts across the sky above, you sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows. Mando lifts his head. You both watch as the streak of light hits a hunter on top of the roof and he falls.

Suddenly, Mandalorians begin appearing from behind the buildings, wearing jetpacks and wielding blasters. They begin firing and the hunters aims are moved from the speeder onto them.

You watch as they effortlessly blast away anyone with ill intent, and Mando has begun firing again too.

A large Mandalorian lands beside the speeder, rapidly firing as he looks over to you three.

“Get out of here.” He states, and his voice is altered in the same way Mando’s is, but it’s gruff and hard.

“We’ll hold them off.”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert.” Mando says, and the large Mandalorian looks at you again.

“This is the way.” He offers in response, and Mando nods.

“This is the way.”

Mando doesn’t even look in your direction as he scoops Little One into his arms and jumps off of the speeder. You follow his actions, stepping in his footsteps as you make your way to the Crest.

You’re both running now, and the carnage behind you is slowly fading away.

When Mando reaches the bottom of the ramp, he holsters his blaster and you lower yours.

You quickly run up the ramp and a sense of relief floods you so quickly that your knees almost buckle.

A shuffle behind you alerts you, but a voice cues you both to stop.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You turn to see the man from earlier stepping off of a ladder, blaster raised in your direction.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, and you think of all the ways that he caused it to come to this.

“But then you broke the code,” he says, and Mando glances to the left of where you stand.

A quick flick of his wrist and a small hook attached to a wire shoots out, pressing one of the buttons on the control panel in the wall next to you, and smoke instantly fills the cabin.

The man becomes scattered, shooting wildly in your direction. You cover your face with your hands, and glance to see Little One looking up at the Mandalorian.

Mando slowly raises his blaster and shoots the man, perfectly hitting his mark and sending him flying out of the Crest and onto the dirt below it.

You both make your way to the cockpit, Mando moving to sit behind the control panel while you return to your earlier seat. He sets Little One on the floor, cueing him to sigh at the loss of contact with Mando.

You never thought you’d be so happy as to see the inside of this filthy ship again.

As you leave the planet behind you, you both glance to your right to see a Mandalorian flying along side the ship. He salutes Mando and falls away.

“I gotta get one of those,” Mando mumbles and you find yourself smiling.

Neither of you has realized it, but Little One has found his way onto Mando’s lap as he reaches for the same silver ball from earlier, reattached to Mando’s control panel.

Mando unscrews it and drops it into his hand, eliciting a squeal of happiness from Little One as he begins the jump into hyperspace.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian #Little One #emwrites #underooswrites #star wars #star wars x reader

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catlordewrites · 3 years

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Between Rivers: Chapter Five

A Mandalorian can't show their face to anyone - with the exception of immediate family. Although they haven't known each other long, there's definitely something growing between them. But is it enough? When an ex-spy must look beneath the helmet to save Din Djarin's life, there's only one option that allows him to continue following his Creed. Marriage.

This story can also be found on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Five

Din wasn’t at all surprised when she suddenly seemed to materialize on the Razor Crest. The bounty was in carbonite. She appeared just as the fog from the machine cleared, apparently having seen the act of leaving the ramp down and hatch open as an open invitation to join him; which it was.

“Nicely done,” she said approvingly.

Din’s chest puffed out a little, but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge the compliment. He folded his arms across his cuirass and leaned against the carbonite freezer. “Is this a local job?”

She shook her head. “Two systems over. Dafin III.” She rummaged in her coat and came away with a tracking fob, which was blinking frantically.

Din’s head tilted. “You carry your own fob?”

She shrugged. “Some hunters get ahead of themselves.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said lightly. “What about the Guild?”

“It’s not a Guild assignment.” She turned the fob over in her hand. “I have connections. One of them has the authority to distribute wanted bounties for the client. Clemint Vahst. He’ll vouch for you if anyone asks. But there shouldn’t be any questions about you bringing me in, anyway.”

“Good.” He accepted the fob and tucked it into his belt. “Who’s the client?”

“Redin Deedi. He’s a big figure in the Dafin underground. Bit of a local warlord, just influential enough to be annoying.”

“I’ve heard of him.” Din was already going through his mental files on Deedi. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to actually take me in.” Her voice was serious and earnest. “He has a grudge. I need to be on my feet. If I were carbonite, I don’t trust him to not just leave me in it. Keep me for decoration.”

Din nodded. It lined up with what he already knew about Deedi. Making an example of traitors was fairly common. “So, unlocked cuffs. A few hidden blasters. But...” He cocked his head. “Deedi’s facility is a fortress. How do you plan to get out?”

She fixed him with her pale blue stare. “You take me in and walk away with the reward. The rest is nothing you need be concerned with.”

“Right.” He was making her suspicious, which was the last reaction he wanted from her. “I can help, though. If you... need it.”

Din internally cringed at himself. Was he really that desperate?

Her head tilted minutely to the side, considering him. Her expression was unreadable. He had to fight to not fidget under the weight of her stare.

Finally, she seemed to relax, saying, “I appreciate your concern, but I have a plan, Mando. And it’s already in motion. This is the last piece of a puzzle. The rest is taken care of.”

Din wasn't sure why, but it felt like rejection. It stung. He bit back his disappointment. “Right. Good. Then we should go.” He straightened up. “Are you ready?”

She flashed him her wolffish smile. “Always.”

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

This time, she rode with him in the cockpit. Din was acutely aware of her presence just behind him, lounging in the seat to his right with her feet propped up on the console.

He tried to make a point of not looking around - of not speaking, despite how much he wanted to. He didn’t talk much - not anymore, at least, having learned early on that it was easier not to, easier to say exactly what needed to be said and to do exactly what needed to be done. No more, no less.

And his previous blunder was a keen reminder of just how awkward he could be when he didn’t abide by those emotional barriers, of why it was better to just stay quiet and get the job done.

He was a professional hunter. A Mandalorian warrior. He had a reputation. A code.

But just like how she’d gotten him to subvert the Guid Code, she was encouraging him to do the same to some of his personal ones. Except without bribery and credits.

Din didn’t know what to think.

“How are… the olfdo?” He tried carefully. She’d been happy to discuss them at length, last time, so he hoped that it was a safe topic.

“They are well,” she said cheerfully. “Queen whelped at the end of summer. Three pups. Two male, one female.”

“Which one was Queen?”

“The alpha. A silver female. The biggest in the pack.”

Din nodded, vaguely remembering being stared down by a massive silver wolf. “I bet Nana likes having new pups to babysit.”

She smiled. “Yes, she is. It’s been… oh, four years since the last brood. And she likes being useful. I had to give her an orphan mucdat to care for so she would stop trying to baby my pit droids.”

Although realizing that she’d had droids without him noticing set his teeth on edge, he didn’t comment on it.

“A mucdat? I’m not familiar with that species.”

She hummed. “They’re wildcats that roam the high mountains. Sometimes they come down and are killed by hunters or predators.” Her tone became wistful. “There are so few left, that when I come across an orphaned one, I’ll save it if I can. And the olfdo don’t mind them so much, especially if they were raised with the pack. There are five that haunt my woods, now. Six, when the new one is grown.”

“Huh,” was all Din had to say. “I… never saw them… during my visit.”

“They’re very shy,” she explained. “As elusive as they are, the Movetian government will not register them as a threatened species. They say that they’ve already been wiped out, and no more can be done… so now… it’s mostly just me.”

Frustration had crept into her voice. She pursed her lips to try and hide it, but Din was intrigued to stumble on something she cared deeply about.

He turned his head to look at her more fully. “You... care a lot about your home.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t elaborate further, and he didn’t want to press his luck. Din turned back to the controls, watching as hyperspace flashed and whirled past. The silence they lapsed into was easier than before, more contemplative than tense.

For a while, Din was content to just sit and enjoy her company, but as Dafin III grew nearer, he had to break the silence.

“Who exactly does Deedi think I’m bringing in?” He asked, glancing at her over his battered pauldron. “Last time, you were Ena Sma. What’s the name on the puck?”

“Ah, I didn’t say?” She dropped her feet from where they’d been resting on the console and sat up a little straighter. Her accent switched again, just as dramatically and flawlessly as it had the last time she’d done so.

This time, it sounded like she’d come straight from the Core. “Noa. Noa Enti. I’m a Coruscanti analyst from the Empirical Data Corps. I traded crucial information on Imperial patrol formations in exchange for safe harbor in the Dafin III Underworld.”

She smirked, settling back into the seat again before adding. “Unfortunately, the flow of information goes both ways. Deedi forgot to account for that.”

“Noa Enti,” he echoed. “And what exactly happened to Ena Sma?”

She clucked her tongue ruefully. “Ah. I heard she met her end when she drove a speeder over the edge of the Festiv cliffs on Nefididi. Seven spice cartel guards followed. Gruesome. So sad.”

Din couldn’t stop the bemused puff of a laugh that caught in his modulator at her bright, matter-of-fact tone. He shook his head and turned back to the view screen.

“You must be one hell of a spy,” he mused. “Ena. Noa. Are either of them even your real name?”

As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. If asking about her escape plan had made her suspicious, asking about her true identity would surely turn her away for good. And rightfully so.

Our secrecy is our survival.

How would he feel if she’d asked for the location of his covert?

Not very trusting, to say the least.

Shockingly, she didn’t recoil. She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly and rested her arms across her chest.

In her Core accent, she said, “What do you mean? My name’s Noa. I told you that.” She laughed humorlessly. “And a shit spy, thanks for asking. All I did was look into a few files that I shouldn’t have. And then they abduct my partner to get to me. Deedi needed a way in… and I…” Her voice cracked, she looked away, blinking back tears. “... I didn’t know what else to do…”

And damn, she was good. Her delivery was perfect. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve taken her story at face value.

But she knew that he knew it was fake. So why bother? Why not just tell him to fuck off?

Then it clicked. She wasn’t telling him to drop the subject of identities. She was making a point.

She wanted him to work for it.

That he could do.

“And… Ena Sma…” Din started slowly. “She is… was… a spice smuggler that leaked information to the Empire.”

She nodded. “So I’ve heard, anyway.”

He was starting to understand; she was doing more than letting him figure out her real name, she was letting him get a glimpse at her mentality, at how she operated.

Din felt oddly privileged.

“And the woman who lives in the cottage on Movet,” he said finally, “the one who cares for olfdo and rescues orphan mucdats, what’s her name?”

Noa Enti, a Core worker who had probably never even been to Movet, somehow knew the name of a very specific woman hidden away in the North Mountains. Weird, huh?

“Nenana,” she said lightly. “Nenana Orze. Though, she’s been rumored to have been dead for… oh… some twenty years, or so.”

Nenana Orze.

“That’s a shame,” Din admitted softly, turning to face the controls as the Navcom started blinking to signal their imminent drop from hyperspace. “I liked her.”

“Mmm, yes,” Nenana hummed. He didn’t turn to look, but he could hear the smirk in her voice. “She liked you, too.”

The breath caught in Din’s throat. He refused to look around, but could picture her clearly in his mind’s eye; lounging on his jump seat, streaked with the deep blue light of hyperspace. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

~0~0~0~ .

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc

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elenathehun · 3 years

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Watching the Clone Wars, part 6

Congratulations, everyone! This past week we reached the rare episode I physically could not complete, and we actually just skipped it and moved on to the next episode. So with that said, click keep reading to see reviews of "Bounty Hunters", the Zillo Beast arc, "Senate Spy", and the first three episodes of the Geonosis arc:

"Bounty Hunters" (2x17)

So, I love how the episode starts out with Anakin and Obi-Wan (both of them important military figures with thousands - perhaps tens of thousands - of soldiers under their command) going off to investigate the disappearance of a medical station full of injured clones. Spoiler alert, the episode never really clears up the mystery - or rather, it briefly implies all those injured clones are dead before getting on to the real story at hand, a... redux of Seven Samurai! I have to admit, I found this a bit repetitive at first, but that's mostly because I recently watched The Mandalorian's Seven Samurai redux. I love remixes of the Kurosawa classic, but twice in a month is a little much.

Anyway, once you forget about the clones as the writers so clearly want you to, the episode isn't bad. Felucia is just really pretty, and the story itself is executed passably well. Obi-Wan is starting to show the cracks, by the way - his reference to defending people who won't defend themselves is...telling. Anyway, the bounty hunters are so anodyne that I forgot their names almost immediately after viewing the episode. Hondo was, as always, a ridiculous villain. That's all for the good, honestly, because thus far TCW is not very good when it's trying to tell serious stories. The story is neatly wrapped up with Hondo cutting his losses, and Obi-Wan and his children catch a ride off Felucia with the bounty hunters.

Lastly, can I say how disappointed I am that no one in fandom has seen fit to write Obi-Wan Kenobi/Sugi FWB? C'mon guys, that feels like a slam-dunk right there!

"The Zillo Beast" (2x18)

It's a Godzilla homage, or maybe King Kong? Either way, it's a Palpatine and Anakin episode, and like all Palpatine and Anakin episodes it mostly serves the purpose of:

a) showing how horribly evil Palpatine is

b) how little power the Jedi have to counter his goals

c) Anakin is falling to the Dark Side and it's scary

a) and b) are both reasonably good storytelling goals, but I wish they were integrated more cohesively into the plot. Like Cade Bane and the holocron arc, limiting these stories to little episodic islands is a bit amateur for the writing team. Personally, I feel like c) is a lost cause, but that's basically the fault of George Lucas's bad pacing issues. Dude had Anakin cross his moral event horizon less than halfway through the Prequel trilogy, and nothing anyone has tried has been able to salvage the character.

"The Zillo Beast Returns" (2x19)

And the inevitable follow-up to Palpatine's decisions. To be honest, the writers hewed a little too closely to the plot of Godzilla/King Kong/Jurassic Park - I found this episode to be very depressing due to the tragic death of the Zillo Beast, which is, after all, just an innocent animal being tormented for Evil Science.

"Senate Spy" (2x04)

And this right here was the first episode we went ahead and skipped! That's right, I finally found an episode so awful I couldn't bear to watch it even as background noise. Anidala-focused? Check! Anakin being a teenage boy jealous of his girl's prior hookups? *barf* Check! The Jedi conducting an intelligence mission on a Senator of "the Banking Clans", using another Senator as an operative? Oh Lordy, check! Padme, a Senator of the Republic, going to Cato Neimodia, to observe another Senator leads negotiations with the Trade Federation, a group the Republic is currently at war with? Furthermore, a group that hates Padme's guts for her successful expulsion of their invasion from her planet ten years before???

Fuck my life, CHECK. My friends graciously assented to us moving on the next episode, because I just could not take this mess.

"Landing at Point Rain" (2x05)

I call this the "saving private ryan episode", and I think that fits. I don't necessarily think there's anything terrible about the episode - it's all pretty much action, start to finish - but it's not really excellent either, if that makes sense. Mostly I just like looking at the nose art and different clone trooper armor styles in this episode. Also amazed that we have a scene of the GAR literally flame-throwing the native species of the planet, because as we all know, that's totally suitable for a kids' show.

"Weapons Factory" (2x06)

And it's time for another Luminara episode!!!! Guys, I love her, even though I don't feel she's used very well in this episode. Also the first introduction of Barriss, who I also love. This was actually a really great Ahsoka episode, at least in my opinion, and I don't think we've seen too many of those so far. The mission is one that actually makes sense (I mean, for a certain value of sense, anyway) for two Padawans to be on, and it's good to see Ahsoka interact with someone on the same level as her. Anakin's story... again, i just feel like they're shoe-horning in his Inevitable Fall to the Dark Side at every possible instant, which means that Luminara has to serve as an Moral Lesson, which means that she acts sort of weird from a character perspective in order to provide a foil to Anakin's behavior. It lacks verisimilitude.

"Legacy of Terror" (2x07)

And it's time for the zombie episode! I am not fond of horror as a genre, so my eye is untutored, but I think this episode was actually reasonably good? Luminara's characterization reverts to a more naturalistic course since the story take precedence over the thematic message in this episode. We also get to see Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most annoying fucking friend/older brother in the galaxy. The little defeated sigh Anakin releases before stating "I think the nose" just says multitudes about their relationship over the years.

And that's it for this batch of episodes. I'll be back in a day or two to complete my viewing of the final episode of the Geonosis arc, a few one-off episodes, and then the TCW arc that actually made me quit watching the series the first time around.

#watching the clone wars #star wars #star wars tcw #television is hypnotoad

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the-and-sign-anon · 3 years

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Lost Padawan: Negotiations

Word count: 1,741

It took another month or so after Kenobi’s visit for news of Palpatine’s arrest to reach Mandalore. In that time, Magnolia had taught her brothers a great deal about the Light Side of the Force. They spent every morning meditating, most afternoons training (without anger or aggression), and shared their history with each other to move past it. Maul came to terms with the things he’d been forced into, the pain he’d been through. Savage let go of his history, everything that Mother Talzin and Dooku had done to him. And Magnolia made the most of her freedom. She hadn’t felt trapped in the Order, but it was all she knew and now she couldn’t really imagine going back.

None of them had thought much about what would happen to Mandalore with the war over. Prime Minister Almec was still acting on Maul’s orders and had done nothing to raise suspicions. But with the threat of Dooku and the Separatists dealt with, Obi-Wan turned his attention to freeing Satine. Magnolia and Savage were taking a walk near the shipping docks when the Jedi came down the ramp of his ship.

“Magnolia, Savage-”

He stopped short when the pair drew their sabers and narrowed their eyes at him. Obi-Wan raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s alright, I come in peace.”

“The war is over, yes?”

“Of course.”

“So why are you here?”

“I want to negotiate for Satine’s release.”

Magnolia and Savage returned their sabers to their belts and shared a look. Magnolia stepped forward to greet him, but stopped again at the clattering coming from the ship. A few seconds after, a Mandalorian in red and purple armor and a clone trooper came down the ramp followed by another trooper and two more Mandalorians.

“Negotiations, huh?”

“They come in peace too.”

“Hey, Kenobi, you didn’t tell us this place looked so bland! The architecture is nice and all, but even Coruscant has more character. Wait till I tell Finley how little he’s been missing here!”

Obi-Wan let out a long sigh with his eyes closed. The trooper removed his helmet and took his companion’s when she did the same.

“Magnolia, Savage, this is-”

“Thrash!”

Magnolia smiled brightly at the familiar trooper. He was one of her favorites, especially from the 357th.

“Hey, kid. You look all grown up.”

He smiled at her, which he hardly ever did. Madeline had gotten more smiles out of him than anyone, and though the former padawan came close, she had only seen it two or three times herself.

“Well you look bald, so who’s really changed here? Who’s your friend?”

“Madeline Racine, of clan Racine. Pleasure to meet another laser sword wielder.”

The goofy smile on Madeline’s face assured Magnolia that she knew exactly what a lightsaber was, but took great pleasure in calling it the wrong thing anyway.

“Clan Racine and the 357th have been volunteering as our men on the ground for peace discussions and escorts. Madeline, Fenrir, and Magni wanted to see Mandalore for the first time, so they came along with us.”

It didn’t surprise Magnolia that none of the three Mandalorians had seen Mandalore before. After all the time she’d spent there herself, it would have been more shocking to hear that they were routine visitors. She guessed the three were different enough from the former Death Watch, if their excitement and shouted comments back and forth were anything to go by.

Savage had yet to say a word to any of the visitors. He was accustomed to Magnolia or Maul taking charge and talking enough for him, so he saw no need to speak up. Instead, he stood back and watched his little sister smile and laugh with her old and new friends.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all, but I’m sure Kenobi here is anxious to get started. I can’t make any promises, but we’ll see what we can do.”

As she turned on her heel and started back to the palace, she called over her shoulder to the other trooper.

“Nash, get moving. I’d hate to see you get hurt before we even get to work.”

The trooper groaned in response, though he knew the validity of her comment, and followed after her. Savage stayed by her side with Obi-Wan a few steps behind. Thrash and Madeline walked side by side ahead of Fenrir and Magni. Nash brought up the rear and kept nudging the Mandalorians along every time they got distracted.

Magnolia walked into the throne room like she owned the place and called out for her other brother while Savage gestured to the waiting seats for their guests.

“Maul! We’ve got company!”

The crimson zabrak dropped out of the shadows and tilted his head at the strange assembled company.

“Kenobi made friends?”

“Doesn’t he always? He wants to see what we can do about Satine. Again.”

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, the former Sith smiled slightly and shared a look with his siblings.

“I do hope that won’t involve another escape attempt?”

“Only negotiations, I assure you.”

“Unless you want to fight for her. We can do that too.”

Obi-Wan immediately shushed Fenrir and Magni had to stifle her laughter. Thrash gave them both disapproving looks, but followed it with a thumbs up once the Jedi looked away.

“As much fun as that would be, I think we can take combat off the table.”

Savage didn’t miss Magnolia mouthing the words ‘for now’ to Magni, which made her giggle again. The whole group got down to business after a few more minutes of chatter. Magnolia and Fenrir kept making faces at each other though, competitiveness being one habit she could never entirely break. When Maul started to get a bit frustrated and Madeline started really losing focus, Thrash suggested a break. Everyone agreed and split up.

Savage, at the request of Obi-Wan, took Magni, Fenrir, and Nash to look around the palace. Nash warned him in advance that he was accident prone, but the hulking zabrak wasn’t too worried. Maul asked one of the guards to bring Satine from her cell for the rest of the discussion and Obi-Wan was allowed to go along. In the meantime Magnolia, Madeline, Thrash, and Maul went out to the garden.

“So, kid, what exactly have you been up to? Until Kenobi warned us on the way here, we all thought you were dead.”

Magnolia ignited her saber and swung it around.

“Oh, I’ve been around. I spent some time with pirates, wandered on my own, got kidnapped by these criminals…”

Maul rolled his eyes like she’d made that joke a thousand times before, which she pretty much had.

“We took you in, young one. And you forcibly reformed us.”

“All it takes is time and therapy.”

She smiled wide at him and tossed her saber to him, which he caught easily. He grabbed the darksaber and tossed it to her. When she ignited it, Madeline’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

“Is that- is that what I think it is?”

Magnolia moved it around a bit and showed it to her.

“The darksaber. Your clan knows it?”

“Every clan knows it. We left… eight or nine generations ago and we still know the stories. How did you get it?”

Maul looked the slightest bit sheepish.

“Maul challenged Pre Vizsla to single combat and won.”

Magnolia was proud of it. She didn’t agree with taking a life, but the late leader of Death Watch hadn’t been defenseless when it happened and he hadn’t been a good man either. What really mattered to her was the knowledge that Maul had done it for her and Savage.

“The Death Watch guy?”

“Yep. After he shoved us into some cells, we got out and Maul took care of him. He saved me and our brother.”

Thrash and Madeline gave him a respectful nod. They hadn’t expected anything good when Obi-Wan warned them who they’d be dealing with, but knowing what Maul would do for the two people he considered family vastly improved their opinion of him. With Maul’s nod of approval, Magnolia extended the darksaber to Madeline.

“Do you want to hold it?”

The beaming smile on her face as she took it made Thrash smile too. Maul tossed Magnolia’s lightsaber back to her and she ignited it. The deep orange light from the double bladed saber was an unfamiliar sight for Thrash, who was more used to the arctic blue glow when he used to see her on missions. He figured he’d have to ask a Jedi about it later.

The trooper and former Sith stepped back a few feet to give their companions plenty of space. Magnolia walked Madeline through some basic steps with the saber, letting her get a feel for it before showing her a simple defensive technique. They began a mock duel soon after, trading slow, smooth blows as Magnolia gave consistent encouragement. When they were both distracted by the return of Savage and the others, Madeline accidentally swiped the saber in Magnolia’s hands.

She jumped back and dropped it. As it hit the floor, the blade disappeared and the hilt crackled and smoked. Madeline shut off the darksaber a second later and let Maul drag it back to him with the Force. Magnolia dropped to her knees and carefully inspected the remains. Everyone stood back and watched silently as she picked through the wires and curved metal.

“Magnolia.”

“I think I can save some of it.”

The kyber crystal, bizarrely enough, was shattered in fragments, but hadn’t exploded like the mineral was known to. The little pile hardly looked like a lightsaber as she tried to find anything salvageable.

“I am so so sorry…”

Magnolia glanced up at the young woman. She was panicked and the guilt rolled off of her in waves.

“Don’t worry about it. Believe it or not, this was my fourth lightsaber. I’ve never lost one, but I get them destroyed more often than not.”

She gave Madeline a comforting smile. In the back of her mind, she thought it was good that it happened. An important part of her life was over and now that she was really starting anew in a world without overshadowing darkness or the expectations of being a padawan or hiding in the palace, it was only fitting that she would need a new lightsaber.

“I can worry about this later. For now, we have work to do.”

#lost padawan #TGNGH extended universe #magnolia rhodes #my writing #anne writes

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cross-poison · 4 years

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CLARITAS. The Mandalorian/OC (PART 8)

WORDS: 3.4k || WARNINGS: spirituality/talk of (made up) religion

a/n: FINALLY finished this part. I hope the fact that it’s almost double my usual chapter length makes up for how overdue it is.

As the Mandalorian stepped across the central aisle of the marketplace, he locked away in his mind the appearance of the nobleman Elliotte had pointed out to him. Lord Miryus. He’d not only been responsible for spraining Elliotte’s wrist, but also, apparently, a number of ongoing problems here on Listronus. Mando temporarily filed that information away for later, and he instead turned his attention to the fisherman behind the merchant’s stall as he approached.

The fisherman caught his eye and immediately poked at some of his fresh-caught fish, chattering excitedly about the quality and size of each one.

Elliotte came to a halt beside the Mandalorian at the stall and occupied herself with admiring the variety of fish, giving him the amount of space and time he needed to lock in a trade with his merchant of choice. He held the spool of string in-hand, turning it over in his gloved palm. The merchant stole a look at it before shifting his gaze back up to the intimidating visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “A trade?” he said, “Are you looking for a trade?”

“Yes. We are,” Mando replied, turning his helmet in Elliotte’s direction. She simply offered him a reassuring smile. He could do this… it’s not like he’d never negotiated before. “This is… a very fine, sturdy material here. Perfect for stringing fishing poles.”

“Right. May I see it for myself?” asked the merchant, humming thoughtfully as Mando passed him the spool. He held it up, unrolling a little segment of it and pinching it between his fingers. “It is a bit stretchy---quite perfect, if you ask me. I wouldn’t mind making a trade for it. Has anything here caught your eye…? Or your lady’s?”

“She isn’t my--”

“How about five of these little zemmoks?” Elliotte chimed in, extending a finger to gesture to a long and thin fish, rather average in color, but distinguished by a needle-like protrusion from its lower jaw.

The fisherman chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, dear. Four and it’s a deal.”

“Alright then. Four.”

The merchant tucked the spool away into his pocket and turned to package up the small fish. He passed them across the row of fish to her and she tucked the wrap against her arm, thanked him, and nodded to Mando.

Once again, the two returned to the open marketplace. “Very well done! He didn’t doubt you’re a local for a second! I mean… perhaps other than appearance-wise. In that regard, you do sort of stand out,” Ell began, “I apologize for butting in there at the end… I just know we’ll need zemmoks for our next barter.”

“How many more of these are there?” Mando said, perhaps growing a bit agitated at the grueling process. As far as he could tell, they’d made no progress toward anything more valuable. A toxic fruit to beads, to a spool of string, to a handful of too-small fish… this hardly felt like a successful endeavor.

“This is the last one, I promise,” she assured, picking up on his annoyance, “I know these don’t look like much, but pitch them to the right merchant…” Ell shifted her gaze to a stall toward the front portion of the marketplace, and Mando followed her gaze. A plump and older merchant woman was receiving a handful of silver coins from a customer before passing him a basket of brightly-colored berries. That was their next target?

“That there is Misa. She’s an old friend of mine… has a real taste for zemmoks, you see. She has some old family recipe that requires a bunch of them, so she’ll snatch them up whenever anyone offers. In return, she offers useme nuts by the dozen… they’re these fist-sized nuts that grow in her personal orchard on the other side of town... crisp and incredibly tasty, especially when they’re salted the way Misa prepares them! Pretty great deal if you ask me,” Elliotte explained as she weaved through the crowd and in the direction of their target merchant.

Mando followed her, offering nothing but a grunt in response. He’d be rather happy to be finished in this marketplace. The heat of the day was unpleasant in the stuffy crowd, and although he was used to drawing curious gazes toward the sleek shine of his beskar, the continuous feeling of eyes watching his every move was beginning to grow taxing.

“Misa!” Elliotte’s voice drew him once again from his thoughts as the two of them came to a halt in front of the merchant’s stall. Unlike most of the other vendors in the marketplace, it seemed Misa specialized in more than one thing---berries, nuts, fruits, and even a few various animal products from creatures he’d never even heard of.

“Good afternoon, Elliotte!” said the friendly-looking merchant, “What can I interest you in today?”

“The usual,” Ell replied, passing over the wrap of fish she’d obtained from the previous merchant.

“You know me so well. A dozen per zemmok---that’ll give you forty-eight. Agreeable?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Misa grinned, turning away from her to set the fish down and began packing useme nuts away in a large basket. “So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Mando managed to catch her eye for a moment before she offered a faint smile and turned her gaze back to the vendor. “This is Mando. I’m showing him around the market this morning… and the proper bargaining techniques.”

“That’s a handy skill to have,” Misa said, sitting back to blow a strand of hair out of her face. She reached over her table of goods in order to extend her hand, and Mando did the same, firmly shaking her hand. “Welcome to Listronus, Mando.”

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Well, here you are, Ms. Cantossan! Forty-eight useme nuts,” Misa added, lifting the basket off of the table and passing it to her.

“Thanks again, Misa. See you later,” Elliotte said, looping her arm under the basket’s handle and carrying it off. Finally, they were able to leave the intense environment of the marketplace. As they drew further away from the noise, Mando was able to visibly relax, at least just a hair. “Okay, now I’m intrigued. What’s the purpose of so many of… those?”

“These are a great local food source here on Listronus. I figured you could take as many of these as you’d like back for you and your kid… and if it isn’t too much to ask, I’d like to ask if I could have the remaining ones instead of a monetary payment for this first day of guiding!”

“You can have them all,” answered Mando, tilting his helmet in her direction, “I have enough to get by on my ship. And the kid’s a carnivore anyway.”

Elliotte blinked, positively bewildered by such a thing. “We’re talking about the same kid, right? Th-the little green one? He’s a carnivore?”

There was a muffled almost-chuckle from beneath the helmet. “Yes. It took me by surprise too when I saw him eat a frog whole the night I found him.” There was a certain underlying fondness in his heavily-modulated voice that Elliotte didn’t miss whenever he spoke about the child. Spending so much time around politicians and noblemen, Ell was able to differentiate between fake smiles and genuine ones, and although the Mandalorian’s face could give her no true indication she could almost hear the smile through his voice. This child was important to him.

“I didn’t mean to assume. We can trade these useme nuts for some larger fish, if--”

“No, please… I can tell they have more value to you. I have enough food on my ship to get through several more weeks. Besides… I’d rather not go back into that marketplace again for a while.”

“Crowds aren’t your thing, huh?”

“Not really.”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, switching the basket of useme nuts to her other arm. “Well… I know a few places we can visit that are much less crowded. You up for a history lesson?”

“I don’t see why not?”

“It’s a good thing we bought these after all. We’re gonna need some for the trip.”

It turns out, “trip” was a bit of an overstatement. To the east of the city, the landscape gave way to hills and valleys. Most of the flat area had been developed into farmland while the hills were relatively untouched and wild. As Cietovus 8 climbed higher into the sky, the two cut through rows of knee-high crops, watching each step to make sure no plants were crushed in the process. Mando spent much of the walk admiring the change of scenery and enjoying the time away from the bustling city streets, but even he grew curious as to what exactly the destination was supposed to be.

Ell, on the other hand, seemed to have the path memorized… which, he supposed, made sense in the grand scheme of things. She had lived here for all her life, after all. At first glance, the Mandalorian believed she was simply another haughty aristocrat. She certainly dressed like one and knew their mannerisms well, but upon getting to speak with her beyond more than a few passing words, he came to realize that she was kind, but without being naive and considerate without being a pushover. It was almost endearing in a way, the gentle balance she maintained.

Mando must have been gradually slowing his pace, because once he’d finally drawn out of his thoughts, they were no longer walking side-by-side. Ell was a few steps ahead of him, still chattering on about the details and history of the landscape and pointing out specific structures in the nearby fields. By now, he’d come to realize that they were nearing the edge of the crop fields and approaching the base of a large hill. The incline was gradual, but scattered with trees and various rock formations that would make for some simple obstacles. Overall, it appeared to be a relatively easy climb.

“Where are we?”

“This is Listrona Hill. As the name implies, it has… incredible significance to the people of this planet. It’s also why the capital city is located so nearby,” Elliotte answered, already drawing closer to a narrow trail winding up the hillside, “But it’s not the hill itself that’s so important. It’s what’s at the top.”

Mando followed her, watching every step up the incline. “What is at the top?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Ell said, “Back in the early days of this planet, Listronians were known for their unique spirituality. We believed every creature and object had a spirit and essence that it offered to the universe in a way only it could. Our deity was Artres, goddess of flowers and abundance. According to ancient myths, this hillside was her home… to this day, we still hold many funerals and weddings at the peak, and many of the older generations still believe it honors Artres. I’m not very religious myself, but the sentiment is nice.”

Mando listened to her explanation quietly as they navigated the tricky hillside, and Elliotte continued to recite old myths and stories about the creation of the planet, the supposed death of the goddess, and her rebirth in the form of a meadow of flowers, but her organized storytelling quickly dropped off in favor of enthusiasm as they neared the peak. She increased her pace until she was jogging the final stretch and turned around to wave him on and beckon him to hurry up.

Eventually Mando was standing beside her at the summit of the hill, looking out over a vast meadow of flowers that varied in color from blues and purples to reds and yellows and whites. The thick trees didn’t seem to grow into the meadow; Instead, they outlined the hilltop from the edges. The only thing around to interrupt the expanse of flowers was a small lake filled with crystalline water so pure one could see to the very bottom. In front of the lake was what appeared to be a small shrine.

The shrine itself was made of old, deep brown wood that had obviously been replaced and refurbished multiple times over the years. Semi-fresh flowers, wilted beneath the heat of the sun, had been weaved into the lattice pattern. Perhaps the features that stood out most was the pair of large antlers against the back of the shrine and the two sets of silver claws that dangled from them. While the antlers looked natural, the “claws” were clearly manmade--composed of the same carved silver that wrapped Elliotte’s forearm.

Ell seemed to pick up on his curiosity quickly. “The antlers are from the Warhara. They’re a large canid species native to Listronus. Their antlers are strong and sturdy, and are worn by our Kings so that they may embody the same traits.”

“And these?” Mando said, cupping his hand beneath the silver claws.

“These are similarly modeled after the Warhara. To represent the spirit of a warrior. Before modern times, they were worn by footsoldiers and guardsmen, but obviously this sort of weaponry is outdated. These days, they’re worn exclusively for ritual combat… Look.” Elliotte carefully took the silver pieces off of the antlers and turned them over so that her companion was able to see the thin loop made on the underside of each claw. She slid her fingers into each loop and flexed them to show off the new extension of her hand. “They’re pretty cool, right? Personally, I think we should bring them back as part of our everyday wardrobe,” she took the claws back off and draped them back over the Warhara’s antlers before turning to him.

“Princes of Listronus can lawfully challenge the Kings for the throne, but the only weapons they are allowed are those. It’s a dangerous event. Those claws are excellent for speed, but they definitely don’t provide the same kind of protection as your um… ‘beskar’, it is called, right?” She asked, stepping away from the small shrine and crossing the meadow to the edge of the small lake. There, she knelt in the grass beside the basket of useme nuts and patted the space beside her to encourage him to join her. He did so, and not soon afterward, Elliotte reached up and began to pluck the day-old flower buds from her hair. She unraveled them one at a time and set them aside in a neat pile beside her as she stole a glance in the Mandalorian’s direction.

“Anyway, I’ve chattered on about history lessons long enough. I’m curious to learn more about you, if you would be willing to share. You mentioned earlier that you were a bounty hunter at one point… surely you have some interesting stories to tell?”

“Plenty,” Mando responded, the chuckle that followed catching on the modulator of his helmet, “... I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a ‘Mudhorn’ before, have you?”

Ell hummed thoughtfully, then offered a small shrug. “I’ve read briefly about them in books and on datapads through the years, but they’ve never been something I’ve heavily studied… why?”

The Mandalorian leaned back in the grass, placing his hands behind him as his helmet tipped skyward. “It wasn’t too long ago, actually… I was on assignment when a group of Jawas in their sandcrawler stole all the valuable parts they could scavenge from my ship. In order to get them to agree to return the pieces, they had me bring an egg of a Mudhorn as a trade. These things are… huge and incredibly territorial, and it wasn’t too happy to see me near its egg. I was outmatched immediately; It nearly shredded my armor and my weapons couldn’t even touch it --- in all honesty, I really thought I was done for. But then the kid, he--” he reached out to mimic the gesture the child seemed to make with his hands, but hesitated before finishing his sentence.

Perhaps it wasn’t wise to share this information publicly. But Elliotte was enthralled by the story, fingers paused over the stem of a flower in her curled strand of hair and eyes wide with wonder and fascination, and the Mandalorian couldn’t find it in him to withhold the rest of the story from her. “All of a sudden, it stopped. The Mudhorn, mid-charge. I thought I must have died, because I sure didn’t believe what I was seeing. The whole creature was just… floating in front of me in the air. When I looked over at the kid, he had his hand out like this--” he mimicked the motion, “Keeping it suspended. I’ve never seen anything like it. With him keeping it occupied, I was able to finish it off but if he hadn’t… there’s no doubt I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

To his surprise, when he’d finished his retelling, Ell snickered softly and set the last flower aside. “That’s an interesting story, Mando.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Sure I do. The universe is so vast and unique, there’s no way we can possibly understand all of its inner workings. Just because something isn’t common doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” now that she’d finished removing the petals and buds from her hair, she turned away and began to pluck new ones from the colorful meadow nearby. “Priestesses in Listronian history have exhibited similar abilities. It was thought to be a given gift by Artres herself, you know. Not that I believe too heavily in old religion, but perhaps your child has just inherited something similar. It sounds quite extraordinary.”

The Mandalorian cast her a glance from the side of his visor. Not only had Elliotte responded unexpectedly well to such a story, but she believed it wholeheartedly. He was hesitant to call it naivety, as she really was knowledgeable about her planet and people, but trust was a difficult thing to come by in his line of work. “You’re unpredictably nonchalant about this.”

To that, Ell laughed softly. “In my experience, closed mindedness is dangerous. It lures one into a false sense of security, content in the idea they have all the answers, whereas open mindedness allows room to learn and grow… to fluctuate and move, like flowers in an afternoon breeze.”

This sentiment only served to further cast a ripple in the Mandalorian’s original judgement of Elliotte Cantossan. Despite himself being the one wrapped head to toe in protective metal, the one meant to be a mystery, he found himself more at a loss with her -- the harpist whose only armor was the band of silver on her forearm and the woman who willingly sought him for nothing but his company?

She had trusted him enough to allow him into her house and enough to agree to visit his, and even enough to bring him to the holiest space on her homeworld… and yet, as he’d come to realize, he still knew hardly anything about her. She knew hardly anything about him. And yet he felt drawn to her -- comfortable around her -- as if parts of him could seep through the gaps in his armor without worry in her presence.

By the way Ell’s smile brightened just a little when she saw the t-shape of his visor faced in her direction, he could almost believe she felt the same. As he watched her begin to tie fresh flowers into her hair, he could no longer keep himself from asking the question: “The flowers… they’re incorporated everywhere on this planet. What is the significance? Why do you put them into your hair like that?”

“Spiritually speaking, flowers are symbolic to Artres--”

“No, why do you do it?”

Ell seemed taken aback by his question, normally steady fingers faltering and causing the strand of hair to unwrap from the stem of a pink flower. She quietly cleared her throat and began the process again. “We call it artresmour. “Godlike love”. To put them on yourself is to express vitality and youth and self love -- to put it on anyone else is to express devotion and trust… it’s like saying… ‘you are important to me in a way words cannot describe.’ It’s not necessarily romantic; It’s romantic and platonic and familial. Some villages even use it as a greeting to strangers and newcomers. It unites us. Godlike love,” she paused briefly before continuing, “To me, it’s a way to deepen bonds; My best friend and I take turns every time we meet… it’s the way we acknowledge each other’s struggles and our fights to overcome them, and our way of assuring each other we aren’t going it alone.”

There was a brief pause between the two of them before the Mandalorian chose to break the silence. “How do you feel about… doing it blindfolded?”

TAGS: Message me/send me an ask to be added.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677540/chapters/60781519

#star wars #the mandalorian #mando #mando x oc #star wars x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #the mandalorian fic #mando fic #oc #my writing #din djarin #baby yoda #din djarin x oc #din djarin/oc

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celticvampriss · 4 years

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Established Rhythm

A/N: could not get this fic out of my head after watching the latest episode. Once I saw that he could take the helmet off, it set off this idea of well, would it count as being off if he’s in complete darkness? Wanted to take advantage of that idea where he could still kiss without necessarily sacrificing his religion. Thus spawned this fic. I paired him with an OC I’ve been sort of building since starting the show and no ship in canon so far has me that excited so I decided to stick with my ofc. (please excuse inaccuracies, I’m not the most versed on Star Wars lately and I’m not even sure if the Way thing is religious or whatever, but that’s what I’m going with.) Hope you enjoy! **This fic stops shy of mature themes, but if anyone wants mature themes, I may decide to write either an altered ending to this that’s *wink* nsfw or write a sequel, whichever comes to me, but only if people want that, cause I kinda like leaving it soft and more PG/PG-13**

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Against odds, better judgement, and a few near catastrophes the ship had settled into a mutually agreed rhythm. It was crowded, holding two extra passengers--guests, not bounties which were more easily stored vertically and comatose--that required their own space, meals, beds, personal items, and demands upon the notably solitary Mandalorian’s attention.

The Kid had a small cove of treasures accumulating in a drawer that used to hold spare ammo--now moved to a more secure and kid-proof locker--and if ever there was a thing to find, then it was in that drawer. Anything that could be unscrewed or rattled loose or bitten off: handles, switches, the plastic face plates to various buttons or indicator lights in the cockpit. The Kid spent most of his time in the cockpit and it was clear to everyone else that this had everything to do with where Dyn spent most of his time.

There wasn’t the space for proper quarters and the Kid had rejected the crib--carefully assembled and tested over several torturous hours--in favor of a high shelf that no one had ever actually seen the Kid reach, but knew he was there because he’d constructed, for lack of a better word, a nest.

Adjusting to the Kid had been simple and painless, the third addition to his ship, less so. Kira Skye had marched onto his ship with a lofty raise of her chin and squared shoulders for her rather unassuming size. If she hadn’t been unreservedly kind to the point of selflessness he would have written her off as spoiled and snobbish. When she arrived, it changed the entire atmosphere of the ship, reshaping the established landscape like worlds in the wake of natural disasters.

Most notably, sound. Talking was part of her job--or so he figured based on the little he knew or cared to know--so it made sense that she required constant practice. Silence would last only a few hours, because she talked even in her sleep. Or sang. If she wasn’t talking to him about this interesting fact or that new discovery or random detail or minor realization then she was humming, whistling, or singing in various languages. And it was a small ship. Sound carried.

Not that he ever complained--to her face, there was the odd moment of fed-up where he’d tell the Kid he might just pay her for a full 24 hours of silence--but more often than not, he found he’d lose himself for a few moments, even enjoy it. Her voice was pleasant, high, but sweet, and resonated. He’d go hours without actually noticing, where her voice became just another part of the ship. There were a few times when he’d perched on the ledge of the cockpit, one leg dangling, eyes drifting closed beneath his helmet. She’d almost caught him once, heading his direction and getting too close before he realized with just enough time to pretend he’d been climbing down anyway.

After months of running around the galaxy, dodging trouble here or there--cause if it wasn’t that damn bounty on the Kid, it was whoever was trying to kill Kira, who was only on his ship because the Mandalorian’s had asked him to keep her safe--their rhythm had been established. Kira’s voice drifted or echoed from wherever she currently worked. The Kid was either toddering around the cockpit or disappearing and reappearing with more unearthed treasures for his collection. Dyn was in the cockpit, trying to keep them one step ahead of their pursuers. At night the Kid could be heard snoring from his shelf, a green ear poking over the edge. Dyn and Kira would sit around the table while she ate and talked, the passion and soothing cadence in her voice almost making him care about the life cycle of a Bursa. His food was specifically warmed and plated once she finished--a gesture he hadn’t failed to note as incredibly considerate--he’d thanked her the first time and attempted to assure her it wasn’t necessary, yet without fail she would get up from her meal, prepare his, then place it down and leave.

He could still hear her, obviously, even when she was gone. Lately she’d started reading aloud from her sleeping area--a cot drilled into the wall in the middle of the main gallery, as there was only one small cabin and she’d refused to use it--and he’d set his helmet down, hearing her voice unfiltered as he ate. He’d finish and put his helmet back on before asking if she needed anything--the answer was always no, but thank you--and he’d head off to get some rest.

And again the next day.

And the next.

Their rhythm might have continued indefinitely--provided they were all still alive and uncaught--except for one minor detail that threatened to disrupt their balance. An undercurrent trickled unbidden throughout each day, contaminating with growing abandon simple moments and gestures.

Her fingers might linger too long when she handed him something. She’d tell a joke and laugh at her own cleverness and the sound would lance into his chest like a spear. He still never laughed, but somehow Kira could see him smile. Not physically see, that was impossible, but she knew.

A shared look and suddenly there was a full array of conversation happening without a word--a testament for her, a problem for him. She was starting to read the gestures and silences, the tilt of his head, the tone of whatever few words he used, to astute accuracy.

Tension, building and building and building. Any spark might set it off. But there was not really any future there, not long term. This whole thing was a temporary situation. With the Kid, well, he’d grow up some day and take care of himself. And, once the threat was eliminated, Kira Skye would have to move on, go back to her life. She wasn’t built for...for the whatever came after he was done taking care of the two of them. The ship wasn’t built for it. She was sleeping on a cot with no privacy and nothing of her own except a single bag with some clothes and a data pad filled with books. None of that was even taking into account that he was a Mandalorian.

Being with her, or anyone really, meant trading one for the other. This was all he knew. The Way was all he knew. It had saved him when he had nothing. Turning his back on that was not something he could do just because of some butterflies in his stomach.

At least, that is what he told himself before.

They had just out maneuvered a rather persistent tail through an asteroid belt, bunking down in one of the craters while the danger passed. Dyn had turned off all unnecessary systems while they waited out their pursuers. The oxygen was at the lowest tolerable, the engines off, and even the lights had been dimmed to almost blackness. He’d left on a few track lights for Kira and the Kid, but he still heard her stifle a curse as she’d slammed a knee into something solid.

“Where’s the Kid? Is it bright enough?” He asked, because with his helmet correcting the visibility for him, it was hard to gauge and the Kid might be scared.

Kira let out a huff from her seat, still rubbing her knee. “He’s sleeping. Doubt he’d wake up if we were blown to pieces.” She looked up, those dark eyes dancing in that way she had, as if she were sharing a private joke. “Thanks, by the way. You were pretty great.”

He nodded.

“So, how long do we have to sit?”

“Not sure. I’ll check in an hour and see if there’s any movement.”

Kira shuffled her feet, high boots gripping her ankles and calves. When she first arrived, she’d worn frilly dresses and skirts and had her dark hair in all sorts of arrangements. Now she opted for pants and shirts--that hugged and gripped every angle and curve of her--with a bolero jacket for warmth. His gaze returned to her face, meeting a knowing stare. Caught. Even in the low light, she zeroed in on his failure, somehow knowing that he was staring and staring straight back, her posture growing more rigid.

It was a very dangerous game to play, those moments--and there were so many on a small ship in the middle of space--where they found themselves alone and unoccupied. Where, hell, anything might seem like a good idea to ease the boredom.

He looked away. “I’m going to check if they’re gone.”

In order to get to the cockpit, he had to move past her. Even if she wanted to give him space, there wasn’t any to give. He stopped just shy of brushing past her shoulder and looked down. A. Fatal. Mistake.

“I know why you’re running,” She said, her eyes bold and direct. She was so small a person, but so big in personality. It wasn’t possible for Kira to do anything slight or half-way, and that would include...whatever this was.

“I’m not running,” He countered, though she was mostly correctly, “I’m trying to stop something that shouldn’t start.”

Her laugh was a powerful weapon against his resolve. “Start? We are way past that point. What else do you suggest?”

“I don’t know.”

They stood side by side, him facing one way and her another. All he had to do was twist and continue on his way.

“I have a crazy idea,” She offered, face growing amused and snarky, “We spend most of our time fighting one battle or another, why not forfeit this one?”

He said nothing. He knew what she was suggesting. Her body radiated all kinds of suggestion. He knew her heart rate was increasing and it was hard to ignore her tongue darting out to sweep over her bottom lip.

But this wasn’t something he could offer. Not the way she wanted. Because it would violate his entire religion. He couldn’t remove his helmet.

But she knew that. Kira Skye was considerate to a fault. And so it really shouldn’t have surprised him that she would be, even now.

Her eyes were dancing over his face--though he knew she couldn’t see through the visor, he felt like she could, he felt it everywhere--she turned her body and, without thinking, he followed her lead.

“What if I can’t see you?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

Her smile turned wicked, devastating to whatever argument he had for shutting her down. Any longer like this, and he’d be ready to jump out of the airlock if that would make her smile. Instead of coming closer she turned away, shocking him a bit, a much needed shock. She reached a set of controls along the wall.

“I mean, I can barely see as is, so,” She shrugged and flicked a switch. All light was doused from the room.

Except, he could still see. He watched her hand stretch out as she shuffled toward him. Her hand was nearly in reach and he nearly took it, then quickly pulled away. This entire situation was spiraling out of his control, into murky waters, pushed limits, and the edge of reason. He may as well dive in.

He worked off one glove and then the other, then caught her hand.

Her intake of breath echoed off the walls. She stopped moving, fingers slowly twisting in his. Skin to skin. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt warmth like this. Gently, slowly, he guided her closer. Her eyes were flickering, searching in the pitch darkness until her boots brushed his.

They stood for several moments. He didn’t know why she was quiet or why she seemed to decide to let him take the lead, but he needed a minute. He needed to convince his brain that even though he could see, she couldn’t and that if he removed his helmet, she still wouldn’t be able to see. Which, maybe, technically, still followed the Way.

He reluctantly let go of her hand. Still lingering, stalling, torn between how much he wanted to take his helmet off and steal this moment with her and how much he needed to keep it on.

“Take all the time you need,” her voice was a whisper, full of understanding and tenderness.

He eased his hands under the edge of his helmet, closed his eyes, and then lifted it free of his head in one motion. Better to do it quick. When he opened his eyes and he couldn’t see, the room was too dark.

But he could feel. Kira’s arm moved, extending, lifting, until he could feel the faintest pressure of her fingertips on his cheek.

He groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she pulled back quickly, “I’m sorry, too fast?”

He shook his head, but she couldn’t see, so he just guided her hand back. Her fingers moved like feathers against his skin, drawing a path like fire--some sort of sweet, good fire that burned with a soft intensity and that he never wanted to stop--she traced his cheek, down his jaw, an ear, before raising her other hand and digging into his hair.

Granted, it was difficult to cut and manage with his helmet on and he couldn’t exactly see a barber. So he usually maintained the length on his own, with a knife, which left longer, thick chucks that stuck out whenever he took off the helmet. What she was doing now with her fingers, grabbing, puling, scratching, was glorious.

He attempted to stay cool, to not be too obvious just how touch-starved he apparently was, but the odd groan or rasp of breath escaped him anyway. Once her fingers had ravaged his head, she brought them around to his face again, this time lingering on his mouth.

He felt her body shift, his hands had gripped along her waist at some point, and her breath puffed against his lips.

Kira’s kiss was light, soft. Easing. She didn’t press beyond the barest touch, once again waiting for him to give the okay.

He threaded his bare hand through her hair--a secret desire he’d been repressing for weeks--and drew her just that much closer, angling his head to embrace whatever madness they’d caught. If he was going to get one chance to kiss this woman, he’d damn well make it count.

His actions unlocked the real Kira and there was no more hesitation or sweetness about her kiss now. She moaned into his mouth, exploring with her tongue, passion taking over. She pressed into him, forcing him back, grabbing at his armor which--damn it to fuck he was still wearing--and rubbing her body against him, squirming until he nearly lost his mind.

He did his best to keep up, but she was clearly the expert here. Kira devoured him. His mind began to shut down, riding pure instinct and acting on impulse, which was so against his nature. Even now a voice screamed in his head to be aware, that weren’t they here because they weren’t currently, at this present moment, being hunted?

That voice was tiny, insignificant, and easily ignored. He let his hands wander everywhere, learning her shape, committing it to memory. He brushed the curve of her ass and she hissed against his mouth.

She liked it. Her fingers curled into a fist in his hair and yanked, just slightly, just enough to send a jolt shooting down, straight to where this new embracing of desire was pooling.

The next thing he knew she was climbing him, forcing him to catch her, hands squeezing her thighs. His back had been slammed into a wall ages ago and now impulse wanted him to lay her down somewhere and never let go.

But everything ends. Kira eased back, catching her breath. He still cursed the fact he’d neglected the rest of his armor. All the soft parts of her were flush with plates of steel meant to deflect sensations, good or bad.

He felt her smile against his mouth as she kissed him playfully, sliding back down until she was standing on her own. Then her forehead nuzzled against his chin, an intimate gesture that, out of everything, was the one that nearly broke him. He hugged her close, his mind returning and bursting with fears and questions and rationalizations.

Finally, she pulled away and took every ounce of warmth with her.

“I’m going to close my eyes,” She said, “Just tell me when I can open them.”

She stumbled away, then the running lights came on and he had cover his eyes with his hand. Kira’s eyes were closed, as promised, and as his vision adjusted, he stole another unfiltered look at her. Her hair was a mess, her shirt untucked, her smile dazed. She was beautiful.

He put his helmet on, for the first time, with reluctance.

“Can I open?”

“Yes.”

She met his eyes--though she couldn’t know that, he still felt she did--and smiled. She sauntered over, breaching his personal space like they made-out every day. It didn’t feel wrong, but he hadn’t expected it either. She hooked her arm around his, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“We’ll have to try that again soon,” She looked up at him and winked, “You can protest if you want, but I for one am not about to be satisfied with a taste when I could have the whole cake.”

Disagreeing with her right then seemed dangerous, so he didn’t. And, to be honest, he didn’t want to. He still felt, still knew, that this was not a long term arrangement. Whatever they had, whatever he might feel, something would ruin it, something could end it. Only difference was now he wasn’t sure he had the strength to deny her until then. He surely didn’t want to, not when he knew how good she could feel, how good contact could feel. He’d forgotten somehow, but it would be like a drug, he’d want more and more. And there was a chance the detox would kill him.

Because he was fairly certain he was in love with her.

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #oc #mandalorianxoc #mandalorian fic #my fic #myfic

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 5 years

Text

Episode 4.2: Steve: The Intergalactic Kevin

DM: By popular demand, one night only, a largely improv emergency meeting. If you drive me to alcoholism I’m billing you for therapy.

T: M, if you get sued for therapy bills, it’s coming out of the wedding budget. (T and M got engaged over Christmas break)

Everyone: OOOOOOO

DM: Corellia is one of the major core worlds, in a system with 4 others, but it’s the largest and closest to the main star; part of the Republic but maintains its own navy. Its main specialty is shipping and transportation.

Grif: OK, here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about what you said, Rralwarr; the ship is a death trap, what if we turn it on them? Like, booby-trap it with bombs, set it to fly off somewhere on autopilot, and when they board the ship it’ll blow up with them in it hopefully. Now, there’s a couple more things you guys will hate.

Taveau: Oh I’m liking it so far.

Grif: You won’t. We’ll need to leave some things behind to make it look like we died. Your armor for one.

Taveau: Ex-CUSE me

Grif: ...and three bodies off the black market. Also a wookiee pelt.

Rralwarr: HOLD UP NOW. If I see someone with a wookiee pelt, I’m going to rip their arms off.

Taveau: Grif? You... seem to be taking this well. Uh, more or less. So, uh. I’ve got some stuff to mention.

Grif: Go ahead.

Taveau: Here’s what I noticed... First, we assist in killing a member of Death Watch; they’re killed with a blast to the throat. A short amount of time passes, and in that time, two things happen: we get a message from Death Watch, showing that they know who we are. And someone kills your mother with a blast to the throat, which is exactly the way that we killed the Death Watch guy down on Hypori. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me. It seems like they’re trying to send you a message. And if I’m right, that means there’s already someone on Alderaan, and they know where to find your family. I still think we should change ships, because if there’s anyone following us, it might throw them off, and we’ll have fewer of these guys waiting for us when we get to Alderaan. But we should do it fast.

Rralwarr: Right. Here’s my concern, Grif; I think these guys are smarter than you think. I don’t think your dad is safe, and I think he said what he did at gunpoint. Your dad isn’t that stupid. There’s something else going on here.

H, OOC: Rralwarr feels torn that he cannot uphold all of his duties at once. He legit thinks Grif’s idea is mildly OK, aside from the wookiee pelt, but no matter what they do they’re going to end up fighting the Mandalorians.

Grif: Right. So, any way we can get back at them now is a good start. We need to lose the ship that they’re tracking, and we need to get back there as quickly as possible. This idea seems the best for doing that without getting anyone else in danger. If we just leave the ship on Corellia, we could be implicating the people who end up with it.

Rralwarr still doesn’t like the idea of wookiee pelts. He leaves the cockpit.

Taveau spins around in his pilot chair. “So. Uh, he’s upset. How much family do you have on... Alderaan, is it?”

Grif: Yes. My dad and uh.. a bunch of siblings.

Taveau: Oh, that’s not good. If it was just your dad they’d be more likely to keep him alive to use against you. If you’ve got multiple family members they could start killing them off at any time.

No one questions Taveau’s knowledge of Death Watch, to my surprise; apparently they just assume it’s cultural knowledge and accept it. Taveau is very relieved about this.

We land on Corellia, and Grif’s current plan involves selling the ship to someone, because “we need the credits”, but setting the autopilot so it flies away before they can claim it, and hopefully getting off the planet before we’re arrested for this little scam. Taveau doesn’t like it but doesn’t have a better idea. Rralwarr really, really doesn’t like it but is in a similar position.

Taveau leaves his helmet in the cockpit, so he can have an excuse to run back into the ship after it’s officially been sold and grab it (and also set the autopilot at the same time). Additionally, with his poncho covering most of his armor, he can walk around town looking like your average shady individual, and not a distinctly Mandalorian brand of shady. Upon us asking what the chances of being attacked around here are:

DM: There is pretty heavy police presence here, CorSec does not take kindly to disruptions. ...(repeats, pointing at M/Grif): CorSec does not take kindly to disruptions...

M: That’s why we need to get out of here fast after we set the autopilot :)

DM: ...It’s not likely that Death Watch would prefer to start a firefight here. You’re heading into the Corellian Engineering Corp. headquarters, yes? You are immediately accosted by at least 3 dealers, complimenting your hair, your robes, and waving information pamphlets at you.

Grif: Thank you! Lovely! I’ll consider it. One moment. (OOC: can I roll perception to see who has the best deal?)

DM: yeah go ahead. (he rolls high) You notice this one guy standing back a bit, close to the wall--

M: I GO OVER TO HIM

DM: What do you say?

Grif: Ah! Interesting tactic, not rushing me~

DM: ...Roll charisma. (fail) Yeah he just kinda... gives you a slightly offended look, says “I’m busy” and walks away.

M: Oh.

Meanwhile, Rralwarr is hanging out in the courtyard near our ship, trying to keep an eye on our surroundings. He rolls a 9 on perception.

DM: ...Yeah, you don’t see anything unusual. You do notice a very fascinating fountain. You stare at that for a while.

Grif, meanwhile, heads for the table marked “sales and trade-ins” and identifies his ship type to the droid attendant. He’s sent out with a scanner team to check the condition of the ship.

Taveau, who’d started off to check out one of the other dealers, hears that Grif has it handled and, relieved that he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, rejoins Rralwarr. Taveau also manages to roll a 9 on perception (2, originally, with modifiers). He, too, becomes enamored with the fountain. He stands by Rralwarr and contemplates his place in the universe. While Grif accomplishes things, the two of them gaze at the fountain together.

Grif chats up the scanner team foreman while the rest of the dudes set up the scanner. Eventually they call him inside to look at something and Grif waits outside, tucking his hands inside his sleeves and gripping the tiny concealed blaster he keeps up one of his sleeves (which I only heard about very recently, and this makes me wonder if Taveau has noticed it. Possibly, as it seems like something he’d notice. But possibly not, because as we all know, he’s kind of clueless.)

M: Grif feels edgy.

DM: Do you mean he feels On Edge or is he just... intentionally acting as edgy as possible

H: Oh it’s definitely that

M: Edgy, probably. I mean it’s not like he’s actually going to shoot anyone, he’s just gripping his gun and feeling edgy for the sake of edginess.

There’s muffled conversation from inside. oh, really?...huh...well, that’s... interesting...

The foreman reappears, carrying a small device in his hand, and tells Grif that the ship seems to be in pretty good reselling condition, but the scan found a hyperspace tracker on the bottom of the engine. He’s guessing that they bought it from a secondhand dealer, as some of the less-scrupulous of those will often attach a tracker to a ship so they can track it down if payments aren’t met. He also volunteers that it only transmits when in hyperspace, and gives it to Grif when he asks.

(Lore-wise this tracker bugs me a bit because hyperspace technology was considered brand new in The Last Jedi, which is considerably later than the time period we’re playing in. I then consider the fact that we’re playing a game for fun and not accuracy and that it’s a cool concept and I tell myself to take a chill pill.)

Foreman: Also, you have excellent taste in rum.

Grif: Oh, yes! Why don’t we get it down, actually, to celebrate the sale?

Foreman: That’s not a bad idea. I’ll send the boys back early.

The Rest of the Party: * C O N C E R N *

M: guys I’m gonna be fine don’t worry.

And in fact Grif did not die. Grif didn’t even drink (rum). He had water, and he gave the rest of the bottle to the foreman as a gift, considering he couldn’t let Rralwarr see it with him anyway. The foreman, for his part, left in an excellent mood and promised to give his ship a really good report.

I think this may have been the first time Grif succeeded with charisma. M comments that, thanks to the character change, he’s more focused than usual.

We reunite and discuss an alternate plan, now that we have the tracker: take it with us on the new ship, hyperspace-jump to the middle of absolutely nowhere, fling the tracker off the ship and then hightail it to Alderaan. Taveau grabs his helmet and, taking the tracker along, we trade in our old ship for a shiny new one.

DM asks if we’d like to name the ship. H/Rralwarr don’t have ideas. M goes “yeah I don’t think Grif really cares right now.” So it’s up to me.

“...Steve?” (laughter. The DM is going to accept it) “No wait. The.... The Intergalactic Kevin.” (H really likes that one but I feel like I should come up with a name that isn’t a joke) “Wait, I’ve got it: Blindsider.”

A good name, as Taveau sincerely hopes that they’ll be able to reach Alderaan undetected in this ship. Everyone likes the name, the DM okays it, and we have a newly-christened ship (with two sonic showers).

Someone suggests that we get a party pet, some kind of space dog, and name it Steve: The Intergalactic Kevin.

Rralwarr, a little calmed down now that we’ve found a plan that doesn’t involve massive amounts of deception, swindling, and disrespecting the remains of the dead, goes to talk to Grif as Taveau is starting it up.

Grif: I’m gonna be fine, it’s just.. this entire day all I’ve been able to think about has been Alderaan. I wanna go home, but also I wanna stay away as much as possible. And when I think of Alderaan I think of mom, but she won’t be there...it’ll just be a house, it won’t be the same. And I still kinda wanna get back at those Mandalorians. But I know we don’t have the power to do that, and it just frustrates me.

The two share a moment. The moment is interrupted:

Taveau: HEY GUYS ARE WE TAKING OFF?

Grif: ..YeS

Rralwarr: Grif, I know you’re under a lot of stress, and I don’t blame you for your suggestions, and while your suggestion regarding the wookie pelts deeply offends me, I know you were more concerned with getting us off here safely than with how you did it, and I understand. Don’t do that again, though. You know very well how wookies treat their dead.

Grif: I know, trust me, humans are the same way. I’m sorry, I know that was out of place, and... I wish I could say that I wouldn’t have done it.

Rr: We’re at war, things happen... I didn’t have a better idea at the time.

Grif: also I’m still not certain that people won’t get hurt because of our ship.

Rr: there’s no perfect way to handle this. Let’s think of it this way: we’re going back to protect the rest of your family, they’re all targets; we’re all in danger now, we need to make sure they’re safe.

We take off, make the jump, and stop to dispose of the tracker. Taveau rolls really well on piloting and I decide that this ship has really easy controls. Here’s where Mistakes Happen.

Me: Can I do the honors of yeeting the tracker into space?

DM: Absolutely. There’s, like, a waste disposal hatch, and you--

H: You should roll dex for that!

Me: What? For shoving something down a garbage chute?

H: Yes. Because it’d be really funny if you failed.

Me:...ok

DM: Excellent! Roll!

Me:

Me: a 1

H: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me: WHAT. WHAT HAPPENS TO ME.

DM: ....which hand are you using?

Me, recognizing that this is an opportunity for mercy and deciding not to take it: I mean realistically probably my dominant hand, which is my right.

DM: It’s stuck.

Rralwarr: I grab your arm and pull you out!

DM: And now your wrist is broken.

Me: GREAT. THAT WAS MY SHOOTING HAND.

Rralwarr treats me with his medic skills and fixes me up with a wrist brace. I’m told that I’ll be alright in a few days (presumably Rralwarr inflicted some sort of rapid-heal treatment upon me?), but I should, in the meantime, avoid stressing my hand. Specifically, I shouldn’t fire any weapons with recoil.

Yeah, good luck with that.

As we end the session, I ask H if Rralwarr has any painkillers. H says gleefully that he does indeed, and that he’s looking forward to seeing a high Taveau.

masterpost

#WELL THEN #star wars RPG #Taveau #YEP #slowly catching up to the present #this isn't the Taveau thing I was writing yesterday that's still coming

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