#Old Man Katan

[omaano]

This project is officially out of hand - I swore 3 months ago that I won't expand it to clones territory, I really won't, and look where I am now! I also had to double down on Rex, if I'm here and have accepted defeat, as I finally got around to watching Rebels and I just love him so much with that beard, and his freckles omg TTnTT (I really really wouldn't mind seeing him in the Ahsoka show either, please)

The rest of the Mandalorian Star Wars meets Hades AU project is here

I've spent my sick day real productively, I believe :3

[oldschoolfrp]

Glitchegumee Swamp is a good place to hide out, except for the bird-sized mosquitoes, and the hungry crocs, and the singing myconids that always scare away the fish. (Terry Dykstra cover art, Dungeon 41, May/June 1993, featuring the AD&D adventure "Old Man Katan and the Incredible, Edible, Dancing Mushroom Band" by Ted James Thomas Zuvich)

[phoenixyfriend]

Fulcrum and Old Ben

Hiiiiii I'm thinking about time travel again

Specifically, I'm thinking about Rebels-era Ahsoka and Ben getting tossed back to Obi-Wan's teens in the Temple... and it's an open secret that they're time-travelers, and that the old guy is future!Obi.

The scene I'm fixating on is teen!Obi and Quinlan gossiping about how old they think Ben is, and how he knows the half-Mando-looking Tog Jedi (they aren't used to non-Guards wearing armor in the Temple, and Ahsoka's been wearing Mando-made armor since she was recruited by Bo-Katan in S7).

The whole Temple is trying to figure out what their deal is, but Ben is dedicated to being obtuse and confusing in the grand tradition of Yoda and Qui-Gon, and Fulcrum is enjoying the power of being annoying and able to properly relax for the first time in twenty years.

This is all happening in the refectory. Lunchtime gossip. Fulcrum and Ben are sticking together and while other people do join them, they don't really split up (that's her dad and she's not ditching him again).

Also the possibility of Ezra and Fulcrum "I may not be your Master, but he DID ask me to look after you, so sit down and listen until we figure out where to place you."

Ben: Remind me why you don't just take him on yourself? Fulcrum: You know I haven't been a Jedi since I was seventeen. Technically.

Different moment:

Obi-Wan: How is that ME? I mean, I guess he's from, like, a hundred years in the future, but-- Ben: Forty. Obi: …what. Ben: Closer to forty. I'm fifty-six. Obi and Quinlan: [open-mouthed horror that WILL get them scolded for being rude] Fulcrum, snorting: Ha, you look old. Ben: Yes, well, over fifteen years on Tatooine will do that to a man. Obi, to Fulcrum: Wait, how old are YOU? Fulcrum: A lady never tells. [wink wonk] Obi: … Fulcrum: I haven't been born yet, but I am in my thirties.

Also, there is just something soooo good about Ahsoka telling people she's been doing black ops for the better part of twenty years, and ribbing Obi-Wan about how he spent most of that time being sad and talking to ghosts on Tatooine.

And the two of them are having Fun while their audience is just [doingmeaconcern.meme]

[inklore]

forbidden cravings

premise: stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters.

pairing: vampire!din djarin x reader x vampire!bo-katan kryze

word count: 5k

contents: blood and biting obviously, oral, threats, murder mention, reader is a little clueless, power imbalance, bo is kinda evil but we love her for it, brief mention of piv.

note: this took me way too long to write and by the end of it i was very tired so hopefully someone out there enjoys this lmao. i could possibly see myself writing more within this little world, maybe.

haunted hoedown day five.

You had never noticed how creaky the house was until tonight. Until you were stuck in a dark, dampened room. Your only light coming from the candle at your bedside, the moon, and the flashes of lightening through the windows. The deep red drapes that match the ones that hang around the four poster bed in the middle of the room, that look ancient and eerie, set your already on edge nerves into a frenzy of fight of flight.

You had dusted this room many times. Have been past the threshold and seen it painted in the daylight. 

But never at night. 

You were prohibited from being here past nightfall. 

The master of the house—your boss—had made it clear upon your first interview a year ago that you’d only be needed in the daytime. That staying after nightfall was not something he needed you around for, and it would be of best interest to the house if you departed once the sun set. 

It’s a rule you questioned little. A rule you were fine and happy to obey. 

It wasn’t your job to question it. It wasn’t your place. 

You were the housekeeper, nothing else. Nothing less. Nothing more. 

And you’d never think of going against the lord of the manor, Din Djarin. 

The infamous inventor. 

The mysterious scholar.

The man with whom you’ve slowly bloomed a friendship with while you’ve worked here. The two of you have spent hours in his library with your fingertips, running along old books, relics he’s come across in his travels, and blue prints for inventions he one day wishes to create. 

The pair of you bonding over the love of old words and worlds you wish you could have been a part of. 

Working for him and being in his home—the dark gray spiraling staircases, the arched doorways, the black and red wallpaper that look hundreds of years old and yet look like they’d just been done yesterday—was a joy. 

A better job than working at the mill or getting by on your looks alone to put food on the table. 

You lucked out. Was honored to get the position and even more honored to befriend the destinguishinly handsome Lord Djarin. 

His staff soon became like a second family to you. A home away from home—a much more beautiful and sprawling home than your own, but a home in all senses of the word. 

Not even the curfew could dampen your love or the job. 

The only thorn in your side, the only downfall—negativity—to working for the Lord was his companion, his wife, Lady Kryze. 

While most days, the two of you would rarely cross paths. Her off on travel, or in the west wing of the house that you seldom find yourself in. 

But when appearance’s were known, brief or not, she always had a look of haughtiness about her. Her red hair laying perfectly on her shoulders, and her dresses always form fitting and beautifully cascading to the floor. The neck line plunged lower than what’s usually considered proper—that always made your cheeks heat when you found yourself rudely staring, a smirk on her lips that quickly got washed away with a scornful arch of her brows. 

She had never been rude to you. Had never demanded of you or treated you unkindly the way one would think when you looked at her intimidatingly beautiful face. The power you know she held with just a look, a twitch of a smile, or the flick of her fingers. 

She was the opposite of Lord Djarin. 

The two seeming an odd match for two people destined to be together. 

Your schoolgirl crush on the Lord of the Manor definitely having little to do with your opinion on the fact. 

It had been Lady Kryze who had suggested you stay. Almost demanding it, with the weather outside being too dangerous to travel. The winds whistling through the old bones of the house. The rain coming down like heavy hail. The thunder that you could feel deep in your bones each time it rumbled. 

Lord Djarin had protested on the matter. Said you could wait out the storm but insisted you leave after. 

“Don’t be rude, honey.” Lady Kryze had said. The sentiment, honey, came off more as an insult than as something sweet and tender. The look on the Lord’s face one of strain and frustration. A warning flashed in his eyes before he gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded in agreement. 

And now here you are. Dressed in a nightgown that Lady Kryze had supplied you with. The white fabric feeling almost like satin against your chilled skin, the lack of heat coming from the radiator on the other side of the room making you frown as your breasts made it more than clear how your body was reacting to the draft in the room—to the cold storm outside. 

The loud thump that startles you from outside of your door tears your gaze from the window and elevates your unease when you put your ear to the dark wood and hear nothing but the old house talking in the way one does in storms or settling.

Lord Djarin had ordered you to stay in your room. To lock the door from the inside and try to get some rest. Assuring you that all was alright, the drafts liked to open the doors at night. 

Listening to the plea in his voice that he tried to hide with his endearing smile was enough to convince you not to try it. To listen to his words. To do what had been asked of you without question once again. 

But the thump comes again. This time, sounding closer. Perhaps a glass broke somewhere in the hall.��

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip in worry. 

What if the Lord or Lady needed help? What if they had fallen? The lack of electricity in the house was more than a factor, a reason, for something that could cause a fall. Candlelight only shows so much in these dark halls. 

And while there had been no cry for help. No croak, groan, or indication that someone needs help; you can’t help the way your heart escalates or why you ignore the nerves, making your hand shake as you unlock the door, twist the cold handle, and open it a sliver. 

Your eyes search the vast darkness of the hall within the tiny space you’ve given yourself. The lit candles in the holders on the wall do little to aid in you seeing anything other than small glows of orange light past the railing that lines the hall. 

The words of the Lord push into the back of your mind as you open the door more and poke your head out into the dark space. The strings of lightening outside paint the empty hall in blue light. Streaking against the dark wallpaper hauntingly. 

“Lord Djarin?” Your voice is faint compared to the booming thunder outside. A gulp of air fills your lungs when you get enough bravery to step fully out of your room and speak a little louder, “Lady Kryze?” 

The silence only pushes you forward. 

Has your bare feet cold and weary against the long rug on the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak with each step that you take.

The portraits of unknown people by unknown painters look more intimidating and scary the longer you venture through the hall. The candles shadow their faces in scowls that aren’t normally there in the daylight. 

Your fingers dig into the side of your nightgown, bunching up the fabric as your heart hammers against your ribs. 

Maybe you should go back to your room. Maybe it was nothing. The rooms with open doors were dark and abandoned. The staircases are bare, and the entryway below, when you look over the rail, is completely encased in darkness.

Maybe it had come from the west wing of the house. Maybe it was a branch outside. Your mind isn’t sure. Isn’t thinking about anything other than getting back to your room, engulfing yourself in the bedspread, and trying to ignore every creepy sound that the storm outside aids in the houses off putting nature.

Being here at night was, in fact, something your nerves could not handle, it seemed. 

You sigh. Come to a stop at the last door along the hallway. Your bottom lip sore from your worrying. Whatever the thump was, it’s not something as drastic as your mind had probably come up with, and unless you feel like venturing down the stairs and through the rest of the house, it wasn’t your concern—and the prospect made you shiver knowing some parts of the house didn’t have candles lining the walls. 

But when you turn to head back to your room, your body crashes into another, and the scream you let out rings along with a crack of thunder, filtering the hallway into a horrific sound of chaos and fear. 

“You were told to stay in your room.” 

“Oh my—" your hand flies to your chest. The beat of your heart feels as if it might beat it’s way out of the cavern of your ribs. Your lungs finally fill with the air that had been whooshed out of you when you had collided with the other person once you realized who it was. “Lady Kryze.” 

“I was told you listen to directions well,” her smile is pressed and sure. Humorous in the way her eyes move along your appearance. The relief you felt from it being her soon dying when you remember how see through your nightgown is. Your arms cross over your bare chest. “How misguided.” 

“I-I was just,” you swallow. Try to get your breathing back to normal. Try to stop the pounding in your ears matching up with the rain outside—with the booms of thunder. “I heard a noise.” You manage to get out. The amused raise of her brow makes your body heat up in something akin to embarrassment or a child running to their mother at night because they are scared. 

Lady Kryze hums, “many things go bump in the night around here. It’s an old house.���

“Of course,” you nod. “Yes.” You laugh nervously, breathy, and unsure. Trying to ease the tension that’s growing between the two of you. Worried you might be jobless come morning. “I apologize. I was just worried that you or Lord Djarin may have been hurt.”

“You’re a doctor? Here I thought you were a maid.” Her smile is mocking, unkind. But that’s when you finally take her fully in. With the flashes of lightening through the window at the end of the hall, giving light to the shadows that dance along her face in the candlelight.

She looks…different. 

There's a deep red tint to her lips that’s not usually there. You can’t recall the last time you saw her wear lipstick, let alone that shade. Her hair is darker and more unruly at the bottom than usual. Than the sleek look of perfection it’s always at. Her clothes—her dress—stained a deep red and ripped at the top, standing her paler than normal skin out. 

Your eyes look down to her nails; they’re longer. Stained the same shade as her lips and her dress. 

Somethings not right.

And when your gaze meets hers again, you can see how much darker her eyes look than what you’re used to seeing below that scowl. Bigger. Almost as if her pupils had doubled in size.

Your lack of subtlety seems to give you away when you quickly try to sidestep her and head for your room. 

“Now that I know you’re both fine, I’ll just go back to my room now.” You say softly, give her a forced smile as you try to keep your composure and act as normal as you would if you weren’t scared out of your skin. 

Lady Kryze laughs under her breath. Let’s you step past her and walk one, two, or five steps before there’s a grip at the back of your elbow and your back is being slammed into the wall. The gasp of your lungs deflates from the pressure puffing out against her face with how close she is. 

“Lady Kr-”

“Bo.” She corrects, her eyes wandering down your face, pausing at your lips and the junction where your jaw meets your neck. Swallowing hard before her gaze cascades to your chest, “I always hated the pleasantries Din demanded we go by to fit in with you…humans.” 

“You humans?” You give her a quizicall look, too much going on in your nervous system to comprehend her words. To make sense of them when the fear of the emotion in her eyes reads hunger. 

And when she laughs again, her smile more genuine than any you’ve seen spread across her perfectly proportioned lips before; you see it. See them.

The pointed teeth that have replaced her normal ones. 

The way they gleam off of the orange glow of the candles. The way they make you swallow. Make your chest hurt from the bruising your heart is doing to your ribs from beating so fast. 

What is she?

“I thought you were smart? With the way Din talks about you, I imagined you would have figured it out by now. Especially with how close the two of you have been getting.” The accusation makes your heart stop. A cold fear pricking at your insides that makes your skin feel clammy. 

The raising of her brow makes the feeling worse as you shake your head. Open your mouth to protest on the matter, to not encourage the accusation that there might be something going on with Lord Djarin and you, her husband. 

“Don’t worry,” she smirks. Leans in closer so her lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “I like to share.” Your body trembles when her hand leaves your shoulder and her fingers run along the side of your breast. Her pointer skating along your erect nipple, making you gasp softly. “We both do.” 

“Lady Kryze–I,” there’s words meant to come out. Words meant to put an end to whatever this standoff, or showdown, is. You’re lost, you’re captivated, and you’re frightened. But her cheeks and lips brush against yours as she moves herself back so she can look at you; her dark eyes make every syllable on your tongue lay thick and weighted down like sludge. 

There’s a silence that has enough tension to make your body buzz and your brain catch up to put the puzzle pieces together with the information that has always been laid out for you. Things you took as old family traditions you didn’t care to understand. 

The presistant curfew, the eerie darkness that hung over the manor once the sun started to set. The mysterious cases of maids and butlers going missing without a trace. The town just beyond your own’s population dwindling down. Neighbors and friends gone. 

Lady Kryze’s dark eyes, her teeth. 

“You’re the cause of all the disappearances.” It’s not a question because you already know the answer. The slow spread of her lips only solidified the gathered information in your head to fit neatly in a box of truths. “And,” you swallow, hate how your heart aches at the very thought. “Lord Djarin..he–”

“Is much more discrete than I.” She seems to find a silent annoyance in the statement. In the way your body lets out a shaky breath as if you’re relieved. It makes her eye twitch before she’s leaning in again, her lips closer to yours now. Her breath smells of metal. “He doesn’t like to indulge in the bounty we’ve been given. Says it’s not right to eat thy neighbor.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, one of her sharp teeth catching on the skin. “I say, why waste such delicious gifts? And delicious they are, especially the ones who beg. The ones who let me play with my food before I eat it.” 

Her laugh makes your body shiver. A reaction she seems to like too much, as her lips skim across yours. The metallic scent of her tongue inhaled by your shaky breaths and swallowed down, leaving your throat dry and your tongue itching to reach out for the source. 

The source of it’s weight, the source of the ache in your jaw with the need to drink. A thirst for what you’re sure is water and not the nourishment that’s so clearly painted Lady Kryze’s lips red and her tongue. Your body willing to use any source of fluid to aid you. 

Not because the metallic linger of her breath sits on your tastebuds like an open invitation. Not because her fingers are still at the side of your breast, your peaked nipple aching to be brushed over by her again. 

“Will you let me play with you?” Her nose brushes yours as her head turns, and her lips just catch the corner of your mouth, a gasp leaving your lips as they move across your cheek and her teeth clip on your jawline. “I know how hard it is for my husband to be near you every day and not sink his teeth into this beautiful neck. You look as good as you’ll taste.” 

A moan racks your ribcage when her hand grips the side of your neck, bending it so the other side is on full display and her lips press to the sensitive flesh. Her tongue coming out to run the tip lightly against you, like she doesn’t dare indulge too much. Like it’s an appetizer to what she really wants. 

A trail of bruising kisses and hungry noises coming from the woman making your chest heave, your fingers daring to come up to her elbow to grip the fabric of her dress as an anchor—or to pull her closer—you're not too sure what your body wants, your senses not matching up with the fear still plaguing your brain. 

“Will you run for me, little rabbit?” You can feel the amusement at her own words with the smirk that’s pressed just below your ear. Your body canting at the derogatory pet name.

Until her next words come out of her mouth in a booming shriek that makes your ears ring and your body recoil from her in defense to protect itself from wrath. 

“Run!”

And you do. 

Not turning back to look to see if she’s chasing you. All the heat once again drained from your body, any pleasure you had been feeling doused out, and brought tears burning at the corners of your eyes. 

The candles on the wall continue to be your guiding light. Even when you step on something that makes you hiss. That tears the skin on the bottom of your foot enough to stutter your sprint. A limp catches in your leg as you try to make haste.

You were foolish for staying here. Foolish for leaving your room. Foolish for not seeing what this house really was or what it’s occupants really were.

Foolish. 

If there had been a spell, you had fallen for it. Like a silly little girl.

The closer you get to your chamber door, the harder your heart beats against your ribs. The harder you try to ignore the sting in your heel. The harder it is for you to breathe. 

The distance only seems to get further and further away from safety the longer you try for it. The longer your eyes strain in the candlelight to not step on something else that could make you completely imobile. Completely at Lady Kryze’s mercy. 

Who you don’t hear behind you. 

Who—upon your better judgment, one would say—you look for as you turn your head towards the path behind you. Your blood running cold when you see that all the candles have completely gone out and you can’t see a thing. 

The flashes of lightening from the windows down below cascading the barest amount of light onto the floor. 

It’s the least of your worries when your body collides with a wall. 

Or what feels like a wall—a strained ache coming to your chest upon the collusion, your body thrown backwards as you groan from the impact your tailbone makes against the hard floor. 

And when your eyes open, you realize it’s not a wall you’ve collided with; it’s Lord Djarin. 

“I told you to stay in your room.” His voice is full of authority and aggravation as he pulls you from the floor. It’s a tone he’s never used on you, a grip on your arm that’s much more cruel than the light touches of fleeting moments spent together. 

“She–Lady Kryze–She.”

“Is insatiable, yes.” There’s a growl that’s completely for his wife’s sake and not your own. But the sound still makes your stomach clench. Your body dragged along the hallway by the hands of the man you’re now realizing is more dangerous than any normal man. 

A monster.

Like his wife.

And yet, you feel safe in his tight grasp. Feel safe with the memories you share with him. Of him. The man you knew before the monster. 

The fear of him never coming. 

The fear only comes back once you’ve reached your room, and he’s pushing you through the door only for your back to collide with something icy that grips your wrist and snakes it’s fingers along the column of your neck to hold you against it.

“Bo.” Lord Djarin’s voice is stern. Angry. 

“Darling.” You can feel the smile that’s wrapped around the word even without seeing Lady Kryze’s face. 

The cold of her body seeping through your night dress and against your skin—a cold that’s not from the fear of what she is rather than what she’s doing. What has stained her lips and tongue and what you wanted so badly to taste just minutes ago. The same deep red clearly stained in the front fabric of your gown that you hadn’t noticed until now.

Until you’re standing in front of Lord Djarin, your night dress more see through and clinging to your body, where it’s damp from blood and straining against your breasts. 

Lady Kryze’s grip tightens on your throat, and it makes a breathless noise fall from your lips. A noise that has Lord Djarin’s eyes honing in on your mouth, moving along to his wife's hand on your throat, before plunging down to your chest. A hard swallow and a deep scowl shot at the woman holding you in her vise. 

“Let her go.”

“We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we?” Her teeth knick your earlobe, and it makes your body contort against her hold. “See,” she smirks. 

“Bo. No.” His tone has finality. Has something that wordlessly lets you know he’s tired of this topic; he’s clearly told her no on before. 

Something inside your stomach lightens up and burns at the thought of Lord Djarin denying his wife the pleasure of making you a meal time and time again. Was it out of respect? Care? Want?

Did she want to sink her teeth into you so badly because of jealousy at the closeness you and her husband had found the longer you worked here? No, she said they like to share. Said she likes to share. 

Was it want then?

The want to do more than end your life by draining you.

“Come on, Din.” The hand at your wrist does a show of crawling with her sharp nails over your midsection and to your hip to start pulling up your night dress. Your thighs quickly come into view as she bunches the fabric further and further up. A shyness takes over you as you wiggle in her grasp as you watch Lord Djarin’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry look. “We all know you want her.” 

Her lips press against your jaw as she murmurs to you, “he never allows himself to indulge in the things he wants. He’s so disciplined. Such a good man. He’d never let it slip that after you leave his library, he bends me over his desk and fucks me the way he wishes he could fuck you.”

An involentary noise that get’s choked out of your throat makes her laugh softly, “tell him he can have you. Tell him you like it.” Your eyes lock with his; his eyes just as dark and monstrous as his wife's now that you’re really looking at them. His lips that deep red—the same red you smelled and craved to taste on her lips. 

Your thighs inwardly press together, causing the pressure between them to ease the slightest, but grow worse when your backside pushes back against Lady Kryze and she lets out a noise that sounds just as lovely as she looks. 

“Look, Din.” A heat comes to your cheeks as the rest of the fabric of your gown is pulled above your hips, showcasing your nakedness to both of them. “There’s no denying she wants you,” her fingers move down to grip your inner thigh. The clear and evident proof of your arousal—that you’re not sure was caused earlier or right now—coats your skin and her fingers. 

“No, she is not-”

“What? Food?” Lady Kryze laughs, “we both know you’d never let me drain her. Nor could you bear to have anything but her essence touch your tongue. But she can be a toy. You can fuck her. We both can.” 

You can see the internal battle he’s fighting with himself—against his wife, against what’s right, against his want. 

And there’s a part of you that understands. That knows this is wrong. That has barely come to terms with what they are—monsters, myths, and scary stories you tell little children at night to get them to go to bed. 

But then the proof of your arousal, of your own want is being toyed with between your thighs as Lady Kryze runs a finger through your wetness. Your hips canting against her hand as she pulls it away just as quick as it was there and holds her finger out to her husband. 

“Taste her.”

His head is about to shake; you can sense it. See it before it happens by the way his fists bunch at his sides. Maybe that's why you finally find your voice, “please.”

And it’s as if those are the words he’s been waiting for you to say since the day you’ve met. Since you’ve started working for him. The speed at which he’s against your front and his lips are wrapped around the finger that has gathered the wetness from your pussy makes you feel woozy. 

Makes you sway on your feet and loosen in Lady Kryze’s hold. Her nails dig into your flesh as she holds you tighter, keeping you upright for her husband. 

Whose finger is under your chin, mouth daringly close to yours as he murmurs, “are you certain?”

Do you want this?

Do you want all it entails if you let this continue?

His dark eyes speak; let you know that he’ll stop this. That while you might be weak in comparison to who they truly are, you have a say, and he’ll do whatever you wish. 

A wise woman would heed the warning that’s in the brow he raises. Thats in the descent of his finger down your chin and to your jugular. Your heartbeat thudding against the pad of his finger. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes cast to your neck and then up to his wife. 

Who's giving him a smile you can’t see but can feel in the way her body shifts, pulling your thighs apart easily. Lord Djarin needs no more confirmation for either of you as he falls to his knees, a rough hand cupping the back of your thigh to lift and bring it up and over his shoulder. 

Your back arching, and a gasp rakes through your body when you feel the bite of teeth against your inner thigh. Feel the sting of punctured skin, the pull of something inside that’s making your eyes flutter, and the pressure in your lower belly thumping at the same speed as your heart. 

When your eyes shift down, when he’s stopped, when you feel like you could either pass out or come from just this, you see blood—your blood—staining his lips and tongue. See his eyes go even darker, black, and void of any human attributes. Making him look entirely like a monster that’s hungry, starved. 

And you’ve completely offered yourself up for the taking. 

There’s a deep moan coming from Lord Djarin as his fingers and tongue clean his mouth. It’s obscene as much as it is beautiful to watch. Your arousal only grows worse at the sight. 

“How does she taste?” 

“Exqusite.” He murmurs against your skin, his tongue running over the marks he’s just left in your thigh, working it’s way up to the apex of your thigh. Your legs shake the closer he gets to your pussy. 

A cry burns your lungs when you feel him dive into you without any warning. His tongue licking through your wetness, his nose pressing against your clit. The tip of it creates a slow grind that only intensifies when you cant your hips up. When you thrust against the air, his tongue slips inside of you, pushing it further inside. Your fingers dig into the sides of your dress as you try not to completely collapse against either of them. 

The pleasure coursing through your body makes that easier said than done. 

Lady Kryze is humming against your cheek, her hand coming down to slow the movement of your hips. “Take your time, little rabbit.” She trails kisses and soft bites over and under your jaw to your earlobe, where she lets the tip of her tongue run against it. “Because once you’ve come, you’re mine to play with.” 

[chocmarss]

When Din fell into the waters I was all, my god he’s being pulled by a tentacled monster. But no, actually, he just slipped over moldy rocks and sank like one to the bottom. Man weighs like a ton or two from how fast he went there. Bo-Katan literally had to jetpacked her way through her old and unfortunately occupied swimming pool to get him.

[twinterrors29]

The Lind-clone

Once upon a time, there was a Mand'alor named Jango who desperately wanted a son, but didn't have or want a partner.

One day he traveled alone to visit a strange old Jedi who lived alone in the woods of a neighboring county in order to ask for his wisdom on how he could acquire an heir of his own blood. The old Jedi listened to his problem, then offered him two seeds:

"The first," he said, "will give you a son to inherit your strength and determination, who will ruthlessly carry on your legacy.

"The second will give you a son to inherit your cunning and luck, who will ceaselessly carry on your line.

"But," he warned the king, "you must plant only one, because to plant two would be greedy, and bring a curse upon your line."

Jango returned to his castle with both seeds, pondering the decision of what he wanted his legacy to be. Eventually, he made his choice, and planted the seed of cunning in the field outside the city walls.

However, that night as he tried to sleep, he second guessed his decision, and snuck out to plant the second seed as well; after all, it always pays to have a backup plan, in case something goes wrong.

(Dooku had expected the Mandalorian to fall into this trap, and knew that the inevitable instability that decision would bring would serve the Sith's plans well.)

As the weeks passed, both seeds sprouted, growing so closely entwined that they resembled a single plant. Jango visited the field every day that summer, personally tending to the plant and checking its progress. As the days shortened, two smooth white pods budded and grew, each approaching the size of a pumpkin.

Finally, one morning, Jango was greeted by the sound of a baby crying as he approached the field, and he sprinted the last hundred meters to reach the plant and his promised heir.

One of the pods had split open in the night, revealing a human baby with his own dark curls, waiting for Jango to come and pick him up for the first time.

As he cradled his new son in his arms, he spoke to him:

"Ni kartayli gai sa'ad, Boba."

(As he turned toward his home, already planning how to introduce the newly-named prince to his household and ready to forget all about the plant and the old Jedi's warning, he failed to notice that the second pod had also split open in the night, leaving an empty husk swaying in the breeze...)

Years flew by, and Boba grew into a fine young man: proud and clever, and just like his buir in every way.

Once he passed his verd'goten at thirteen, Jango decided it was time to organize an alliance with the New Mandalorian faction from Kalevala. He and the Duchess Satine arranged a marriage between his son and her nephew, Korkie, to strengthen those ties to each other.

Neither acknowledged it publically, but both of their people would benefit from strengthening Boba and Korkie's claim to their respective inheritances, after how Satine's sister Bo-Katan got jealous of her sister and nephew's positions and ran off to join the Death Watch, a gang of bandits led by Jango's father's disgraced rival, Tor Vizsla. The Death Watch would use any excuse they could find to set her or Tor's son, Pre, upon either throne.

But with this agreement, worked out during Satine's visit to Jango's capitol city, Keldabe, they would strengthen both lineages, and ensure their people's security for another generation.

All that was left was for Boba to travel back to Kalevala with some of Satine's retinue to meet his riduur-to-be.

But before their party had traveled even half an hour down the road through the woods, they were waylaid by a large, serpentine creature, made of shadow and exposed bone.

The lightning-fast creature knocked the guards off their horses, which fled into the woods in terror, leaving their riders winded on the hard ground. With the outer defenses thus handily disarmed, the creature wasted no time in similarly unhorsing Boba and pinning him to the ground beneath its talons.

Then, with its face inches from Boba's, it spoke:

"A riduur for me before a riduur for thee."

Its message delivered, it released Boba and disappeared into the woods as swiftly as it appeared.

Once they got over the shock of the encounter, the party quickly retrieved their horses and hurried back to Keldabe to report what had happened.

Jango was concerned to see Boba returning so soon after he had left, but he grew even more alarmed when Boba described the creature and relayed its ultimatum.

He suddenly found himself recalling the old Jedi's warning, and the long-forgotten second pod on the plant that had given him Boba.

As he explained the story of his unnatural birth to his son, and with it his theory as to the cause of their current trouble, the boy nodded slowly.

"Does that make him my brother then?" he asked, curious.

"That thing is not your brother," Jango snapped.

Boba considered this, and nodded his acceptance.

"No," he agreed, "but based on its demand, it must think of itself as such."

With that realization, they knew they could only have one response to this situation. After all, the Death Watch were looking for any sign of weakness, and until this alliance was sealed with Boba's marriage, they couldn't afford to offer them any.

What they needed was to kill this creature before word of its presence could spread.

Two days later, they set out with a small party of guards, all equipped with their best arms and protected by their best armor. Once more, they only had to travel about half an hour into the woods before the creature appeared.

Prepared this time, they rebuffed its initial attack, and returned fire with a volley of arrows and spouts of burning oil. The creature was so fast, almost nothing seemed to hit it, and even those few arrows that reached it clattered fruitlessly off its bone armor. Boba swore that a few of his shots slotted into gaps between the stark white plates, but the bolts simply disappeared into the shadows beneath with no impact on the creature's speed. Even their fire splashed harmlessly off bone armor, and none of their grappling lines managed to make contact with the furious beast.

When its relentless attacks finally exhausted them all, it hissed the same demand as before: "A riduur for me before a riduur for thee," and once more released them, vanishing back into the shadows.

As they dragged themselves back into their keep, Jango and Boba were forced to accept that they had no choice but to agree with this ultimatum, or risk the alliance with the New Mandalorians falling apart. After carefully reassuring the Duchess of their ability to keep up their end of their treaty, the two of them struggled to think of an acceptable riduur for the creature.

They had no doubt that, believing itself to be the eldest son of the Mand'alor, the creature would require a political match, someone of their own standing. Of course, that rather left them stumped as to who they would be willing to sacrifice in this way, suspecting that whoever married it would be marching away sooner than later.

And then Boba had a realization.

"Dad," he said, "isn't the Commander of our Guard a bastard son of your second cousin? Do you think he might make a suitable match for our monster?"

Jango, pleased with his son's cleverness, looked into this Commander, a young man named Cody, who had even accompanied them on their ill-fated quest to kill the beast themselves. They were both even more pleased to note that he had a younger, legitimate brother who was also serving in their Guard, who could readily take up his role after his likely untimely demise.

"Good work, Boba," Jango praised, as they waited for the Commander to answer their summons.

A few minutes later, the Commander stepped into their chamber. As they explained their proposal to him, he turned white at the news of his planned betrothal to the creature, but held him tongue and kept his face neutral. Pleased with his composure and lack of argument, Jango urged him to consider his duty to his kingdom, even reminding him of his brother's suitability to step into his role (not specifying which role he meant, Guard Commander or sacrificial groom), and the man agreed to the betrothal. They dismissed him then, content to consider the matter satisfactorily settled.

(That night, after the conclusion of his duties, Cody fled to the rooms of his secret fiance, the Jedi monk assigned to support the Kalevalan delegation. Their affair, kept secret due to the requirement that the Jedi maintain neutrality in order to uphold their sacred duty, had been a source of comfort for him these past many months of negotiations amid the tension from the threat of Death Watch after Bo-Katan's defection.

After he finished relating what he'd agreed to, and admitted his fear at his looming presumed dark fate alone in the woods, Obi-Wan sat silent for a moment. Then, he reached out and laid his hand on the side of his beloved's face, and spoke:

"We have both known that our duties would likely pull us apart. But I do not intend to give up on you so easily, and I have hope for your survival, my love. I have heard the descriptions you and the other guards have given of this creature, and the nature of the curse is very familiar to me; it sounds very like to tales my own people tell of the Lindworm, and I believe those stories may hold the key to solving our current predicament...")

The morning of the riduurok, Cody dressed himself, carefully recalling Obi-Wan's whispered instructions.

Cody marched alone into the forest, seen off by the entire court. He didn't have far to go before he was beset by the lindworm.

"Have you come to marry me, little commander?"

"I have," Cody replied.

After the perfunctory exchange of vows, the lindworm smiled behind its bony mask.

"Take off your armor," it said, "and let me see my riduur."

"I'll take off my armor," Cody replied, "but only if you take off yours too."

The lindworm thought about this, and thinking that it really would be so much easier to eat this human if he was out of his armor, agreed to Cody's demand.

So the lindworm shed its bony plates, revealing more of the thick shadows underneath. Cody took off his shiny white armor, revealing the protective black undersuit underneath.

"Take off your undersuit," the lindworm demanded, "so that I can see who I have married."

"I'll take off my undersuit," Cody replied, "but only if you remove your shadows too."

The lindworm quickly agreed, eagerly shedding its shadows to show its white-and-blue flesh. Cody took off his kute as well, revealing a set of ordinary clothes underneath.

"Take off your clothes," the lindworm hissed, growing impatient with the delay, "so that I can see you."

"I'll take off my clothes," Cody replied, "but only if you take off yours as well."

As Cody removed his own clothing, the lindworm impatiently sheds its skin, revealing a confused naked human man. Cody couldn't help but notice that he bore an uncannily strong resemblance to Jango and Boba both.

"Come," Cody said immediately, remembering the last step in Obi-Wan's story, "now that we have taken off all our clothes, we should bathe in the river together to celebrate our marriage."

He carefully led the dazed-looking human down to the river, and, before he could react, dunked him in the cool, clean water.

The man came up spluttering, but far more lucid, and his shrewd eyes immediately locked with Cody's where he was standing, knee-deep in the running water.

There was a moment of silence, then the man started laughing.

"You've done well, riduur," he smirked approvingly. "That was quite the clever trick you played."

"Thank you, riduur," Cody bowed his head with his own smirk in return, "but it was not my idea alone."

The man followed Cody's gaze to where Obi-Wan was waiting for them with towels and fresh clothes, and snorted.

"What a team the two of you make," the man said. "Now, we should introduce ourselves."

"Naturally," the Jedi spoke up at last. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is my fiancee, Cody."

"Well met. My father never named me," the man replied, "and has refused to acknowledge me. I have chosen to call myself Alpha the 17th."

"A bold choice," Cody acknowledged, reminded of the long line of Mand'alors named Alpha he was laying claim to, "and one that speaks of ambition. But one, I think, that suits you well."

"I should hope so," the newly-named Alpha responded. "I certainly haven't renounced my claim to the throne, and have every intention of fulfilling my birthright."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Obi-Wan asked cautiously.

"I don't know yet," Alpha acknowledged with a nod of his head, "but I was thinking that my two clever new partners might be of some help in coming up with a plan."

Cody and Obi-Wan shared a glance.

"You could root out the Death Watch, who would also contest your own claim to the throne," Obi-Wan suggested.

"And stopping those bandits from harassing the people will earn you their respect and gratitude, as well as spread knowledge of your existence," Cody offered.

"That," Alpha smiled, showing all his bone-white teeth, "seems like a good place to start then."

("Hold on," Cody asked the next morning, "How come you're fully grown, when Boba's only thirteen?"

"First, I'm the older brother ("I thought you were supposed to be twins-") and second, what part of 'born of magic' was inadequately clear?")

---

also posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51530599/chapters/130237681

[communistkenobi]

like I actually get why people joke about shipping Bo and Din together because the only way to resolve the conflict between them is a literal fight to the death. and it’s not a fight to the death between two individual people, but a fight between two Mandalorians over symbolic control of their people - Din who does not want it and Bo-Katan who will not take it. it’s a specific kind of transcendent violence that takes on unique cultural religious and political significance.

And it’s a fight that has to be eternally delayed, because Din’s foundling - the central familial relationship in traditional Mandalorian society - was raised by Jedi, the historic enemy of Mandalorians, and will kill anyone who threatens his father. Even if Din dies of old age and Bo-Katan outlives him, she will never win the Darksaber. She has permanently lost the ability to rule their people because the man who holds onto that power has abdicated it. But Bo-Katan cannot accept this, and so, unable to do anything else, she follows him across the galaxy, both bodyguard and prisoner, attached at the hip to someone who is preventing her from achieving a dream she’s had since birth. unfortunately none of this is in the show

[bolithesenate]

hello i would like you to choose violence. questions 1, 7, and 13?

AND VIOLENCE WE SHALL CHOOSE

1 - the character everyone gets wrong

can I say Yoda?

i feel like theres two camps in fandom: either he's a Fun Lil Guy Who Eats Frogs And Talks (sometimes helpful) Riddles OR he is The Source Of All Our Problems (derogatory)

and make no mistake. i've been part of group 2 before and especially in EU material there are a lot of... questionable choices made by the man. deeply questionable. but I lso feel like there's no one really tackling the sheer existential horror that is yoda's life?

he is older than all his peers. if we look at grogu, then he must have, already as a *baby*, seen his friends grow up, live and die like like fireflies, shining bright for only the briefest moment. basically all of his padawans are dead. his padawans' padawans as well.even with the extended livespans that jedi have, he is so old that he literally speaks different

idk, i think i just want to see more people look at this weird green guy and really THINK about why he is how he is, bad sides and all

(and yes, I also could have said Tarre Vizsla here, bc i have some very CHOICE opinions on him. but ive talked about those in length before, so Yoda it is)

7 - character I began to hate bc of how fanon acts about them

Obi-Wan

well, it's not really hate-hate, but I now find myself actively avoiding fics that have him tagged as a main guy.

idk, i've just grown bored of him?

also i really don't understand why ppl find him so hot. sorry. he looks like a random guy i could see at the train station.

like, guys! expand your horizons a bit! there's so many funny little guys out there in the big gffa, do we really have to sing the praises of the same ginger over and over again? yeah I'm salty but this is revenge for every time a random commenter asks about Obi-Wan in a fic where he isn't even tagged

13 - worst blorbofication

yeah.

see above.

second worst to me probably is Bo-Katan. idk, i don't get it. this woman was a literal dterrorist and showed no remorse whatsoever about being part of the reason her sister is dead and her planet crumbled. and yet people call her a girlboss?

idk, make it make sense

[omaano]

Touchy subject

"The 501st was one of the best legions during the war. I've lost a lot of good men over the years - some of them would have given even you Mandos a run for your credits. And my general... My general was a good man too, but that's enough of that, I thought you were too old for bedtime stories by now."

Din just tried to figure out what the colour of the clones' armor paint meant, and why he's never heard Rex mention his CO during all the wartime stories and lectures; whereas he's already got to meet Wolffe and his general and even heard Cody mention his every once in a blue moon. (Special thanks to @witchydom for helping with the "dialogue" :3)

The rest of my Star Wars meets Hades AU project is here

I'll take a bit of your time to give a bit of an explanation why I decided to put Rex in Skelly's spot:

During a playthrough when I was looking for screenshots to use as backgrounds the first thing that greeted me was Zagreus calling Skelly "Captain" upon entering the armoury, or whatever that chamber is called. And that really decided it, let's be honest. Rex is Captain, and that is the Captain's spot. End of story.

Reading "still got it" by qigiined even before I got into watching TCW was such a personality defining experience (seriously, this fic lives forever rent free in my brain), that I really had no other option but to put the few clones that I'm willing to work into this AU somewhere around home base (the covert) - so you can guess where Cody and Wolffe are situated. Or will be, hopefully soon enough. Rex needs to be able to hang out with Cody, that's just how it is. (Rebels and TBB canon who?)

Rex deserves to teach some uppity Mando bounty hunters and other warriors who think too much of themselves a few lessons in humility and some crafty tricks. I think it would be very good for him.

As a throwaway note since we are already under the read more section, I've been thinking about sigils and keepsakes (trinkets) and cthonic companions (I know that over a year ago I inaccurately but very self indulgently designed one for Din, Boba and Cobb, that is not the point now) and while Cody can have one shaped like Boga, and Wolffe can obviously get a stuffed loth wolf (and Bo-Katan a very squishy owl)... I have no idea what shaped companion Rex could have. If anyone has any suggestions and would love to share it with me, I'd be very grateful!

[oldschoolfrp]

Campestris are 2' tall relatives of myconids. The campestris of Glitchigumee Swamp love Old Man Katan and rely on him for their survival in ways he doesn't realize. He only knows the dang varmints keep him up all night with their infernal singing and occasionally steal his clothes. (Terry Dykstra, Dungeon 41, May/June 1993, from the AD&D adventure "Old Man Katan and the Incredible, Edible, Dancing Mushroom Band" by Ted James Thomas Zuvich)

[ladyzirkonia]

Axe Woves and his promotion from boyfriend to husband material.

I know I've mentioned it here and there, however, I'd like to get my thoughts and feelings that are going around in my head out in one post again.

I've got a crush on this men directly when he first appeared this season. I know that some found and still find him unlikable because of his statements and behavior. I think it's a good expression of where he comes from and how he was socialized and is in no way more despicable than the views Din's covert has, basically they are two extreme views of one culture.

Axe belongs to the ''modern'' Mandalorians who were born on Mandalore and who fought for Mandalore during the Purge. They have a different understanding of being Mandalorians than the followers of the old way. Both groups exclude the other, for different reasons, because of how they were taught. I don't want to justify his behavior, but I can understand there being animosity and mistrust, as I'm sure he's proud of who he is and that he fought for Mandalore while the people of the tribe were hiding on Concordia.

He insists on the importance of the darksaber to rule Mandalore, again an expression of what they must have been taught, though his attitude towards it will change greatly as we all know. His characterization and character development this season is wonderful, and I know I'm going to upset some people, but I think it's much better and more developed than Din Djarin's this season. That's exactly what I would have wanted for him.

He has a certain arrogance and doesn't hesitate for a second to fight both Bo-Katan and Paz. Others may call this immature, I would say it is a Mandalorian tradition to settle conflicts with a fight and I love how reckless he is even though he is probably aware that he will most likely get his ass kicked.

And I don't know exactly why, but I loved the scene with him and the forbidden lovers and his statement, ''I know it was for love.'' He is not heartless, he has a sense for the feelings of others in a way, but business is business and despite everything he handles everything calmly and without violence.

I know he acted like a smug asshole with Paz, but I can't deny that I was very amused by the scene, even if others find it problematic. And it just repeats the differences and conflicts of the two groups and it's all the more beautiful how they are later overcome. And I can't hide the fact that it's incredibly sexy how this man just doesn't have a shred of respect and fear for this mountain of man who could probably just stomp him into the ground.

But who knew what would become of this sexy, arrogant, and smug man in the season finale? Yes I got fooled like many others, I really thought he could be a spy and die, but we couldn't have been more wrong, I'm so sorry my love!

Just to start with how he just flies out into space with a damn jet pack without hesitation just to warn his sisters and brothers. He shows off his leadership skills on the Light Cruiser as he evacuates it and calls on the rest of the Mandalorians to help Bo-Katan. Only to be left alone to fight the incoming Tie Interceptors and then ship the damn ship to the planet. Without hesitation, even though he must have known he could get killed like a goddamn hero.

But best of all, he's not stupid enough to just sacrifice himself, bless the Mandalorians and their jetpacks. How he just flees the ship at the last second and lets it head for the damn base and is partly responsible for the fact that Moff Gideon ultimately dies is just great!

And the last scene, how he's standing there next to Ragnar and he's the one raising his voice and cheering for everyone, I love it. And the thought that he could be the one to take care of Ragnar from now on, despite the discord between him and his father, just melted my heart. This man has had such incredible character development this season and has become such a badass and important character that he's the only person to fall in love with, right?

Did I also make the post a bit to use all the pictures and GIF's again, because of course he looks super good and sexy and I can't get enough of looking at him? Yes maybe something. And people? We need more of these please!

This is the way and for Mandalore!

Screenshots are mine and GIF's from the wonderful @abnerkrill @tommymilller @itberice @providence-park

Thank you for your service ladies and gentleman.

[ilikereadingthisiswhatilike]

Din Djarin

A collection of Din Djarin x Reader Stories. Give love to the writers.

Not Smut

Pregnancy @divinehedons Summery: No thoughts, just overbearing din djarin and pregnant reader. Warnings: Implied Rape, Pregnant Special Tag: Pregnancies AU

Sleep @sofasoap Summery: The clan of three travelling around the galaxy, still in search of Jedi for Grogu. Warnings: None Special Tag: Cute, Family AU

Jealousy @forever-rogue Summery: Reader feels insecure about Bo and Din relationship. Warnings: Angst Special Tag: None

Memories of You @multific Summery: He was only trying to protect you and the kid, his family, but as a result he lost something near and dear to him, his memories of you. Warnings: Angst Special Tag: Cute, Family AU

Family @thesealard Summery: Grogu has a nightmare and you and Din try to calm him down. Warnings: Angst Special Tag: Cute, Family AU, multichapter

Not Just A Passenger @oswildin Summery: You and The Mandalorian have a complex relationship. He got under your skin, and you felt he didn’t trust you. However, slowly you begin to realize and understand it wasn’t that at all… It was quite the opposite. Warnings: Angst, Injury Special Tag: Cute

Welcoming Home @mewhenimsad Summery: He is home. Warnings: Angst Special Tag: None

It’s Just Paint @peterparkersnose Summery: Din and Y/N struggle with the parenting lifestyle.  Warnings: None Special Tag: Cute

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒. @psychedelic-ink Summary: Din initiates you into the cult. Warnings: Dub Con, Blood Special Tag: Cult

Smut

Fallen Gods @divinehedons Summery: The life of a bounty hunter rejects conformity with humanity. When the Mandalorian abandons you on a job, you swore to yourself you would never forgive him. That doesn’t mean it would stop him from repenting; no matter how twisted it turns him against you. Warnings: Rape, Angst Special Tag: Breeding Kink, Dark

Simply Din Djarin @absurdthirst Summery:  Din decides to spend a week on a remote planet, sans armor to swim in the waters and come to terms with what he needs to do. Meeting you when you come to your swimming hole, things become intimate and you have no idea the handsome naked man in front of you is a Mandalorian. He’s simply Din Djarin. Warnings: Angst Special Tag: Shiny Dipping, Cute

IN A PERFECT WORLD, YOU LOVE ME @theidiotwhowritesthings Summery:  On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust? Warnings: Angst, Drugs, Special Tag: Cute, multichapter, Dirty

Jetii Queen @mewhenimsad Summery:  Just freshly engaged, you go to a Gala. Warnings: None Special Tag: Mandalor Din

Someday @rinixo Summery:  After a wedding, desires they have kept at bay spill forth. There’s no coming back from this. Warnings: None Special Tag: None

Original Sin @gaiuswrites Summery:  Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt. Warnings: Rape, Inappropriate Use of Darksaber Special Tag: Dark

Sinner @mandoalorian Summery:   The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you.  Warnings: Dubose Consent Special Tag: Dark, Religion Kink, Dirty

IN ANOTHER LIFE @alloftheimaginesblog Summery:   The Mandalorian has you meet the mandalorian when he comes to your home planet and all of a sudden things seem right. that is, until, he has to leave. Warnings: None Special Tag: Cute

Pearl Rosary @sweetercalypso Summary: Priest of Mandalore listens to your sins during confession Warnings: None Specials Tags: Priest AU

Ft. Bo-Katan Kryze (No Smut)

Forbidden Cravings @inklore Summary: Stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters Warnings: Dub Con, Blood Special Tag: Vampire AU

[prolix-yuy]

Sit on the throne with whoever 👀👀

Hmmm, whoever you say? Well then it has to be my OG boy, my favorite space husband, the tin can man himself!

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Position: Sit on the Throne

Word Count: 1277

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), fingering, semi-public sex.

Notes: This is a bit of a Mand'alor Din AU that I thought would be fun. Follows parts of S3 but I ignore what I feel like because we're in my sandbox now, babes. Enjoy!

“Brooding, my Mand’alor?”

Din groans when your voice drifts over his shoulder, elbows on his knees and head hanging between his shoulders. He’s focused on his hands, the phantom image of the darksaber haunting the corners of his mind. A responsibility he never wanted, but not the first.

“Don’t call me that,” he sighs, leaning back in the throne he was meant to ascend in a handful of days. Bo-Katan had been watching him with simmering distrust, but every day seemed to lessen her ire. The traditions are foreign to him, wishing for the cool anonymity of the underground tunnels he grew up in. Mand’alor the Reluctant, he was sure they’d call him.

“Just trying to get used to it myself,” you say, leaning your hip against the stone arm. Din looks up at you and tries not to choke on his tongue. It’s never enough to say you’re beautiful, or whip-smart, or resilient. You’re truly the most constant part of his heart.

“Sit with me?” he asks, reaching out for your hand. Gladly taking it, you round the throne and perch on Din’s thighs, letting him wrap his arms around and pull you close. You rest your head on his shoulder in the soft spot between his paudron and helmet. It was the first place your affections fit perfectly all that time ago, when Din Djarin was only Mando and you were only a nuisance on his ship. 

“What’s troubling you?” you ask, letting your fingers burrow into the cowl around his neck. With practiced slowness you inch your fingers under the helmet and cup the back of his neck, soft strands of hair entwining and the scratch of his beard under your thumb. You only know his face by touch, and exactly how to give it to soothe your beloved.

“I’m too old for this,” he grumbles, bubbling a laugh between your lips. “Too set in my ways. Too much of the Watch, of a beroya, of anything but a leader.” He squeezes you tighter, letting the helmet rest on the crown of your head. It’s a weight you’re happy to bear.

“You have a council, and Bo-Katan. The Armorer, and Paz, even though he drives me nuts,” you list, a little of his tension easing. “And you have me,” you add just a little quieter than the rest. 

“Thank the Maker, I hold your opinion in the highest regard,” Din says, and you chuff against his chest. “I do,” he protests when you snort. 

“I don’t believe the Mandalorians will accept the council of an outsider,” you say, trying to hide your rueful tone. You’d been on the fringes of plans thus far, a perturbance when you enter a room. Trying not to take it personally, you’d kept to your rooms and waited for the brief moments you could steal with Din. Most were short-lived, snuffed out by sleep or pressing duties, but in the deep dark of your bedroom you could still kiss the man you loved. 

“They will accept yours,” Din says, bite in his tone that zings naughty arousal up your spine. You rub your thumb soothingly along his jawline.

“I don’t need to be seen, or heard. I can serve you in other ways,” you say, the double entendre not lost on either of you. Din’s touch grows from comforting to all-encompassing, hands kneading at your thighs and hips.

“Is that so?” he says, seduction thick on his tongue. “How would you serve your Mand’alor now?”

Turning in his lap, you slide back against his hips to nestle your ass along his hardening cock.

“So you like the title now?” you tease, dragging against him as he stifles a groan. 

“I like being yours,” he manages to grit out, making butterflies dance in your stomach. For a man of few words, Din always knows the ones to choose. “Can I have you here, Cyare? Right now?” He cups your mound and grinds the heel of his hand against it, palming your breast and circling your clothed nipple just the way you like it. Heat builds in your cunt, the insistent press of Din’s cock against you quieting the nerves.

“Let me serve you, my Mand’alor,” you purr out, and if he wasn’t worked up before he is now. Two thwaps of leather and he’s yanking your pants halfway down your thighs, ripping open his own to release his cock. His bare hands soothe your overheating skin, circling your clit gingerly as he nudges against you.

“Don’t know how much time we have,” he whispers before the heavy clunk of the helmet spikes your heart rate.

“Din, anyone could…” you protest, but his lips on your neck silence you.

“Many walk another path,” he says, dragging his cock through your folds. “Maybe I can too.”

The implication of Din’s words distract from his thick length splitting you open, a loud whine bringing his hand to cover your mouth. 

“Cyare, be quiet for me. I don’t want them to see you stretched on my cock. That’s for me, and me alone.”

He punches up into your noisy cunt, wet slaps and heavy breathing echoing through the great hall. Bracing your hands on the throne, you meet his thrusts, fingers slipping over your lips and dipping into your mouth. Every time he buries inside you, stars erupt, explode into glittering constellations across your vision. His fingers are sloppy on your clit, panting in your ear and whispering how good you feel around him, how precious you are, strings of words in Mando’a you can’t understand except for cyare, and kar’ta. 

“Can I fill you up, Cyare?” he rasps, strokes getting shorter and his fingers frantic. 

“Please, Din,” you gasp, back bending like a bow before your pleasure snaps. He guides your hips to buck against him as he pounds into your quivering cunt, spilling his seed as he moans brokenly into your skin. 

Slumping back into the uncomfortable throne, Din takes you with him. You’re a little stiff against him, making his bare hands wander.

“Was that okay?” he asks, sudden very aware of how exposed you both are, half clothed and without his helmet. You lace your fingers with his, taking a deep breath.

“Did you mean it? You want to walk both paths?” you ask, and it clutches at Din’s heart. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, engulfing you in his arms.

“Maybe one day. But not yet. There’s still much I’m not ready to meet without all I’ve known protecting me,” he says. You nod, reaching up to stroke along his cheek. He melts into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand. 

Once you’ve redressed, Din’s helmet replaced and your clothes straightened, he cups your mound again.

“Keep me inside until I come to you tonight?” he asks, making you shudder and give him a sultry smile. Then you leave, and he’s alone with his thoughts again. Well, not the same thoughts. Some new ones.

First, that in a few days he’s to ascend the throne, and all that comes with taking a station he’s never wanted. 

Then, that he would rather not do it alone.

The night before his coronation, he will lead you to one of the gardens those who remained tended so carefully. Among the flowers of a world he would soon rule, he would ask you to be his riduur, and remove his helmet. The first to see his face would be you, whether or not he chooses to walk both paths one day. And you would walk the path with him, beside him, The Reluctant and the Resilient, exactly how it should be.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[obislittleone]

What Once Was Mine

Chapter 11

Summary: Locked away in a house her entire life, she always dreamed of exploring the nearby kingdom for just a day, believing it could make the rest of her days in solitude bearable. What she was unaware of, was the real reason she’d been hidden away for so long. Changes comes swift like a flying dagger when a thieving bounty hunter seeks solace in the old home.

Din Djarin Royalty!AU / Tangled!AU

Pairing: Din Djarin x Princess Kryze!Reader

A/n: okay so there’s one more part after this one and then I’ll just probably start posting a series that’s like half finished but its in my drafts… and alsos the indy fic

Warnings: oh boy kinda a lot… mentions of death, having beatings take place, several scenes with blood… there’s a mention of beheading… sadness and depression idk. Uncomfortable situations fr… imprisonment and degradation again bc why not

Bo Katan sat on the stool across from you, watching with both anxiety and pride as you were being fitted with a traditional suit of Mandalorian beskar armor.

“You wear it well,” she commented, seeing the look on your face as you held the helmet in your hands. It matched the chest plate and the pauldrons in which were being placed upon each shoulder. They both carried the signet of the blue owl, and the etchings looked as though they had been carved ages ago. “I know you won’t disgrace it the way I have.”

You turned to her with sad eyes. She regrets the day she lost to Gideon, all but throwing the fight and losing everything she had in only a moment. She yielded, and that’s what everyone knew, but little did they know the cause as to why. She was a strong fighter, she would not have lost it had it not been for a certain someone.

“You did the best you could have done,” you assumed, trying to give an encouraging smile, though your nerves made the corner of your lip twitch in an awkward way.

“No, I didn’t. I gave in,” she paused, heaving a sigh and shaking off the wave of memories. “Gideon challenged me when I was only sixteen. I felt I was unready to be queen, so I faltered and let him win.”

“What?”

The surprise in your tone matched the wide eyed stare you wore on your face, the gears in your head working overtime to try and process why she might have done such a thing.

“There were things expected of me, and I wasn’t ready to commit to them… I once had a love like yours, but being queen meant I would be forced to give it up.” Her brows furrowed as she spoke of the past, an inkling in her mind wanted her to share it with you, but she was unsure if she was a good idea. You already had enough pressure on your shoulders.

“Bo,” you wanted her to feel your sympathy, to know that with your love’s life on the line, you could partially understand her feelings.

“After I lost the fight, that love was taken from me anyway. The King made fast enemies in the land, and drafted an entire army to rid him of all the people that stood in the way of his rule. The man I intended to marry was killed and I was powerless to stop it.”

“I’m sorry…” you trailed off, remaining silent for a few moments until you caught sight of yourself in the reflection of another chest plate hanging on the wall. You looked mighty and strong. “Gideon will be defeated, I promise. I will finish what you started.”

“I shall hope with everything in me that your strength will not falter in battle. I know you will do right by your hunter,” she nodded, taking the helmet from your hands and placing it atop your head. The metal felt warm around you, but the T shaped opening in the front gave you a sense of exact focus. As long as your eyes remained on Gideon, you would be set in your mission to kill him.

You’d never killed anyone before, and growing up you swore you never would, knowing the brutality of your powers was exactly why you were hidden away… you always said that violence was not your way, but this man had cheated you, lied to you and publicly humiliated you on more than one front. If all of that was not bad enough, the way he’d treated Din topped it all. The blood that had stained the edges of your beautiful green sleeves the night prior, it was thick and dark. Just like it had been when he crossed paths with death before. Your kidnapper who had tried to kill him was child’s play compared to the enemy you now faced. He held the power of the kingdom in his hands, and you needed to physically destroy him in order to stop him.

Din’s sentencing to death was paused temporarily, for the duel of rulers would take priority over the hanging of a single criminal. You only hoped he was alright, being stuck in a cage where he didn’t belong. He was like a bird with clipped wings, unable to fly or flourish or do anything in the confines of his small cell.

It was only a matter of time before you set him free, and that was what you kept your mind on as you prepared to meet your opponent.

-

You’d been given a sword and shield to battle with, though they were heavy and you didn’t really need them. You’d gone over the rules with Bo Katan several times, and every time there had not been a rule against using ones magical powers… none else ever living in Mandalore seemingly possessed them.

You’d been standing in a room, overhearing the crowd shouting in the arena outside. The horseback ride on the way to said location was short, barely outside of the castle walls, but it gave you too much time to think about how things might possibly go wrong. You were stronger than him by far, and your motivation to fight was growing even now, but a small yet powerful voice in your head told you it was going to end poorly. You could lose your footing or get distracted. If you let your guard down even once, it would be over.

The door opening stopped your intrusive thoughts from rampaging, but the face on the other side made your skin crawl.

“What are you doing here?”

King Gideon chuckled darkly before entering the room. He was alone, but that didn’t make him any less of a threat at the moment. You couldn’t touch a hair on his head before the canon sounded, but anything he said or did now could easily take your mindset and make it even worse.

“If you’d care to take a quick stroll, I think there’s something you should see,” he spoke heavy, a smirk rising to his cheeks. He held his hand out towards the doorway, and you knew that he wouldn’t leave until you followed along with his charade, so you passed him and walked through the door. You noticed that with all your armor and thick sole boots, you were almost as large in frame as he was. It made you feel stronger in some way.

“Make it quick,” you turned to him, not allowing a hint of emotion to show through your voice. You wouldn’t let him have anything on you, not one show of anger or even a clenched fist to show he’d caused it.

His steps were mockingly slow from there, but it didn’t take long before he reached a staircase. He gestured for you to go first, and you did, climbing up what you counted to be three flights before there was another door. You looked back to the King, and he nodded, so you entered. You appeared to be on the top level of the arena, overlooking the kingdom. Three stories up, and you wondered if he’d perhaps dragged you up here to push you off. He was still King, and if he had, he’d be the ruler nonetheless, even if it was a cowardly move, he could still do it.

“If you’d care to sight see with me, I believe you’ll find a particular scene down there to your interest.”

You shifted your eyes over the ledge, and froze to your place.

Your small green child was held in a cage meant for a bird, his coos and cries for help being ignored by the palace guards keeping watch. On the ground beside him was Din, curling in on himself as three men beat him to a pulp. They kicked and yelled at him, watching in fake pity as he tried his best to fight back. He was in no condition to fight in the first place, nor was he strong enough after not being fed for two days.

“Stop them,” you turned to Gideon, your fiery gaze burning through his exterior for a moment, as he almost looked afraid. You still carried the sword made of Mandalorian iron, an impenetrable metal that could cut him down where he stood. He took a step back and immediately felt the power shift. This could still work to his advantage. “Stop them, now!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’ve given my last orders as King before the duel, and as per tradition, my rule will be ceased until it is over,” he raised his hands, as if this was not his plan all along, to lure you here and allow you to see with your own eyes the man you loved being beaten to death. “I do hope for your sake he lives until the battle, for then you have a chance to save him.”

You weren’t going to let this happen. Everything you did was to protect the ones you love, and now they were being held against their will, one of them being tortured on your behalf, simply because the King couldn’t touch you, yet.

At this very point you didn’t care about the rules, only that an end was put to this man. A man who so viscously would steal from you everything you had for the reason of revenge. You drew your sword from the sheath at your hip, swinging it over your head and straight at him. But this was what he wanted, and he’d been prepared. He ignited the Dark Saber and blocked your strike, counter attacking and hitting your vambrace, which burned like fire. You retreated for only a second before again throwing the blade towards his body, which was deflected for a second time by his glowing weapon. It turned the metal of the sword red with heat, and not even a moment later, the sword was hit away from your hands by another rough strike.

Gideon stared you down, the saber inches away from your neck. You could feel the warmth emanating from where it was held, and tried your best to stay still. Even a flinch could end your life.

“Save it for the arena,” he said smugly before disengaging his weapon and handing yours back to you. You took it quickly, and turned to leave. If there was still time, you could tell Bo about the guards behind the building. She was a skilled fighter, perhaps she could stop them from killing Din until the fight was over.

As soon as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you’d been pulled by the arm.

“Where were you? It’s less than two minutes until the canon is lit,” Mayfeld seemed stressed, like he’d been looking for you for ages. Truth be told, you weren’t supposed to leave the room they put you in until it was time, so already you’d gotten them on the tips of their toes.

“Mayfeld, you have to listen to me,” you tried to make him stop walking, to slow down at least so the words could come out while he was paying attention.

“It’ll have to wait until after the fight. You’re supposed to be out there already,” he kept on, practically dragging you with him until you reached a chain drawn entrance, the wooden slab being lowered to the ground.

“No, you don’t understand he’s-“

“You’re going to be fine, just remember what Bo said.”

And with that, you were shoved into the arena. You turned towards the center of it, hearing the people of the land cheering. You stood in fear of the events around you, seeing as though you had been thrust into the middle with no where to go. There was only one way out, and that was the death of Gideon, the faux King of Mandalore.

You looked to the other side of the arena, and sure enough… the second wooden slab was lowered until it hit the dirt, and behind it stood your opponent. His stance was wide, and it angered you to see how arrogantly he strolled in. His weapon was activated, and he dragged it next to him in the dirt, creating small fits of dust to fly in the air behind his steps.

He stopped about ten feet away from you, pointing to the top of the arena where you both were just standing only minutes ago. The canon had been raised, and the fuse had been lit, the flame getting closer and closer until the loud boom was heard, echoing through the sky.

You held your weapon steady, making sure your helmet was secure before charging him. You struck first, making contact with his saber, while he quickly rebuttals against you. You were fired up, and so was he. The crowd was only background noise as this feud ending battle commenced.

-

Bo had been made aware of the hunter’s disappearance from his cell. She snuck in that morning to try and get him into a safer location until after the fight, but found that he’d been removed, the cell at the end of the block being completely empty when she went in. She hadn’t however found him in time to prevent the horrendous beatings he’d received. At the sound of the canon, she left her place on the ground level of the arena, going outside to inspect the guards that had been rotating to a discreet location.

When she saw the hunter on the ground, covered in his own blood, she leapt into action immediately. She pulled the knives from her boots and threw them straight forward, killing out the only guards who had been armed. They dropped to the ground before her as the other three stopped their attack on Din to focus on her. She was a threat by all means, and they remember the fight she put up at her young age of sixteen. Now, it was likely she could kill a man with her bare hands.

“Who’s first?” She quipped, stepping in front of Din and tilting her head to the one in the center. He looked as if he was waiting to get a piece of her, and was all too confident he would be able to. “You.”

Just as anticipated, he ran towards her, arms flailing about and voice ringing out a battle cry. He was all bark, unfortunately, as she caught him before he made contact, gripping under his shoulder and twisting just right until his shoulder was out of socket. She grabbed his neck and bashed his head over her knee and he went down to the ground, writhing in pain and out of his clear consciousness as the next man charged after her. She kicked out in front of her this time, letting his weight carry him backwards, all she had to do then was land a hard sock on his jaw and he collapsed over top of the last one. The man left standing was not in any hurry to rush her, but he’d been waiting, watching strategically until the others were out of the way. He would wait for her to make the first move, he was the smart one.

She had come to the conclusion he would wait for her, so she turned to Din, seeing that he’d started to pick himself up, and gave him an order. “Take the child, and go.”

He was barely able to hold himself at a seating position, but he gave a nod, beginning to drag himself towards the bird cage sat in the corner atop a barrel.

Bo faced the man head on, taking one step, two, three, and then one more. She struck him hard in the shoulder, and he stumbled back, but didn’t fall. He came back at her with force, blocking her attempt at a kick and using her leg as momentum to send her into the wall. Her back hit the concrete hard, and she nearly lost the air from her lungs, but she wasn’t finished. He came closer, and she feigned lack of awareness long enough to get him right in front of her. From there she let the knee jerk upwards, kicking him between the legs and hearing him groan. He didn’t back off like she’d hoped, and grabbed her fists, holding her to the wall. He used his own knee as a way to mock her, jabbing into her stomach several times until she felt sick. She tried to bend over in hopes it would soothe the pain, but he grabbed her throat, pushing her against the wall once more and looking her straight in the eye.

“You’re weak now, just like you were then.”

And suddenly, the pressure on her throat was gone. The man in front of her stood still, his features becoming like ice, and then he fell to the ground. Bo took in a deep breath, leaning over like she’d intended to earlier. She saw the arrow that had pierced the back of the man before her, and looked up to see Mayfeld rushing to her aid while holding a cross bow. She had never been so grateful to see him.

“Are you alright?” He gave her a hand and helped her to stand straight, looking her over for any additional injuries.

“I’m fine,” she told him, squeezing his hand lightly to assure him what she said was true. “How’s the fight?”

“Bad… she’s losing.”

The last thing Mayfeld saw before coming to find Bo was you getting knocked down, unable to get up for the way Gideon stepped on your chest plate.

Bo looked to the end of the alley, seeing Din holding the child and barely beginning to hobble away. He used the wall to lean against, but she knew they could help him easier. She knew what they needed to do in order for the fight to be turned around.

“She needs to see him,” she muttered, taking steps towards the man as he barely turned the corner. “Hunter..”

He turned as quickly as he could, careful not to drop the kid in the process of doing so.

“Come with me,” she took the child from his hands, handing him off to Mayfeld who followed her over. “Can you walk?”

He tried to push himself away from the wall and take a step, but he nearly fell to his knees. His grunts of pain when Bo caught him meant he was injured to the point of being bed ridden. She hauled him back up, tossing his arm over her shoulder, and began to strong arm him towards the gate of the arena. Hoping that if she could just get him into your view, it would change the ending of this battle.

He groaned with every step they took, but didn’t complain, and kept on towards the entrance, hearing the loud echoes of cheers whilst the competitors fought to the death. He looked down the tunnel, and saw something he hoped he’d never see.

You were on the ground, back against the dirt, while Gideon knelt over top of you. His saber was so close to your face, you felt as if you might catch on fire. Your sword was the only thing standing in the way of your fast approaching death, and you knew you had nothing left in you. You would die at the hands of an evil man, one who may have killed the ones you love, one who abuses his power, and the people he’s supposed to care for.

You looked into his eyes, your scared expression was evident, and he reveled in it. To see the fear in your eyes before he killed you, it felt too good to be true. Everything he’d said and done before this fight was the reason it was going the way it had. You couldn’t focus your power enough to use it, and every time you tried, it only backfired on a worse attack towards you.

“You were my biggest foe, princess, a worthy opponent. I will remember you during the rest of my rule,” he leaned in closer, forcing his blade so close it singed the hair that had been sticking out of it’s binds. You’d lost your helmet about thirty seconds into the battle, and nothing was stopping him from running you through to the ground.

You closed your eyes, ready to except your fate…

“Mesh’la,” the whisper was not even heard aloud, but in your mind. Whatever power you still possessed in you was willing you to hear his words, spoken under his breath and practically into the void.

You opened your eyes, turning your head to catch the sight. The tunnel was opened, and hanging onto Bo Katan was your hunter, the one this was all about. He looked bruised and bloody, but he was here, and he was alive. Standing behind him was Mayfeld, who cautiously held onto your small green child, the one you’d been in companionship with for so long, now. They were both here, and you weren’t going to let them watch you get killed, not at the hands of this man.

Din wasn’t sure how, but he knew you had heard him.

You gathered all the strength in your body and pulled your legs in, kicking his body off of you and back several feet. He was quickly steadied again, as were you, but your stare was no longer afraid, it was determined. This was the gaze he’d been so frightened of before.

You lunged for him, swinging over your head and across your body, hitting his saber multiple times before he tripped and fell back on the ground. You used your power to pull the Dark Saber from his hands and into your own. He barely made it to his knees before you were stood over him, both blades crossed by his throat, waiting to behead him.

He looked up to you, speechless as to how you were able to accomplish this feat. He had always been arrogant, but pride comes before a fall, and his knees could attest to that.

“Last words?”

He swallowed in a shaky manner. Let it not be said that he would die with words unspoken… he’d rather not die at all.

“Allow me to make a deal on my surrender,” he pleaded, begging for the same chance he’d given Bo Katan all those years ago. He may have spared her life, but you weren’t thinking of being so kind in return. Of all the things he’d done, he deserved to die on this field.

You stood still for a moment, and pondered what your terms of a deal may be.

“I offer you two more days, of which you will be beaten until you cannot stand, and starved from any sustenance you may require… sundown on the second day you will be executed,” you stopped for a moment to see the look on his face become even more grim. The man was a shell of himself, and of that you were proud. “Death by hangman’s noose.”

It was comical, really. Two more days to live out the torture he’d put Din through, only to die anyways, in the same way he’d meant for Din to die. He was not going to be permitted to live, because even behind closed bars, he was dangerous… you also knew he would never accept the deal.

“If you will only mock me, do away with me, now.”

The famous last words of King Gideon the ruthless.

The blades crossed each other and slid with ease, ridding the world of the man who ruled this land with tyranny. You’d never killed anyone in your life, but this didn’t feel wrong, it felt empowering. You’d slain the enemy, just as the knights in your stories would slay dragons and viscous beasts that scoured the land.

You heard the crowd erupt once more, and a loud announcement, but you paid no mind to it. You began to run, your slight limp carrying you to the tunnel with which your hunter was waiting. He fell into your arms as Bo let go of his form, and though your strength was again wavering, you held him close as if he were the most important thing in the world. You were too worn to heal him for now, and you might be for a day or two, but you could spend that time taking care of him in other ways, simply being by his side and making sure he was there with you.

-

The light peering in through the window of the Queen’s suite was only bright enough to make a small beam that reflected onto the ground. It was early morning, but the sun rose earlier here than it did in other parts of the kingdom. The castle always saw the first light.

Din shifted uncomfortably in bed, his shoulders still being the sorest part of him. He was rather broad, like the west mountains that separated Mandalore from the hillside people of Nog. He was broad and strong, but he felt he was anything else at the moment. He tried to sit up, but a pain shot through him and he groaned.

That’s when he saw you, rushing to his aid from a lounge seat that you’d undoubtedly been sleeping on through the night. You gently grabbed his upper arm, trying to get him to lay back down.

“Easy, big guy,” you knew he was probably confused as to where he was, since he’d practically passed out on the horse ride back to the castle, and required major help in getting to your chambers. Everyone insisted he go back to his own, that others could care for him easily there, but you weren’t about to let him out of your sight as long as you could help it. You were a good care taker, yet only one could ever attest to that, and he didn’t talk. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“Did you sleep on the chair?” He responded almost immediately, though it was not what you were thinking he’d say. It was very much like him to be falling apart and in need of constant care, yet being too concerned for your own being to obey your directions. He sat straight up, looking to you for an answer.

“Yes, I wanted to be close to you.”

He furrowed his brow and reached out for you. It hurt the muscles in his body to do so, but he grabbed your hand anyways.

“Could have slept with me, Mesh’la,” he whispered just loud enough to hear, bringing your hand to his mouth for a kiss. You smiled at the gesture but shook your head.

“The physician told me you were not to be disturbed,” you sat down next to him, allowing yourself to disturb him only a little for the sake of your comfort, and the need to feel him beside you. “Everything that happened yesterday, and the day before… it’s almost impossible that you were able to make it out alive.”

“If your plan was to get rid of me, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Your soft chuckle was music to his ears, as he’d not heard it in days, and thinking about it was one of the only things keeping him on his feet whilst all he wanted to do was fall. You gripped his hand that was holding yours, squeezing it once before letting go and beginning to get up.

“You should eat something,” you turned to him while pulling on a dressing robe, much thicker than the one you were used to. It would keep you warm until the sun had fully risen, as parts of the castle were freezing in the early morning. “I’ll be back.”

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, just as you had done a few nights prior. That night had been so beautiful, it only made sense that Gideon would have ruined it… but now he was gone for good, and no one would ever be disgraced by him again. You looked back to Din and saw the fave h was giving you. “Please.”

You were a victim of those brown eyes, you swore they’d be the death of you… and what a wonderful way to go. There was no way you’d ever deny him, not when he sat there on your bed, looking like the human personification of softness. You shrugged off your robe, laying it back over the chair it had been in earlier, and crossed the room to where he was sat. You threw up the sheets and blankets and crawled in beside him, laying down on the pillow and looking up at him.

He ran his fingers over the side of your face, tracing the outline of your cheek and jaw, finally reaching down to your neck. There was a burn scar forming there, not even an inch wide but evident enough to him.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, thinking out loud. The words hit your ears and made you smile, which in turn spread a grin across his own face. He hadn’t kissed you since your shared dance on the cobblestones of the castle garden, and he felt he needed to. Leaning down the way he did should have hurt him tremendously, but something about the way your lips met his made all the pain subside. It was quick and gentle, but it sustained him.

You wished for more, but weren’t about to push your bounds, knowing he was definitely still in pain that he would never admit to.

He laid beside you and opened his arms for you to scoot in. It was very improper, for him to hold you this way and under the blankets of your own bed, but it was only you and him, and the door blocking you both from the outside world was not to be crossed by any means. Bo was taking care of everything in the Kingdom for now, as you’d asked her to do so until Din was on his feet. You were the Queen, now… though there was no official coronation, you were acting ruler of Mandalore. It would be a large responsibility, but you felt you were up to the task. Din knew this as well, for he saw the kindness of your heart and the goodness of your mind. All those years of innocence really shaped your outlook on the world, and you still beheld it with beauty. He only hoped that all the horrible things you’d been through wouldn’t give you a bitterness that may oppose your gentle spirit.

The sun kept rising, and the day began… but you and your hunter were tucked away from the busying kingdom, finding rest and comfort in each other after a trial of great proportions.

-

Tags: @i-ameri-cant@littlemisspascal@fanfics-toread@icanbeyourjedi@castleallherown@mysticalgalaxysalad @princess-prettyy @67impalagirl13@agingerindenial@childrenofthewatch@insomniac-nerd-posts-things@marjoherbo@juletheghoul-main@tiredbuthappy@themand0lorian@janebby@goldielocks2004@yuiopiklmn ​ @oh-no-who-am-i ​ @appleejuice ​ @luxmundee @belovedadam @seninjakitey ​@harriedandharassed @notsosecretspy

[yourmumsc0ck]

NER KAR'TA (4)

"My heart"

'THE RECONCILE'

Summary: A time after the Purge, Bo-Katan runs into an old 'acquaintance' as she roams the galaxy alone

Bo-Katan Kryze x fem!ClanVizslaR

(Can be read individually)

Word count: 1.8k

"Imperial security checks ahead, have identichips ready. Imperial security checks ahead..." the monotonous drone of the announcement resonates from the speakers across the cramped street in a slightly unsynchronised echo. Being pulled along with the turbulent tide of city night goers, even Bo couldn't navigate her way out of the crowd that she had found herself so suddenly immersed in.

Despite the cloudless night sky far above, the overwhelming darkness of the atmosphere meant the permanent streams of starship underbelly lights replaced the static stars. The only sources of light at ground level came from boldly lit storefronts advertising all manners of exotic items. However, the cramped, high-walled street meant almost all of these lights were permanently obscured by curtains of passers by or sheets of stiffly vertical rain.

"Understood," a stormtrooper states firmly to member of the crowd, whose figure was covered by a low-hanging, dark robe. The torrential rain pommels off every sky-facing surface, which includes Bo's exposed head. As dripping auburn hair falls into her face and obscures her view, the former Mand'alor only catches a glimpse of the dark figure merging back into the sea of people.

Helmet firmly under her arm and cloak, Bo focuses on finding her way out of this situation: she has no identification, and any facial scan would send her straight to the ISB for definite execution. She hadn't battled this long through her life to lose at surprise ID checkpoint.

Slowly inching her way to the right side of the street, she finds herself uncomfortably close to the row of stormtroopers attentively monitoring the process. Bo knew she had to make a break for it soon.

Looking up a little, she hopes her semi-clear view of the galaxy above would not be her last. It was too soon to say goodbye.

Inhaling deeply and grasping the hilt of her holstered hand blaster, Bo steps out of the crowd and tries to slip away between two groups. Despite her efforts, it was almost inevitable that she would be spotted.

"Hey! You there!" the slight augmented voice of a trooper calls out sharply as he lifts his blaster, "Stop where you are!"

Revealing her fire arm, Bo shoots before he can, the pinpoint shot sending him into a crumpled heap.

"Stop!-"

Another falls to her blaster shot, but she hadn't expected the reinforcements to surround her with such quick coordination.

"Hands up! Drop your weapon!" the stormtrooper ahead of her yells.

Bo refuses: she won't go down so easily.

"I said: hands up-" the man continues, taking two steps forward. Bo raises her blaster quickly, ready to fire, "Drop it-"

"Stop!" a strangely familiar voice cuts through the already turbulent situation. To her left, Bo watches with confusion as the hooded figure from earlier emerges. In the fractured darkness of the street, their face is still obscured, "I am ISB Lieutenant Paxton, and this rebel is under my custody."

'Oh, kriff," Bo thinks with a sense of almost humorous dread, "Maybe I should've got myself shot."

"Sir, may I see some identification?" the nearest one asks with a deep, clipped tone.

There's a moment's pause, before the figure responds, "Yes... if you must."

Holding out the indentichip for examination, the trooper quickly stiffens and holds his blaster to his side, "Sorry, sir. Would you like an accompanying guard, sir?"

"No, that won't be necessary, trooper," the voice dismisses him, before approaching Bo in two measured steps, "This rebel will not attempt to fight me, if she knows what's best for."

"Very well, sir."

"You are dismissed," the others all hurry away. Arm suddenly twisted behind her back, Bo finds herself being pushed forcefully down a deserted alley way, winding through a maze of identically depressive streets.

"Get off me, you-" surprisingly, the supposed ISB agent lets go before even having to complete her demand. Bo watches the still-concealed figure, before asking with indigent confusion, "Who are you?"

"You are a very different woman to find, Kryze," you respond slowly, watching as her eyes search desperately under your hood for any glimpse of your appearance.

"Who are you?" she asks again, slowing and emphasising each word. You can see why she was such an intimidating Mand'alor.

"I got word from various contacts of a 'lone Mandalorian female with blue and white armour'. It had to be you," you continue, "didn't make the journey to track you any shorter. Like really, Canto Bight? Daiyu?"

Bo pauses, as if realising that this person is no ordinary bounty hunter or recruiter. However, they also couldn't be from the Empire. This time, with caution and deep thought to her words, she asks again, "...Who are you?"

You let out a slight huff: you thought she might have worked it out herself. With the rain still pouring between you like a thick, translucent pane of scratched glass, you tug down your hood and immediately feel the pummelling droplets cascading over every inch of your exposed head.

Despite being able to see her for the past few minutes, it's different to see her when she can see you as well. It had been so long, yet she and her gaze had changed so little. Both her gaze for people, and her gaze for you.

"...Mesh'la?" she takes a tentative step forwards, watching you as intently as she always did. However, this time you can see into her eyes as well (something which her heavily guarded persona used to conceal so steadfastly). She appears almost... nervous. But how could that be?

"Bo- I-" your words catch. Despite practicing a whole range of ways this could go, all memory of that preparation was lost down the gutter along with the tidal curtains of sweeping rain. As she takes another step, it's apparent that she is becoming even clearer; every curve and ridge of her face was so familiar.

"You died..." she mumbles, her face falling to a concernedly disappointed one as she almost appears to be trying to wake herself from a vision of sorts. That wasn't quite how you saw this going. You had had your fair share of near-lethal run ins with the Empire, but none that- oh...

Tenad 3 Major: a run of the mill, mid-rim trade port which had an unusually lucrative cargo going through it a few years ago. Now, to all of your sources - including your initial informant and semi-boss at the time - it was barely guarded with anything more than a couple of TIEs. Easy work. Except... it really wasn't. A few mistimed proton bombs and another volatile cargo shipment (doing what volatile shipments do) later, and the Empire had declared you dead. Or, 'perished with indistinguishable incineration' was there exact phrasing.

"Tenad was a mess, but I'm fine..." the vast burn marks from the proton blast and general anarchy said differently. However, with some backstreet modshop appointments and a few too many of those bacta viles later, and you looked significantly less like fried Bantha fodder than before. Didn't mean you felt less like it though.

"Your ear..." of course she noticed so quickly. With a face of pure concern, her exposed fingertips reach up to brush the freezing, rain-covered metal surface.

Despite keeping it exposed because you thought it looked pretty badass, you begin feel slightly insecure. What if she doesn't like it? It's not very Mandalorian, is it?, "I've been meaning to, uh, cover it up, but- but I-"

"I like it, cyar'ika," she smiles lightly, the slight tense in her jaw and static nature of her eyes telling you she hadn't done that in a while. But you loved the sight. Tracing around the shape, her finger follows down to where the metal binds back with the skin by your jaw. As she crosses the boundary, you shiver at the contact, "It's been so long... I feel like I know nothing about you anymore."

"You know everything important, cyare," you lean slightly into her touch. There's a clear Rancor in the room however, so you decide to get it over with, "I'm so sorry... about the Purge, that is... I- you..."

She notices how you get lost again, choking up at the thought of losing your home so permanently beyond your reach. For you, Mandalore was not a place; it was foremost a people. And those people were so brutally gone.

"It wasn't the planet... it was my clan; my people beyond that. I was lost, but I still slept. That was, until I hear you were dead, and I never even got the chance to protect you..." you step forward as her eyes glaze, knowing this moment of such vivid vulnerability was something she wasn't used to. You grab her free hand, pulling away layers of the rain between you until it is only a thin veil, "All I could see was your burning armour, and smoke, and a wreckage, and you just being gone, and-"

"Shh, cyare..." you reach your hand up to her rain-soaked cheek and hold it with tantalising delicacy as you ghost your finger over the edge of her cheek bone. The dim night - interrupted intermittently by dashing streaks of transport lights above - condenses and confines itself into the high-walled, cramped alley like a compressed blanket, pushing you even further together. You breath, "One day, you will balance those nights lost with ones of pure nothingness. And I will be here... if you want me, that is."

She lets out a huffed laugh, a playfully sad smile toying on her lips, "Of course I want you, mesh'la."

Your tracing stops as you fix your position. A silent conversation passes between you, just as you imagine the mystical force to allow the Jedi to do the same. It's paralysingly small between you, however the tumbling torrents of rain still find gaps to trickle through. That and half a breath of air are all that is between you.

"You still have it," you sort of blurt out as you notice the fragment of rugged, red stone you had given her as a parting gift now hanging around her neck on a black chain.

She smiles softly, though a sad tinge creeps up and down-turns her eyes a fraction, "I couldn't hope to close my eyes for a minute without it."

There's no dramatic crash, nor are jumping sparks between you. Instead, it feels homely. The familiar feeling of your closeness had been in everything but the physical nature. The lack of rain between you had left a warm silence to enclose around you like a swaddling blanket. Neither of you deepen the tantalising connection, allowing the light brushes and urge for air to bring you back to reality.

Bo finally tilts her chin down, her forehead resting on yours, "All this time..."

"I didn't live..." you breath deeply, "because I can't live without ner kar'ta (my heart)."

Aww, wasn't that cute. Anyway, that's the end so check out the rest of the series if you haven't already!!

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 19: The Bloodied

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

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

Word count: 5.6k

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

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

--

The room fills for the final muster. 

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

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

We got this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It remains deathly quiet for a long, agonising stretch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you see it. You see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hadn’t. Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t see him again.

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

‘Stay in step,’ she yells. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fennec Shand.

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

One of the squad lunges in to attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Climb!’ he yells, urging you upwards. 

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

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

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

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

Gods, so he had been listening. 

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

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

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

‘Din!’ you cry. ‘We gotta go! Din?’

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart aches at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

‘You’re up,’ he says.

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

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

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

‘Wha— Torre? ’ you sputter.

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

‘What are y-- what is-- what?’ 

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

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

‘Another mercenary outfit inbound,’ he says.

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

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

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

‘That’s cleared,’ Din says.

‘Roger, roger,’ Torre responds.

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

A long sigh slips from the speakers.

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

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

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

‘What?’ you yelp. ‘Cephlate is here?’ 

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

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

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

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

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

‘What can you do about it?’ Din asks.

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

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

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

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

‘Copy that.’

‘You gonna cause trouble?’

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

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

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

The transmission cuts.

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

‘Huh?’ you ask.

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

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

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

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

‘You can,’ he says. ‘I know it.’

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

‘Aim,’ you say. ‘I’ll aim.’

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

Hells, how are you going to fucking do this.

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

How are you going to do this.

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

How are you—

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

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

How, how, how—

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

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

‘Ready?’ Din calls.

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

Din hurls a lever back and reefs on the controls. The Crest drops into a free fall. The rear thrusters cut and tip the boat so you’re looking up into the sky. Laser fire passes overhead as does Cephlate’s ship. The glint in the underside, the break in the shield, is plain as day to your heightened senses.

You, Grogu and the Crest lock onto it and your fingers move of their own volition, releasing a single pulse that streaks ahead. Where it hits home, exactly on target, a burst of crackling, festy grey energy widens from the spot, shimmering over the whole ship. The entire shield system drops away in a few heartbeats.

‘No!’ the warlord bellows. ‘You--!'

Din smacks the comms to another channel over the top of his cries. ‘Move in,’ he commands whoever’s on the other side. To you, ‘Keep firing!’

You’re already setting up to unleash an angry broadside along the bottom of the vessel. He hauls the thrusters back on and gives you a perfect bank for the barrage to take out its engine array. When the Crest clears the front of the ship, it wheels around and you can take aim at the top-mounted cannons.

You see several other Mandalorian jets and fighters move in weapons free, your little T-Wing among them. It and the rest send explosions to impact on all sides of the vessel. Your ship makes another turn and you get to pass again – feeling feral, you zero in on the bridge and send the bow of the ship up in flames.  

It’s not long before the monstrous dirigible is listing, tilting away from the centre of the fight, toward the chordal coast where the imps’ forward party had been encamped. It disappears over the rim of the small mountain range bisecting the landscape. Moments later, a spectacular explosion reaches toward the skies.

You watch it as the Crest’s trajectory evens out, sails across the cleared air. You scan the radar, friendly craft soar around you. 

Only the roar of wind and the groan of the ship fill the cockpit. You loosen your grip just slightly on the controls as a wide grin spreads across your face. You glance up at Din, seeing his shoulders steadily drop as he relaxes. You laugh.

‘Well that, felt incredible,’ you say. He starts to turn toward you.

A burst of static covers what he says back. A boisterous voice thunders over the speakers, declaring glorious victory and the imp forces scattering like baby womp rats, the jet-packed Mandalorians running them down with ease.

You listen, fidgeting a little as a weird pang starts to bother your side. 

The comms cuts to reports of mopping up but Din turns it to low, moving dials and flipping the landing gear into standby.

You keep your hands on the gunner grips in case any last-minute moves are needed, but try to sit up a little straighter to stretch out the tightness that is drawing your abdomen into a knot. The tension of the fight setting in, maybe?

Din leans back. ‘Guess we can head in,’ he says, moving to turn to you again. Your heart beats harder, damn near straining against your chest. ‘And maybe we can t—’

‘Ebbe!’

The tiny, panicked shriek from Grogu causes you both to whip around to him. Your concern twists your guts. A strange nervous vibration is working its way up your spine, into your skull and clouding your vision. Your mouth is filling with icy shards and your ears start ringing. 

‘Grogu?’ you say. ‘Baby, wha—’

‘No!’ Din surges from his chair.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Oh Gods, no, no, no!’

That’s when you realise that he’s not lunging at Grogu but toward you. And Grogu is fine, but he’s pointing to your middle with fear-filled eyes.

Din kneels before you and chants your name. ‘Hang on. Please just, hang on, love. Stay, stay with me, hey! Stay with me!’ His confusing demands grow fuzzy and further away as he talks.

You finally look down. The haze and hot tendrils clawing at your eyes make it hard to see, but that’s definitely something sticking out of your stomach. You move a hand to it. It’s hot, and vibrating with a quiet menace. Your fingers come away bloodied. ‘Ohhhh wha…’ You fade out.

--

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Forgive me.

Thank you so much for reading this weird little story.