#Sun Visor Market

[rushikesh-d]

Sun Visor Market To Witness the Highest Growth Globally in Coming Years

The report begins with an overview of the Sun Visor Market 2025 Size and presents throughout its development. It provides a comprehensive analysis of all regional and key player segments providing closer insights into current market conditions and future market opportunities, along with drivers, trend segments, consumer behavior, price factors, and market performance and estimates. Forecast market information, SWOT analysis, Sun Visor Market scenario, and feasibility study are the important aspects analyzed in this report.

The Sun Visor Market is experiencing robust growth driven by the expanding globally. The Sun Visor Market is poised for substantial growth as manufacturers across various industries embrace automation to enhance productivity, quality, and agility in their production processes. Sun Visor Market leverage robotics, machine vision, and advanced control technologies to streamline assembly tasks, reduce labor costs, and minimize errors. With increasing demand for customized products, shorter product lifecycles, and labor shortages, there is a growing need for flexible and scalable automation solutions. As technology advances and automation becomes more accessible, the adoption of automated assembly systems is expected to accelerate, driving market growth and innovation in manufacturing. Automotive Electrical Steering Column Lock Market Size, Share & Industry Analysis, By Vehicle Type (Passenger cars, Light Commercial Vehicle, High Commercial Vehicle), By Sales Channel (OEMs, Aftermarket) and Regional Forecast, 2022-2029

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Key Strategies

Key strategies in the Sun Visor Market revolve around optimizing production efficiency, quality, and flexibility. Integration of advanced robotics and machine vision technologies streamlines assembly processes, reducing cycle times and error rates. Customization options cater to diverse product requirements and manufacturing environments, ensuring solution scalability and adaptability. Collaboration with industry partners and automation experts fosters innovation and addresses evolving customer needs and market trends. Moreover, investment in employee training and skill development facilitates seamless integration and operation of Sun Visor Market. By prioritizing these strategies, manufacturers can enhance competitiveness, accelerate time-to-market, and drive sustainable growth in the Sun Visor Market.

Major Sun Visor Market Manufacturers covered in the market report include:

Some of the major companies that are present in the sun visor market GRIOS SRO, akciova spolecnost, KASAI KOGYO Co.Ltd, KÃBO GmbH & Co KG, Grupo Antolin, Atlas Industries Holdings LLC, GUMOTEX, Howa Co Ltd, Irvin Automotive Products Inc, FOMPAK and KB Foam Inc., among the other players.

Sun Visor also helps to keep the temperature of the vehicle low by blocking direct sun rays from entering the vehicle. It also avoids the sun rays to reach directly to the audio system, which results in the prevention of damage caused by sun rays to the system. In recent years sun visors have been the most important part of vehicles as they improve the appearance of the interior of the vehicle. Rising sales and production of vehicles and rapid urbanization globally anticipated driving the sun visor market.

Trends Analysis

The Sun Visor Market is experiencing rapid expansion fueled by the manufacturing industry's pursuit of efficiency and productivity gains. Key trends include the adoption of collaborative robotics and advanced automation technologies to streamline assembly processes and reduce labor costs. With the rise of Industry 4.0 initiatives, manufacturers are investing in flexible and scalable Sun Visor Market capable of handling diverse product portfolios. Moreover, advancements in machine vision and AI-driven quality control are enhancing production throughput and ensuring product consistency. The emphasis on sustainability and lean manufacturing principles is driving innovation in energy-efficient and eco-friendly Sun Visor Market Solutions.

Regions Included in this Sun Visor Market Report are as follows:

North America [U.S., Canada, Mexico]

Europe [Germany, UK, France, Italy, Rest of Europe]

Asia-Pacific [China, India, Japan, South Korea, Southeast Asia, Australia, Rest of Asia Pacific]

South America [Brazil, Argentina, Rest of Latin America]

Middle East & Africa [GCC, North Africa, South Africa, Rest of the Middle East and Africa]

Significant Features that are under offering and key highlights of the reports:

- Detailed overview of the Sun Visor Market.

- Changing the Sun Visor Market dynamics of the industry.

- In-depth market segmentation by Type, Application, etc.

- Historical, current, and projected Sun Visor Market size in terms of volume and value.

- Recent industry trends and developments.

- Competitive landscape of the Sun Visor Market.

- Strategies of key players and product offerings.

- Potential and niche segments/regions exhibiting promising growth.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

► What is the current market scenario?

► What was the historical demand scenario, and forecast outlook from 2025 to 2032?

► What are the key market dynamics influencing growth in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► Who are the prominent players in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What is the consumer perspective in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What are the key demand-side and supply-side trends in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What are the largest and the fastest-growing geographies?

► Which segment dominated and which segment is expected to grow fastest?

► What was the COVID-19 impact on the Global Sun Visor Market?

Table Of Contents:

1 Market Overview

1.1 Sun Visor Market Introduction

1.2 Market Analysis by Type

1.3 Market Analysis by Applications

1.4 Market Analysis by Regions

1.4.1 North America (United States, Canada and Mexico)

1.4.1.1 United States Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.2 Canada Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.3 Mexico Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2 Europe (Germany, France, UK, Russia and Italy)

1.4.2.1 Germany Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.2 France Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.3 UK Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.4 Russia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.5 Italy Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3 Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, Korea, India and Southeast Asia)

1.4.3.1 China Market States and Outlook

1.4.3.2 Japan Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.3 Korea Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.4 India Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.5 Southeast Asia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4 South America, Middle East and Africa

1.4.4.1 Brazil Market States and Outlook

1.4.4.2 Egypt Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.3 Saudi Arabia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.4 South Africa Market States and Outlook 

1.5 Market Dynamics

1.5.1 Market Opportunities

1.5.2 Market Risk

1.5.3 Market Driving Force

2 Manufacturers Profiles

Continued…

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[reportprime1]

Automotive Sun Visor Market Overview, Trends, and Future Prospects to 2030

The Automotive Sun Visor market is expected to grow from USD 2.71 Billion in 2024 to USD 3.50 Billion by 2030, at a CAGR of 4.35% during the forecast period.

Sun visors, an essential component of vehicle interiors, play a crucial role in enhancing driver visibility and protecting occupants from harmful UV rays. The market’s expansion is attributed to advancements in automotive design, increasing adoption of premium and electric vehicles, and a heightened focus on ergonomic and aesthetic improvements in vehicle interiors.

One of the primary factors driving the automotive sun visor market is the growing consumer preference for vehicles equipped with enhanced comfort and safety features. Sun visors are not only functional components that block excessive sunlight and glare but are also being redesigned to integrate advanced features such as vanity mirrors with LED lighting, storage compartments, and even embedded electronic components like touchscreens. These innovations cater to a more tech-savvy and comfort-oriented consumer base, further boosting market demand.

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Key Market Players

Grupo Antolin, Daimei, Atlas (Motus), Kyowa Sangyo, KASAI KOGYO, Hayashi, Joyson Safety Systems, IAC Group, HOWA TEXTILE, Dongfeng Electronic, Yongsan, Mecai

Market Segmentations

By Type: Sun Visor with Mirror, Sun Visor without Mirror

By Applications: Passenger Vehicle, Commercial Vehicle

The surge in electric vehicle (EV) production and adoption is also contributing to the growth of the automotive sun visor market. As EV manufacturers emphasize lightweight materials and sustainable designs, sun visors are being developed with eco-friendly materials like recycled plastics and composite fabrics. These materials not only reduce the overall weight of the vehicle but also align with the environmental goals of manufacturers and consumers. Additionally, the increased production of luxury vehicles, which often feature customized and technologically advanced interiors, is further driving market growth.

Technological advancements are playing a pivotal role in reshaping the automotive sun visor market. For instance, the introduction of smart sun visors equipped with liquid crystal displays (LCDs) and advanced sensors is gaining traction. These innovative visors adjust their transparency based on sunlight intensity, offering better protection and visibility compared to traditional visors. Some high-end vehicles now feature augmented reality (AR)-enabled sun visors that display critical driving information directly onto the visor, enhancing safety and convenience for the driver.

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From a regional perspective, Asia-Pacific dominates the automotive sun visor market due to its large automotive manufacturing base and high vehicle production volumes, particularly in countries like China, Japan, and India. The region's growing middle-class population and rising disposable incomes are driving the demand for feature-rich vehicles, further supporting market growth. North America and Europe are also significant markets, driven by stringent safety regulations, a mature automotive industry, and the increasing penetration of EVs and autonomous vehicles. These regions are characterized by a strong presence of premium car manufacturers, further driving the adoption of advanced sun visor technologies.

Despite its promising growth trajectory, the automotive sun visor market faces challenges such as the high cost of advanced sun visor systems and the relatively slow adoption of premium features in low-cost vehicle segments. Additionally, fluctuations in raw material prices and supply chain disruptions, particularly during global crises, can pose challenges for manufacturers. Nevertheless, ongoing investments in research and development and the increasing emphasis on customization and user-centric designs are expected to mitigate these challenges and unlock new opportunities in the market.

Key players in the automotive sun visor market are focusing on innovation, strategic collaborations, and expanding their product portfolios to gain a competitive edge. Companies are investing in lightweight materials, smart technologies, and modular designs to cater to the diverse needs of global consumers. Furthermore, partnerships between automotive OEMs and component manufacturers are paving the way for the development of integrated and innovative solutions that enhance both functionality and aesthetics.

[lipringlrh]

'tis the damn season | OP81

summary: cold weather and old towns reunite an old love. based on ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift.

pairing: oscar piastri x ex!reader

an: start of my winter/chirstmas series and evermore series!! i'm writing more, especically for oscar. also, i apologise for my absence, im in the middle of exams atm :/

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none!

feedback appreciated!!!

…

It had been a long time coming, seeing Oscar again. You were surprised you hadn’t run into him in other places around the country, during his breaks between races, but you didn’t know enough about him anymore to properly comment.

He hadn't been back in a while, you noticed from his instagram. You didn't like knowing what he was up to but you couldn't help but check everytime he showed up on your feed.

The first time you saw him was in a coffee shop, the one you use to frequent when you were together. You didn’t talk; you didn’t even meet eye to eye. You didn’t know if he saw you, you presumed he did but just had no interest in talking to you again. You walked right past him, surely he would’ve seen you, you thought.

He did see you but only to watch you leave. He was too focused on his phone to notice any of his surroundings whilst inside, it was only when you almost brushed past him that he felt an urge to look up. Possibly due to your familiar perfume or the familiar jacket you always wore, he didn’t consciously know, but the urge compelled him like no other. He watched you walk away, drink in hand, fighting the drive to run after you. He knew you’d seen him, he could feel it, but you didn’t say anything, using that as an excuse to hold back.

The second time you saw him was a shock too. You were parked in the rundown carpark behind the old church on the way to the early Sunday market. It was a tradition that you always dragged Oscar along to, every time parking in the same spot, the one in the top left-hand corner where the car lines seemed the least jagged, instead of the actual market's carpark, which was always too packed for your liking.

Oscar had been running around the town like a madman, visiting every place you two had ever been together. He didn’t understand it but some force inside him wanted to see you again. He didn’t know why or for what but deep down he knew he had to see you.

He pulled into the carpark, seeing very few cars parked there. He drove towards the top left but his heart dropped seeing a black toyota celica in your spot. It never crossed his mind it could’ve been you.

He bit his lip, instead parking along the same row but closer to the other side. He noticed someone in the car using the mirror in the sun visor before climbing out. He immediately recognised the jacket. How couldn’t he? Especially after he was the one who bought it for you all that time ago.

He couldn’t move. He felt frozen. His heart swelled with adoration yet he didn’t understand why. He watched you walk away again, slowly as though not the slip on the thin sheet of ice on the ground. He watched as you turned around the corner towards the market, desperate to follow but realising he was probably too late and would lose you in the crowds of people.

Instead he sat there for an amount of time he couldn’t count. He watched more cars pull in and park up and others drive away, critiquing each for just using it as a carpark and not loving it as he did. He felt stupid for thinking it but he couldn’t help it.

He almost missed you walking back towards your car as he was too focused on watching an old bmw fail to park well. He would’ve missed you completely if it wasn’t for your slight slip on the side of your pavement. You managed to catch yourself easily before brushing yourself off, peering around and hoping no one saw.

He jumped out of his car as fast as light, almost slipping himself in the process. He forgot to lock his car and just bolted toward you. As he got closer he began screaming your name whilst waving his arms, making sure you couldn’t miss him.

You recognised his voice instantly, freezing for a moment, your hand about to open your car door, before turning around to face him.

You waved back, trying not to laugh to yourself at his repeated slips on the ice due to his speed trying to reach you.

He was eventually in front of you, taking you all properly for the first time in what felt like years. He noticed you bought a new scarf: a burgundy-red one with tassels at the end. It looked warm and he couldn’t help but feel glad you were keeping cozy.

“Hi,” he spoke first, awkward as ever. His eyes were flicking everywhere but your own, barely keeping locked on anything for more than a split second.

You laughed lightly at his awkward, flustered state, glad he was the same as before, “hi, Oscar.”

His whole face brightened at hearing his name fall from your lips. He went red, smiling brighter than the sun. His eyes met yours and he just smiled, not saying anything in return.

“Have you been to the market yet? It’s gotten good again, especially now it’s getting colder,” you smiled, trying to make gentle conversation. You missed Oscar, you really did, but you thought any long conversation with him would throw you back into the deep end of feelings and you didn’t know if you could handle that.

“I was just about to, I haven’t been in a while,” he paused, looking like he wanted to say more so you kept quiet, waiting for him to continue, “do you- do you want to show me around?”

“Well, it’s pretty much the same layout as before, same people too-“

“I want you to show me around.” He stated, firmer but still soft, hoping you’d take the hint.

You nodded and began leading him towards the market again, reminiscing on old times; your time at the markets before, old snow days, and your relationship. It didn’t once feel wrong with him, even when he got awkward, the space was never awkward, it felt comforting and right.

You’d made your way around a lot of the stores, Oscar buying a few handmade cards he saw whilst you bought a mini trinket you debated buying your first time around.

You eventually reached the stall where you bought the scarf and he couldn’t help but notice the matching hat. It was the same colour with a matching pompom.

He picked up, walking closer to you so he could place it over your head, ignoring your complaints. He tugged it down, realised he pulled it too far down your forehead and pushed it back, messing up your hair until little bits were sticking out the front of the hat. He lifted the front of the hat, moving your hair around, placing it in the perfect position.

It was all out of your control but his closeness to you and ways he could fluster you with barely a touch still amazed you.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, his eyes trained on you, locking with yours rather than the hat.

He turned back towards the stall, ignoring your obvious flushed state, and finding the person selling all the hand-knitted woollens.

She was on older lady, possibly in her 60s, possibly in her 70s. She looked sweet, her demeanour radiating happiness.

“We’ll take it,” he told her, reaching for his wallet. You immediately tried to stop him, taking out your own wallet. It was a gorgeous hat, you regretted not buying it earlier, but you felt guilty for making him pay when you’ve only just seen each other again.

“Ignore her,” he grinned at the lady, handing her a note and a few coins.

She only smiled back, handing him a pre-handwritten receipt, “you two are the cutest couple around here. Don’t let my son and his girlfriend hear though.”

Oscar just smiled even more, laughing slightly before thanking her and putting his wallet back in his pocket. You were slightly shocked but just let it happen, smiling at the lady as you both walked away.

You carried on around the market, in your matching scarf and hat, completely ignoring whatever just happened. Oscar tried to buy you anything your eyes seemed to land on for more than a few seconds but you refused each time, feeling guilty.

Oscar noticed your growing irritation, he began to slow down his offers and take it easier with you, hoping he wasn't the cause.

You finished around the rest of the stalls rather quickly as Oscar didn’t have much of an interest in anything that wasn’t you. You began walking back to your cars, you quieter than before, and Oscar just locked in staring at you.

You looked down for most of the walk, deciding to not try and talk until your entering the car park again.

“Thank you, Oscar, but you didn’t need to buy me the hat. Let me pay you back please,” you asked, reaching for your purse.

He just shook his head, dismissing it as absurdity, “don’t be silly.”

“Oscar-"

“No, I told you I’d buy you anything you want, remember?” he told you with full certainty. You were reaching your car now and you both hated it, not wanting to leave each other.

You sighed, “that was when we were together, Osc, not anymore.”

He ignored every word you said, focusing on the old nickname that came out of your mouth. It made his heart beat faster and his palms get sweaty but he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Let’s be together again then,” he spoke, as it was the easiest thing he’d ever suggested. As much as you’d love it, all you could think about was the endless amount of things that could go wrong. You couldn’t handle another heartbreak, especially not an Oscar induced heartbreak. You’d never struggled particularly hardly to get over anything until it came to him. When you broke up, it shattered you both and you didn’t think you could handle that again.

“But- but what if-”

“What ifs are stupid. I know it didn’t work before but it can work again. I promise you everything that I will make this work, “ he spoke sincerely, finally reaching your car once again.

He watched your face for any signs he could recognise. He could feel your thoughts racing like second hand nature but he could see the feeling of love on your face, knowing you want this just as much as he does, it was just your own thoughts blocking you.

“I’ll show it to you, I'll prove it to you how much I want this and how I won’t give you up a second time. Give me until next weekend and I’ll show you how much I’m willing to give you my all in this,” he promised knowing he’d never mean anything this much.

Everything he felt was flowing back to him and he couldn’t imagine a life without you in it again. He knew he had been missing something and deep down he always knew it was you.

You were leant on your car, letting it hold up your weight. You were fiddling with your fingers, messing with anything to avoid looking at him. You wanted to think rationally but you knew looking up at him would mean it would all be over. You knew you loved him but you couldn’t go though another heartbreak again.

He grabbed your hands and felt immediate warmth spread all throughout him, blocking out the freezing air around him.

“Okay,” you whispered, the smile that was ghosting your face becoming full formed and beaming. You finally looked up at him and noticed he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

He pulled you in for a hug, holding you tighter than ever before. He head rested against yours and he wanted to keep it like that forever.

“Thank you,” he whispered, grateful for the opportunity and unable to express his pure admiration for you.

“There’s no need to thank me, Osc, I’d run back to you a thousands times if I could,” you replied in full honestly, your whole body full of love to give him.

“So does that mean you’ll spend the day with me? I need to get groceries and I need someone to guide me around the shop aisles.”

You laughed against him, squeezing him that little bit tighter, never wanting to let him go again.

He smiles against you, happy to hold you again, “you think I’m joking, I’m absolutely serious.”

…

feedback appreciated !!

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[octoberautumnbox]

Do you have any adult, non-sexual related fantasies involving K-pop idols?

hi anon! thats quite a venn diagram of a concept u've put me up to LMAO

~~~

The door shuts behind you with a satisfying click, and both you and Yuri make your way to the car. Leaving the porch exposes you both to the early Saturday sun, and the crisp morning breeze fills your lungs and spreads through your body like some sort of infectious positivity.

You buckle in, same as she does, and the key goes into the ignition before the car hums to life. All systems go: gear in reverse, steering wheel primed, your hand on the brake, when all of a sudden, Yuri chimes in with, "Can I see the list again?"

It stops you in your tracks, "Don't you have it?" as your thumb lingers over the button that releases the brake. "No, you took it off the fridge door, next to the keys."

"Why would my keys be on the fridge door?"

~~~

You're off, admittedly, five minutes and a trip to the kitchen and back later than you should have. Yuri pulls down the sun visor as the light gets harsher, brighter, and returns her attention to her phone to sort out her other plans for the day.

"So tailor first, for the kids' uniforms," she lists out loud, "save the cash for the grocery store. I'm paying with my card." She taps a few buttons and continues, "Then we do groceries? Is that right?"

"No, we're getting ice cream. Market first." Your eyes are focused on the road, taking advantage of the quietness of the hour to drive wide around any squirrels that have yet to get off the asphalt.

"Okay, so we get ground pork and veggies," she mutters as she rearranges her notes. "And then we also need toilet paper." She continues out loud for a few more minutes, adjusting her to-do list as she goes, and you chime in when needed or when you feel she starts getting overwhelmed.

"Is it a hard no on the succulents?" The stoplight glows red as the display beneath it counts down from 90. You look over and find her glancing back at you, and what little you can see on her screen shows you this is the last thing on her list.

"You know what, sure. As long as you can find space for it." A well-placed hand on her head puts a smile on her face, and she turns back to her phone and types a few last things out.

~~~

The grocery bags thump and crinkle onto the countertop, "Careful of the eggs, Dad," she calls from the other room, and you go through the motion of wiping imaginary sweat from your brow. Pull out the contents of each and lay them out: eggs, meats, vegetables, snacks, cups of ramyeon, toilet paper, laundry detergents, what have you.

"Good morning, Dad," your little girl mumbles from the doorway. "Morning, Chief. Take a seat," you reply, still focused on sorting out your various items. She makes her way over to the stool on the other side of the counter, rubbing the sleep out her eyes, and as she settles onto the seat, she lets out a yawn.

"Haejoon was telling me about his dream," she says, "about playing his computer game against spiders that were cheating."

"Sounds wild. Your brother can be weird like that, huh?"

"Yeah, really weird." She yawns again and rests her head on the cool tile of the countertop.

~~~

You finally pull your son's arms through the holes in his uniform. "You're gonna have to button these yourself, Champ."

"But Mom buttons Haein's for her!"

"It's because I'm younger," his sister teases, a pompous grin on her lips.

"Only by a couple minutes!"

"Settle down, you two," Yuri interrupts, perfectly timed and exactly as loud as she needs to be. "Haein, do your own buttons," Your wife's voice is loving but firm, and her daughter lets out a whine, but ultimately she does them anyway.

The two finish putting on their uniforms, and after a couple twirls to show you how they fit, both you and Yuri clap before carefully taking them off again, trying not to crease them.

~~~

With the twins fast asleep, you turn off the light behind you and shut their bedroom door. You take careful steps down the not-so-well lit stairs, remind yourself to get lights for these sometime, and join your wife on the couch.

"Is Notting Hill okay?" she asks. The cursor hovers over the movie, and the synopsis fades into the screen. She hands you a spoon and offers you the bowl of rocky road and double dutch, and you watch as her eyes scan across the tiny words.

"Sure. Are you in the mood to cry?" You take a spoonful of ice cream, and immediately the fatigue of the day disappears.

"Eh, why not. I have you here, anyway," Yuri says, and she presses the button. The screen dims and buffers, and the movie starts.

You feel a little tug and a snuggle on your sleeve, so you bring your arm around her. Plant a kiss on her hair, and watch as she brings a marshmallow to her lips. The Universal Pictures splash reflects in her eyes, and at that moment you do two things: first, brace yourself for when the tears come, and second, thank your lucky stars it's you that gets to sit here with her.

~~~

[draculasfavoritewife]

Hunted

Summary: Tatooine is a planet filled with old ghosts, and when one of yours rears its ugly head again, your Mandalorian takes matters into his own capable hands.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and minor OC death at the end. Allusions to hunter/prey roleplay and bondage, my voice kink makes a couple of cameo appearances. I the writer was particularly thirsty for Din Djarin the day I wrote this and thus take full responsibility for the results.

This is really one of the most blatantly self-indulgent things I've written, born of many long daydreaming sessions and my love for any episode where my man rubs elbows with the delightful and despicable denizens of the OG desert planet. I truly can't explain it, Tatooine Din™️ just hits me different, so please enjoy this very long fic about it.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You step into the crowded main street of the city, taking a moment to let all of your senses adjust to the stark difference. The last week or so has been spent on the ship in a cold vacuum, the gleaming blur of hyperspace and the steady thrum of engines a constant gentle halo in the background. It was nice, if a little quiet for your personal taste. Your partner certainly doesn’t talk much, and you tend to spend much of your time alone with him less conversationally inclined as a result.

He’s rubbed off on you that way. 

Now the twin suns of Tatooine scorch down on you from above, making eyes that have become accustomed to soft darkness sting. A throng of street vendors, lowlifes, and ne’er-do-wells streams through the ragtag market on all sides, moving bodies chattering nonstop in floods of Basic, Huttese, Aqualish, Droid, and snatches of more exotic tongues. 

A moment, and you feel yourself suddenly at ease again, as your brain resets back to your old lifestyle in the Core Worlds. It feels like putting on a well-loved shaak-leather coat that remembers all your contours just right. 

“You look happy,” the Mandalorian observes from beside you. 

You always wonder about him, how he's actually faring under that helmet, so shiny in this harsh light that you come away with spots in your vision after glancing at him too long. Din walks with the easy confidence of a man that’s walked these alleys many times before, but you know him more personally than most. He’s a quiet man under that shell, one who vastly prefers his solitude and finds the company of most beings in the galaxy a soul-stealing chore after two minutes. 

And unlike you, he never relaxes. 

“I am.” You side-eye him, briefly admiring his prowling stride as he diligently scans the moving figures surrounding the pair of you. “Sometimes I really like big crowds.” 

“You’re crazy,” he remarks. “This many people add too many variables.” 

“Your comment stands.” You draw closer to him in order to reach into the satchel slung across his body and ruffle the Kid’s long ears. “But to me, it’s almost easier. I can usually read people’s intentions pretty well. Bodies speak louder in crowds.” 

“I suppose.” He hasn’t stopped his surveillance yet. You can guess at how his eyes are darting here and there beneath the visor. He probably has at least two escape routes planned out already, if not more. 

You want nothing more than to tell him to relax and enjoy himself — you’re not even here on hunter business, simply to refuel and stock up on supplies before your next run — but you know that’s a useless endeavor. 

“I found that strangely hot, by the way,” you say instead, since it HAS been taking up space in your mind for some time. 

“What?” 

“Finding out you speak Tusken. That’s VERY attractive.” 

It was. When he had to negotiate with the scouts on your way into town, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at hearing his low, smoky voice bark out the harsh sounds as he supplemented his meaning with crisp sign language. 

And besides the sound of it, you certainly find it very hot for a man of his stature to be so willing and ready to communicate and settle fraught situations peacefully. 

“I — what — I don’t — ?” 

It still makes you grin, how easily flustered he is when you catch him off-guard with flirting. 

“Don’t you think so, Grogu?” You poke the Kid’s tiny nose. “Isn’t it attractive when your buir talks like that?” 

The little one squeals enthusiastically in response, probably more to your teasing than the actual question. 

“Stop that, don’t encourage her.” Din casts a disapproving look first at the Kid and then at you; it strikes you as funny how well you can translate such a simple tilt of the helmet. “And don’t you ask him that, he’s just a kid.” 

“I think you’re blushing under that bucket,” you smirk, sidling away. 

“I’m not.” 

You subside with the teasing for the time being, and the Mandalorian releases a sigh of relief as you start wandering, letting handmade jewelry and stoneware snatch your attention away from him. He’s getting better at keeping up with your rapid changes of interest, but somehow your more romantic moods still manage to get the better of him when you’re out in public. 

He blames the environment. When it’s just the two of you alone, he can see what’s coming in the slant of your lips or the way you suddenly decide to plant yourself right in front of whatever he’s working on. And he’s almost as likely to initiate now, so long as the Kid’s not in the same room. But out here, as his field of vision constantly shifts in the sea of bodies, and his right hand drifts between Grogu in his satchel and the pistol at his hip, he just doesn’t possess the bandwidth to also process what the kriff could possibly turn you on so much about his language skills. 

He tucks that particular piece of information away in a metaphorical corner, to dissect and possibly use at a later time. 

You return to him after your little side trip, flirtation seemingly forgotten for now. “I saw a ring at that one booth —” you gesture over your shoulder “— that I’m almost positive is dolovite. So pretty. I’m not even sure the vendor knows what he’s got. It’s tempting.” 

“I bet.” He notes the tone of your voice, the way you glance back one more time as the pair of you move on. 

“But we are here for the essentials, first and foremost. Maybe if it’s still there by the end of the day.” 

He nods thoughtfully, and listens as you ramble through the list of what the three of you need, both in terms of provisions and to keep the ship flying. 

The sooner you’re all able to leave this crowd and noise behind, the better. 

He doesn’t care for the feeling that his little clan’s safety isn’t completely under his control. 

Hours later, stewardship of the satchel carrying the Kid has passed over to you. Din carries the day’s purchases, slung from either end of the pole balanced across his wide shoulders. He watches affectionately from behind his immobile visage of beskar at the sight of you spiritedly haggling with a Twi’lek vendor over the price of fruit. The arm not being used to illustrate your point cradles Grogu, half-asleep, close to your torso, and it touches something deep inside him, to see you care for his foundling so naturally. 

The image almost — almost — lulls him into something resembling a dangerous sense of peace.

Almost, but not quite. 

Which is why, when the blaster bolt narrowly misses your shoulder and instead blows a crate of produce into a violently sticky explosion, he’s only a half-second slower than he normally would be as he pivots sharply and yanks out his own weapon. His shot drops the sniper leaning out of a second-story window across the street, a Rodian crumpling to the ground in a tangle of ragged cloak. 

His armor-clad body is positioned in front of you in another second, keeping you and the Kid sandwiched between the booth and his beskar as he rapidly searches for any more guns to rear their ugly muzzles. 

The market has dissolved into chaos around you, but no more fire is heard. 

You slip your DL-44 out of your back holster with one hand and push the satchel carrying Grogu further out of the way with the other. The road had cleared in seconds, the trembling fruit vendor ducking down behind his wares. The atmosphere is suddenly quiet, too many people holding their breaths all at once. 

“See anything?” you whisper to Din. 

“Negative,” he mutters back. “He was acting alone, or else the others have retreated. Looking for heat signatures is useless, they’re everywhere here.” 

A grim suspicion starts to rise in your chest, but you keep your voice removed as you step from behind him and give him a sharp nod. “Cover me? I need to take a look at our shooter.” 

He stalks behind you as you cross, your trigger finger settling into its well-worn spot in readiness. Grogu is silent; only the tips of his giant ears poke up from the top of the bag. 

For a kid, he’s been in enough firefights to know the drill by now. 

Arriving beside the smoking form of the Rodian, you flip him over and push aside the cloak, your hand drawing back when you see exactly what you were afraid you would find. 

The sigil of a sand ape emblazoned on his jacket in red. 

“Talk to me,” Din urges, voice tight. “Do you know why he was targeting you?” 

You straighten up and bite your lip for a second, struggling over the best way to break the news to him. You’d thought it was long enough ago that old scores would be forgotten, but on Tatooine, grudges rarely die, instead simmering deep beneath the filth like a krayt dragon awaiting its next meal. 

And now you’ve unwittingly brought your riduur and his ad’ika into danger. 

“I lived in Mos Eisley for a bit at one point.” You sigh. “And I left under…difficult circumstances. I’m a bit of a loose end as far as a local gang is concerned, Din. They paid well for some mercenary jobs — it was a nice temporary setup. Last hit I was hired for turned out to have a Guild bounty on him though, and they paid more to have him delivered alive. I saw a business opportunity and didn’t look back. But I made some powerful people here pretty angry.” 

“Dank farrik.” He curses under his breath. You can nearly hear his exasperated thoughts — can’t I have ONE uneventful outing? Just ONE? — but he shakes it off swiftly and is soon all business again, his next query clipped and brusque. “Does he have a tracking fob?” 

You shake your head. “They don’t want Guild here anymore, if you recall. No, it’ll be a more intimate affair, I’d bet my blades on that. This is about revenge and closure; if there’s a reward payout it’s from the boss man himself, and probably only advertised by word of mouth.” 

The Mandalorian refocuses his thoughts from where they ever so briefly derailed at your casual misuse of the term “intimate affair” and grunts his acknowledgment. “I gather the boss man wants you alive, then?” 

You laugh, a dry, ironic sound. “Oh, he will. I have a feeling he wants to watch me suffer a bit before he kills me. Or who knows?” With a shrug, you shove the body into an alleyway and return to where you both left your purchases, only the dance of your tense fingers across the grip of your blaster giving away your readiness to protect yourself. “Maybe he’ll make me his own personal slave instead. I knew all that club dancing I did would come in handy someday.” 

Din makes a hissing sound of annoyance at your flippant tongue as he follows. There’s something about the way you can talk so carelessly about such degrading fates that truly distresses him. He knows you don’t need his protection on the same level the Kid does, but the thought of either of those options actually befalling you under his watch makes his hands clench into fists, leather gloves protesting as they stretch across his knuckles. But he knows too, that dark humor is often your way of dealing with stress, so he endeavors to let it slide and not see red. 

“Do you know where he is?” he demands suddenly. 

“The boss man? I used to. And there are people I could ask.” You take the satchel with the Kid off and hand it back to him, opting to take the parcels instead. He can fight with a baby strapped to him better than you can, and knowing you’re the primary target this time, you’d rather keep him safer. “Why?” 

“Later.” His voice has gone tense again, he must have seen something you don’t. “Right now we have to get out of here. You’re too exposed.” 

Your gaze falls on a nearby speeder bike with no obvious owner nearby. “They’ve gotten lax without me around,” you smirk, straddling the bike and revving its powerful engine. “Leaving their valuables all helpless and unattended. It’s a real shame.” 

The Mandalorian is staring at you, the drop of his shoulders suggesting surprise at your brazenness. 

“Get on,” you encourage him, laying the carrying pole across the seat behind you. “You’re getting twitchy, so there must be trouble. What’s got your cape in a twist?” 

He takes a seat behind you and settles his pulse rifle across his knees. “There’s a couple more in similar jackets closing in,” he reveals in an undertone. “And I just haven’t seen you…steal a vehicle before, is all.” 

A shot pings over his helmet before you can properly react to that. 

“Drive!” he orders, pivoting to return fire. 

You oblige, gunning the motor and tearing off down the main thoroughfare. “There’s still a few things you haven’t seen me do, Cyare,” you toss back as he dusts one of the gang members on your way past. “You and the Kid made me go soft.” 

He huffs doubtfully and nods to a narrow opening between buildings up ahead. “Can you get us out of sight?” 

“If you hang on tight enough.” You execute a tight turn at the last moment and shoot down the alley, glad the bike is compact enough to follow the cramped tunnel between the crumbling dwellings. “It’s gonna be rough ’til we’re in the open, though.” 

Din doesn’t answer in words, but his free arm wraps around your waist and you can feel the Kid’s small body tucked between the two of you. 

And it’s almost an oddly pleasant feeling, outrunning any would-be pursuers with the two of them held so close. 

By the end of the hour, supplies have been loaded into the ship and Grogu has been left in the doting care of Peli, who as always is more than happy to entertain the little guy as long as you and Din keep trouble far away from her repair station. You and the Mandalorian are now camped out on a rooftop overlooking the marketplace, a tattered fabric canopy mercifully providing some scant relief from the sunlight if not the oppressive heat. As always, your riduur appears totally indifferent to such a thing as physical discomfort, leaning out from under the awning to scope the street below through the sight of his rifle. 

Does his armor have an internal cooling system? Or are Mandalorians really just that tough? 

“You know, we could just leave,” you finally suggest. “It’s not like this particular group ever goes off-world.” 

“We could.” 

You can tell there’s a reason why he won’t. 

“But I return to Tatooine semi-frequently. And I don’t want you to constantly be looking over your shoulder every time.” 

You sit back with a sigh, idly tuning up your blaster. His ways are still foreign to you sometimes. Before your partnership, you made a life depending on adaptability and quick thinking. Having only yourself to worry about, and knowing there was no one else out there worrying about you, made it easier to simply uproot and go elsewhere whenever the heat was on you. 

Din is nearly the opposite. If there’s a way he can make things more secure for those in his care, if there’s a good enough reason, he won’t ever back down from a struggle.

He already has his mind made up. 

It’s just a bit jarring to realize that you’re the good enough reason this time. 

“What are you thinking, then?” you prompt. 

He doesn’t break his focus on the area below as he answers. “I’m thinking I just killed a couple gang members and got some interesting information out of them. I’m ex-Guild and looking for work, and being a ruthless mercenary, I might just be willing to turn on a crew member if the price is right.” 

You can’t help your sudden intake of breath at his ingenious plan. “And once we get there?” 

He finally turns to face you, his next words cold and hard as tempered beskar. “Then we kill him.” 

And there’s something a little bit more menacing in there than simple pragmatism. He has taken on the role of cabur for you and the Kid; this isn’t just about keeping trouble off your backs in future. 

Someone has threatened you, and he will not rest until that threat has been put down.

That is his duty, and he will not shirk it. 

“I love you,” you murmur, barely above the hot breeze that rakes through your hair. 

He rises to his feet, shoulders his rifle. “And I you. Which is why we’re going to have to make this look convincing. You get a two-minute head start. Whenever you’re ready.” 

You swipe a dull sand-colored cloak from a stall as you pass, immediately diving into the heart of the throng, which seems to have recovered from the earlier incident. Mos Eisley is nothing if not desensitized to crime and violence, and for a moment, you almost lose yourself in awe at the apathy of the average citizen as you let the flow of movement carry you along. Nobody cares what happens around here, so long as it doesn’t happen to them. 

It’s…odd, to remember how it felt to think that way. 

Shaking yourself back into the moment, you weave between beings of all shapes and sizes, focusing on making yourself forgettable and not appearing in too much of a hurry. You know Din will find you no matter where you end up — he’s just too good at his job not to. So for the moment you let yourself enjoy this little game, a moment spent as the quarry of a very desirable predator. 

It would be a lie to say you haven’t fantasized about this before. 

A ripple passes through the crowd to your left and behind you, people shifting to make room, like river currents split by a large stone. Only one person you know could possibly cause such a stir.

Only idiots choose to stand in the way of a hunting Mandalorian. 

Which means he’s here. 

Your heart accelerates and you try to think of a way to stall him just a little longer. Reluctantly pulling a few credits from your belt pouch, you regretfully let them scatter in the dust, knowing the only thing that reliably beats fear is greed. The people nearest to you devolve into pushing and shoving in their eagerness to get their hands on them, a writhing wall springing up between you and your pursuer. 

With a grin, you slip backwards, drifting in the opposite direction of where you had been headed before, catching the barest glimpse of sun glaring off metal as you pass. 

That's a little longer. 

He’ll expect you to be thinking the way he thinks, not the way you do, so you stamp down the inclination to think that way and instead travel into a seedier part of town, seeking out more raucous company. Wandering through cantinas and gambling dens, you pick up a refreshing blue milk along the way and almost start to let the tension ebb from your muscles. But when you see him emerge from the street and gaze through the window of the same building you were just about to exit, your adrenaline shoots up again. A dash through a maze of alleys and one stolen ride on the back of a droid rickshaw later, and even you aren’t so sure what part of the city you’ve made it to. 

The twin suns are finally beginning to sink lower in the sky as you thoughtfully chew on a piece of bantha jerky and walk through a crowded residential section, no doubt where the lower classes live. It’s much quieter here, the low-income strata not having the credits to spend on frivolities at the market. 

It’s almost…too quiet. 

You hear him before you see him, an almost deceptively musical clink of the explosive charges on his belt against his vambrace as his arm brushes past. There’s nowhere to run anymore, so you pull back your hood with an admittedly dramatic flourish and discard your savory treat, hands sliding to the twin vibroblades sheathed at your thighs. 

“So, its finally come to this, Mando.” You pull your knives and take up a fighting stance. “No use in trying to sweet-talk you out of this, is there?” 

He doesn’t answer, just pulls his own blade and gestures with his chin as if saying “Try me”. 

So you do. 

The pair of you has sparred many times before, and this altercation is brief but outwardly brutal. Finesse is nice, but necessity calls for any potential advantage to be pressed and pressed hard. For the agility your much lighter choice of clothing grants you, you can’t dent him when fully armored, so finally you resort to simple but effective tactics and throw dust in his face. 

Even a visor with a heat sensor takes a second to recalibrate from that. 

You do, however, have a scripted ending for this outing, and as you sprint off, his grappling cable snakes around your hips and down your legs, dropping you in the sand. He strides up to you, tosses a pair of binders down next to you. 

“Cuff yourself,” he orders, breath coming in heavy pants after your scuffle. “I’m taking you in.” 

And since it’s him who just captured you, who would have captured you eventually no matter what because he’s just THAT good, you don’t mind. 

No, you reflect as he hefts you over his shoulder and walks away from the few scattered spectators your fight drew out, you really don’t mind this arrangement at all. 

Maybe you’ll have to tell him that, later. 

Your former employer’s headquarters are still where you remember them, and you almost smirk at the sense of uncomfortable familiarity when Din lowers you to the floor and unties your legs. Still cuffed — and a bit tired after spending the afternoon trying to outwit the best hunter in the parsec — it’s not difficult to look angry and beaten down, kneeling there in the dust. 

The boss man rises from his seat at the table, a hulking Devaronian with a chipped horn and a hungry grimace. He swaggers over, nods at the Mandalorian standing behind you. 

“I suppose I can turn a blind eye at the loss of a few good men for this. You have absolutely no idea how this one little troublesome scavenger has been occupying my thoughts.” 

Din remains silent, simply holding out a hand, a wordless demand for payment. 

Your old boss grins, nods to a couple of lackeys to bring over the credits, hauls you to your feet by the back of your shirt. 

The Mandalorian’s hand brushes past your leg as you move, and one of your knives is quietly returned to its sheath. 

“Since you turned tail and ran so quickly after disobeying me, I assume you have some idea of what I do to clever little turncoats, don’t you?” sneers the Devaronian, leaning altogether too close for your liking. 

Your cuffed hands lower in seeming fear as you shrink beneath his intimidating glare. 

“This is going to be fun,” he threatens, a hand drawing up your neck and along your jaw. “You need to learn some respect, and I’m going to —” 

The vibroblade sunk deep into his chest cuts his words off rather suddenly. 

There’s a lot you can still do, even in binders. 

The outraged lackeys are swiftly dropped by precise shots from Din, and the two of you are left gazing at each other in a now oddly quiet room. 

“I don’t know if I’d call that ‘fun’," you remark to your limp ex-boss, crouching to retrieve your knife. “A little anticlimactic, actually. Bit of a shame I had to do that. But also satisfying to see your plan turn out so well, don’t you think, Mando?” 

Din doesn’t answer right away, tucking away the bounty that he earned by catching you. “We should be on our way,” is what he finally grunts. “There’ll be more gang members swarming this place any minute now.” 

“I agree.” Rising to stand in front of him, you hold out your arms expectantly, casting a flirty smile up at his dark visor. “And, much as I enjoyed being your prisoner for a day, you can let me go now.” 

There’s a long pause. 

He stares down at your bound wrists, up at your face, down at your wrists again. He appears to be pondering something very intently, and your breath turns a little choppy for some reason. 

“I don’t think I will,” he says simply, after a little more consideration. 

“You won’t?” 

“Not yet.” His large hands tenderly find your hips, and he throws you over his shoulder again, walking out the exact same way you came in. “You’ve caused me quite a day here, you know. Keeping track of you like this might be the only way to make sure we don’t run into any more trouble.” 

“What would happen if I screamed ‘Help, I’m being kidnapped!’ as you carry me down the street?” 

He snorts. “No one’s going to help you here, Cyar’ika. Who’s going to challenge a Mandalorian over his prisoner?” 

You smirk. “No one in their right mind.” 

“Besides, you just said you enjoyed this.” There it is, a sly edge to his filtered voice, the indicator that he has more going on in his mind than simply staying out of more trouble. 

“Oh no, caught by an attractive bounty hunter! I’ll probably never see the light of day again.” You groan dramatically and drape yourself a bit more comfortably as he loosens up into an easier stride. “I’m completely at his mercy — who KNOWS what devious things he’ll do to me behind closed doors?” 

“This bounty hunter is hot and tired, and in need of a shower, if that gives you any consolation.” 

“Ah.” You poke him in the back. “Are you saying you’re all sweaty under this shiny shell, Cyare?” 

A hand slides up the back of your thigh, a subtle reminder that you ARE currently at his mercy, as you just said. 

Undeterred, you try again, knowing he must be getting more riled up than he lets on. “Have I ever told you how much I like it, when you take all these awful layers off for me and you’re all sweaty underneath…?” 

“I would rein in my suggestive tongue a little, if I were you.” He’s still looking straight ahead, but the edge beneath his words is a bit more strained now. “If you behave for me until we get back to the ship, maybe I’ll even take those binders off.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

He sighs. “My belt compartment back there. Take a look.” 

You manage to get it open, and can’t quite stifle a delighted sound as you pull out the dolovite ring from much earlier. “You sneaky son of a — ! How — ?” 

“I gave you a two-minute head start,” he shrugs, by way of explanation. 

“I adore you,” you inform him as you slip the ring onto your finger, admiring its burnished color. “I’ll be a good little prisoner for you, Mando, I promise. And who knows…,” you nudge him again. “Maybe I’ll let you keep these binders on me after all, since you’ve been so good to me today.” 

He can’t find anything to say to that, but by the fact that you can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck in that tantalizing gap between cowl and helmet, you know he’s definitely sweating now, if he weren’t before. 

“Is my big bad bounty hunter at a loss for words?” you tease softly. 

He clears his throat. “Just saving my voice, Mesh’la. If you’re REALLY well-behaved, I might — possibly — be persuaded to talk Tusken to you later. Possibly.” 

The idea takes a moment to fully crystallize in your brain; Din, and a shower, and binders, and if you just stop teasing him so naughtily in public he might actually bring that unreasonably provocative language into the bedroom? 

You finally let yourself relax into his hold, and after a bit you hear his breathy sigh of relief that you aren’t going to keep tormenting him anymore for the moment. 

After all, he has put forth an offer you can’t refuse. 

Ad'ika = Little One/Small child

Cabur = Protector

[tempting-andromeda]

Not to get on your nerves..

But can we pretty please get some more modern eagle flies hcs? Istg they are a work of art. + all your other work

No pressure tho :3

I love when you guys act like I’m absolutely fuming when I get asks.

Chronic eye roller

Like you could say something normal and he’d eye roll before answering

Really likes going to farmer/flea markets

He always finds some random things and it’s suddenly the best day ever

Loves to eat pop rocks and then lean close to someone’s ear to piss them off

Likes to listen to podcasts of horror stories but never finishes them

Keeps your order for nearly every fast food place in his phone

Once got fired for making a “crude” joke to a customer and now he holds the worst grudge ever

Has never once looked happy at his jobs

Like he looks seconds from walking out constantly

And whenever people call it out he changes into the most obnoxious fake happy smile

CANNOT HANDLE CRITICISM

Loves sodas with glass bottles

Whenever he zones out he always looks like he’s having a crisis.

Like he’s leaning over his lap and he looks sick of everything

Gets embarrassed whenever he can smell cigarettes on him so he tries to spray cologne on himself but he ends up smelling like a middle school locker room

Doesn’t celebrate his birthday anymore after his mom and brother died

Has a faded photo of his family on his sun visor where the strap is covering himself

Refuses to let anyone drive his truck

[draconicscreaming]

Drawings ~ Din Djarin x Reader (SFW)

~While you're out with the child, Din Djarin comes across a discovery that he asks you about later. A skill he never knew you had.

He hadn’t meant to find them. Hadn’t meant to invade your privacy, but it was happenstance. You had gone off with Grogu to the local market, insisting on finding fresh produce for the Crest. “Can only stand the taste of freeze-dried stuff for so long” You had stated and with that, Din had agreed but stayed behind to fix some minor malfunctions on the ship and clean up the hold. That’s what brought him to stumble upon this finding. 

He was placing some of your items over in your sleeping area, organizing it so that you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. A small gesture he had hoped you’d appreciate from him. You both had grown accustomed to doing things for one another, little actions that reflected your admiration for one another. The Mandalorian had accidentally knocked over a crate and cursed to himself, the words brushing through his modulator and echoing in the holds empty space. He moved to pick it back up and place it back where it originally sat and he paused, angling the visor of his helmet down. That’s when he had spotted them. Stashed in the crate underneath. The lid to it had become slightly ajar just enough for him to be able to catch a glimpse of the contents inside. 

Drawings. Handmade drawings nestled inside.

Din slowly placed the crate back down next to the one he was gazing into and hesitated. He didn’t want to invade your space more than he already was by tidying it. But something pulled at him to take a little peek. Had he… Remembered seeing you drawing? He wracked his brain for any inclination that he had and nothing came to the forefront. So this was something personal. Very personal. His chest tightened and he pulled back, fighting the urge to get a better look. He wouldn’t do that to you. Betray that privacy and trust of yours. Maybe he’d mention it later but assure you that he hadn’t seen anything. Let you show him yourself.

He placed the top of the crate back on to secure the drawings and put the other back on top and went back to doing what he was doing, but curiosity had nestled itself into the Mandalorians brain.

—--

A couple hours later, you returned. Grogu was strapped to your chest in a sling, his head lulling back against you and his little eyes fighting to stay open. Seemed he had a busy day with you. You also carried with you bags filled with fresh vegetables of different varieties, something that promised a tantalizing dinner. Din crossed over to you and gently took the bags from your arms, much to your complaint but he simply tilted his head and you had let your words die in your throat. He chuckled softly and leaned down to bump his helmet against Grogu’s forehead to greet his sleepy son. He received a mumbled coo in response and stood back up to gaze into your smiling face. You both momentarily parted ways then, Din going to put the groceries away while you laid the sleepy toddler in his hammock for his much needed nap. 

You both met up in the cockpit, settling into your respective seats, resting into a comfortable silence. The planet’s sun was beginning to set, sinking down closer towards the horizon and painting the skies in hues of pink and lavender. You looked over to gaze at the Mandalorian, eyes taking in how the silver of his beskar took on the gentle sheen of the colors of the heavens. You breathed a gentle sigh and he turned his helmet to fix his visor back on you. You couldn’t see it, but he was smiling under that helmet. Soft and full of warmth. “How was the market?,” Din finally asked to break the quiet and you told him of your venture today with the Child.

He listened intently as you spoke, so full of life. The way you moved with your story was animated and he couldn’t help but be drawn into you. It reminded him of what he had discovered earlier in the hold and that was immediately blasted back into his thoughts. Din waited patiently for you to finish before you were the one asking him what he had gotten himself up to while you away. “Nothing too troublesome I hope,” you chuckled, “I know the Crest can be hard to wrangle.” Most days that was true. Kept him busy. The Mandalorian tilted his head and recollected his day as you had done yours. But when it came to the part about his finding, his voice faltered a moment and trailed off.

A small look of concern flashed across your features for a brief moment. His hesitance wasn’t lost on you. “Everything ok?,” you murmured, reaching out to place a hand on his thigh. “Yeah, yeah,” came his response, strong and assuring but he fell back into a silence as he wondered how he’d ask you. If your drawings were really that personal, he didn’t want to freak you out that he had found them. Even if he hadn’t looked. 

“Y/n,” he began and your eyes sharpened, meeting the center of his visor in an attempt to make eye contact with him. “Is there anything that you do… That helps you relax?” Now it was your turn to tilt your head and lift a curious brow. “You mean beside the usual stuff?,” you responded after a moment of consideration, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms in a gesture of thought rather than closing yourself off. “Not that I can recall. Why?”

Din regarded you, watching you closely. But he continued on. “Nothing more on the,” he paused to collect the right word, looking slightly off to the side, “artistic?”

That brought a flash of recognition to your face and suddenly you seemed more alarmed. Shy even as your eyes flickered away from his helmet. “D-did you find them?,” you asked quietly, your voice sounding small. Din felt bad in that moment, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on your thigh this time. He immediately wanted to calm your worry, to make it known that he hadn’t done it on purpose or even fully looked. “I was moving things around in the hold when I knocked something over. It had loosened the lid on one of your crates when I caught a glimpse,” he explained, “I didn’t look further than that. Didn’t want to invade that aspect of you without your permission.” You looked back to him with a frown but you could feel the sincerity in his modulated vocals. You knew it too. Knew that he wouldn’t do that to you, 

That was one thing that you had come to strongly admire about him. He was gentle with you, never pressing or crossing your boundaries unless you gave him permission. That was when he typically did and even had done his best to draw you out of your comfort zone most times, guided on your trust for him and the comfort he brought you. A warm feeling blossomed in your chest and settled in your heart, uncrossing your arms and resting your hand across his own. “Yes… I like to draw sometimes,” you admitted softly, “I’m very self conscious about my skill and I usually like to draw what I enjoy most.” That piqued his interest more and the black visor of his helm was fully transfixed on your visage once more. 

“Can I see?,” he asked softly, once more asking for permission to push a boundary but only if you gave the ok. You nodded your head. You wordlessly stood and crossed through the cockpit and disappeared into the belly of the Crest, leaving the Mandalorian to wait for your return. When you did, you carried with you a small book in your hands and a few pieces of loose papers. You sat back down across from him and seemed to hesitate, keeping your eyes down towards the floor. Din waited patiently, tilting his head to regard you. You looked up to take him in and slowly held out the sketchbook. His eyes never left your face when he reached out and took it from your hands. His grip was delicate and gentle as he handled it. He could sense the importance of these pages. A look into another private side of you. The things that you enjoyed the most.

Finally he looked down and flipped through the pages and his heart immediately caught in his throat. His gloved fingers handled the edges as gently as he handled the Child and his eyes lingered on each image. Images of him. Of Grogu. Of the Crest. Some of the environments you two had ventured across. But mostly of him and of the Child. A lot of the two of them together. There was one drawing of him cradling the child that he particularly loved a lot. And it was masterful. You were self conscious of your skill? Maker, he had never seen such handiwork before in these sketches. He knew you were good with your hands, but not this good. 

Affection warmed his body as he continued to look through the book. You had taken such care to get the details of his armor right. Of getting him right. Did you really look at him that much? A chuckle slipped from his modulator at that thought and you shifted uncomfortably. His head snapped up and saw that your face was scrunched up in concern. “I-I’m sorry!,” your blurted, “I know they’re awful and horrible and I-I don’t mean to draw you so much.” You went to look away but Din quickly reached forward and cupped the side of your cheek to prevent you from doing so. His thumb ghosted over the warm surface of your skin in a soothing gesture. Your eyes fluttered at the contact and you looked up at him with those beautiful (e/c) orbs and he couldn’t help but sigh in admiration. He wondered to himself suddenly how you’d look in your own drawings.

“I love them,” he remarked earnestly, “the way you draw me. Am I really what you enjoy the most?” The question was teasing and you blushed, trying to pull away but his hand held you there to look at him. Your lips fell open to voice an answer but nothing came out. He chuckled again. 

“Why aren’t there any of us?”

The question caught you off guard and you sat and stared at him. “What?,” you asked and Din repeated it again. “You draw me and the Child a lot. Why are there none with us?” This time he let you pull back away from his touch and your blush had deepened. “I- I, um… I don’t know… Guess I never thought to do so… Didn’t know if you’d like that…,” You stammered, rubbing at your arm and looking down towards the book in his hands. Din hummed thoughtfully and placed your sketchbook back in your lap, patting it. 

“Can you draw us?,” came his request. This time it was his turn to feel a hint of embarrassment and he thanked the Maker that he had the helmet to hide his expression. You looked back up at him, eyes round once more. You were surprised. So much so that you laughed, light hearted and disbelieving. “You want me to draw us?,” you giggled, hugging your book to your chest. He nodded, sure that was what he wanted. “I’d like that very much. Would you do that for me?”

Maker you’d do anything for him. The fact that he had been entranced by your work was enough to give you confidence. That he hadn’t been made uncomfortable by your drawings of him. It wasn’t secret that you had feelings for the beskar man, but you were still slightly afraid to push him away. He was your safety and your comfort. He was your everything. But he had never once reacted negatively to your actions of love and care. In fact, it always drew him closer to you. So this you could do. You wanted to do it now. 

Filled with new vigoration and  motivation, you hopped up from your seat and hustled back down towards the hold. The mandalorian gazed at you in surprise and you gave him a wide grin. “I’ll be right back! I’ll do it now!” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you were gone again. Din sighed and shook his head in amusement, sitting back in his chair to look back out the viewport of the Crest. Man when you wanted to do something, there was no stopping you from doing it now. 

By the time you returned, the sun had fully set and the first batch of stars winked and glimmered against a background of inky black. In the distance, a light glowed faintly in the forest where the settlement was, where you had gone earlier in the day. But now you were here with him, bathed in the faint blinking lights of the cockpit. There was still enough light to see comfortably though. You came up to Din’s side, holding a paper to your chest with that same shy expression. It was cute. He looked up at you wordlessly and waited for you to show him. He’d let you take your time. Finally after a few moments of hesitation, you passed the page to him and looked down. That same warmth spread through his body and his heart fluttered in his chest at what you had drawn.

It was you, him and the Child. You held Grogu in your arms while you had drawn him pressed close to you, one hand resting on one of your hips. His helmet was angled to gaze down at you and Grogu - a portrait of your little family. This was something he knew he’d treasure forever. Something he never wanted anyone else to touch but you. Din leaned forward and placed the paper on an area of the controls where he could see it every day when he sat in this chair. You were about to speak but a squeak left your throat as he pulled you down into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you and resting his head against yours. You giggled and melted into his embrace. 

“You like it that much?”

“I love it, Mesh’la. Like how I love you.”

[eternal-love]

Austin and Me

“Babies.”

“Wife to the ‘king’. Icon to the world. Destined for more.”

Summary: At 18 years old, she fell in love with Austin, at 20 years old, she became his wife, by 22, she was his doll. In which Cynthia’s life changed drastically after falling head over heels with a man that promised her the moon and the stars. She takes us down the memory lane of what could’ve been— the perfect marriage.

Inspired by the book: Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley.

I do not condemn any of the portrayals I decide to do about certain people, it’s just fanfiction. And it would be divided in parts.

English isn’t my first language so I’m trying my best!

MASTERLIST

I had to cut my affair short. At least for a while after Christmas and New Years. Austin, Lori and I went back to California after he finished filming Masters of the Air.

The first thing the wanted to do was visit Ashley, they hadn’t seen each other in two years. And she had just had a baby so WE HAD to visit.

I prepared a small basket filled with things for her and the babe. Austin called me ‘snob’. I knew that Ashley still preferred Vanessa over me any day but— I wanted to keep my good face. Plus, I know how hard it can be to be a new mother and to have everyone around you just tend for the baby.

“Do you think she’ll like them?” I asked Austin as he drove, Lori was in her car seat, playing with a rag doll Austin had bought her on the Farmer’s Market.

“You put chocolate in hers. Of course she’ll like it.” Austin said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“At least now we have something in common.” I scoffed. I WANTED her to like me. Was it so bad to want that?

I pulled down the sun visor, looking at myself, fixing my bangs and eyelashes.

As we arrived, Austin helped me with the baskets and I had Lori by my hip. Oh, she was excited to see this new ‘baby’ her daddy was raving about for the past few months.

The reunion went smoothly, it was nice. Ashley and her husband received us, Ashley and Austin almost cried. We got to hold baby Jupiter.

“Aww…” I cuddled Jupiter in my arms. She was a big, pretty baby. I had a big smile in my face, but Lori was jealous, quickly slapping my arm trying to get my attention. “Honey, let me—“ And that’s how Lori started weeping to the high skies.

“Let me just…” Austin took Jupiter from my arms before I picked up Lori and walked to the kitchen to calm her down. My three year old was definitely a mommy’s girl.

“Mommy.” Lori muttered as her head was hidden on the crook of my neck.

“You gotta behave, sweetheart. No one’s gonna take me away from you.” I kissed her blonde hair, shushing him. Yes, I had a little heart. Everything got to me. And I couldn’t handle trying to discipline Lori. How could I?

Because to me, Lori was a small saint. In my eyes she was the most untainted and untouchable person in the whole wide world. I looked at her and revered. That’s how deep my love for her went. She was my first baby. I would kill, I would die, just for her. Because, now that I was a mother— I understood why my mother always favored my older sister Jackie. One will never love anything else the way a mother loves their first child.

As we had dinner, Ashley’s husband made some jokes. I laughed at almost all of them, but not all. I didn’t want her to feel like I was being flirty. I ate enough to not get weird looks. I was grateful they even allowed me to come and not just invite Austin from the beginning.

As Ashley and I got up to have ‘girl chat’ as we prepared dessert, I wanted to talk but— Jesus. I’m the worst person to start a conversation. I hate started conversations and not being able to keep them going.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the basket. No one had brought me something that was just for me.” Ashley said, turning to look at me with a smile.

“Oh. It’s of no problem. I just thought it would be thoughtful.” I smiled back before looking away awkwardly and clearing my throat. “Hey. I know we started on the wrong foot. And that I’m not was you would want in Austin’s life. And that you and I do not have nothing in common…” I chuckled.

“Hey. Look, it’s not that you’re not fit to be with Austin—”

I interrupted her, knowing she would probably say ‘you’re mixing things up’.

“But now. We’re both mothers. And we love our daughters. Perhaps we have much more in common that we let ourselves show.” I said, looking down at my feet.

Why did I feel like a child trying to be eloquent? Maybe it was my whole look. I heard Austin and Ashley’s husband snickering about my dress. My pretty, blue fifties dress.

“That we do. And you’re right. I’m too stuck on the past. Even Vanessa and Austin have moved on yet I haven’t.” Ashley said.

Was she actually taking me seriously?

“I’m guilty of seeing you as nothing but a girl who Austin used as a rebound. I often forget that you’re a grown woman. A married and mother at that.” Ashley chuckled.

Was that how everyone in Austin’s inner circle saw me as? A little girl, too naive to be a mother or a wife?

Ashley and I looked at the living room. Where Lori was trying to get Jupiter to crawl, the baby was like about to turn one. So they were just laughing and giggling together.

“You love her, don’t you?” I asked Ashley, she was giving Jupiter the biggest heart eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Of course. I had her inside of me for too long without being able to look at her. Now I don’t want to stop doing so— not even for a minute.”

I smiled. I remembered when u just had Lori. God, how badly I wanted to feel connected to her yet I couldn’t. I think the maternal instinct wasn’t something natural in me. I think it grew as I spent more time with Lori as she grew.

“Love no one but your daughter. On that front us mother have no choice.” I said, looking at my nails. “And enjoy her. Really. I’ve seen it with my mother. It’s true what they say.”

“What?” Ashley asked, looking back at me.

“That you never love anything in the world the way you love your very first baby.” I smiled at Ashley.

Austin left that house with baby fever. As he drove back home, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. His hand steady on my thigh and trying to get in my pants.

“Thank God you’re wearing a dress.” He growled.

“Focus on driving.” I rolled my eyes, trying to slap his hand away.

He pulled his hand away and frowned. Huh, I thought he hated frowning because it wrinkled you earlier— oh, wait. That was just a stupid rule he made just for me.

“If I were Callum, you would already be spreading your legs. Wouldn’t you?” He spat out sourly, shake started to consume me immediately.

Look— confession. I was raised by Mexicans, and not to generalize. Because God, I would never. But I feel that like most girls, no matter where we come from. We’re taught that getting slut-shamed is the worst type of insult to get. Specially by someone who ‘loves’ you. So I gulped.

“That’s just not true. You’re using that against me.” I said rather quickly.

“Why shouldn’t I? I still can’t accept my own wife was such a slut for another man.” He scoffed. I felt myself choking back a few sobs. I NEVER treated him like this after he had TWO affairs. “I’m sorry I can’t call him so he comes and fucks you instead of me.”

I glared at him. I knew I wasn’t innocent. I was bad, but he was no angel either.

When we got home and after I tucked Lori into her little bed. He was all over me in our bed, once again whispering filthy words towards me. Calling me names. I was never a fan of him calling me whore or slut but if he likes it, then it was okay with me.

“We’re going to have another baby.” He moaned in my ear as he pounded into me. I could only moan back and nodded.

The last thing I wanted was another babe. Lori and I were good as we were now. Plus, he himself was never extra fond of children. He liked having them for some time and then leaving. Like with Ashley’s case, where he was the fun uncle and not the dad.

The next month I took a test.

I was pregnant again.

I kinda wanted to make a chapter just about kinda giving some insight on motherhood. But I AM NOT a mother so I wouldn’t really know.

I DO NOT KNOW how to write smut. I can read it but I am horrible at writing it.

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Evening Of A Day Of Walking

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.2.1

Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man who was travelling on foot entered the little town of D—— The few inhabitants who were at their windows or on their thresholds at the moment stared at this traveller with a sort of uneasiness. It was difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thickset and robust, in the prime of life. He might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, burned and tanned by sun and wind, and dripping with perspiration. His shirt of coarse yellow linen, fastened at the neck by a small silver anchor, permitted a view of his hairy breast: he had a cravat twisted into a string; trousers of blue drilling, worn and threadbare, white on one knee and torn on the other; an old gray, tattered blouse, patched on one of the elbows with a bit of green cloth sewed on with twine; a tightly packed soldier knapsack, well buckled and perfectly new, on his back; an enormous, knotty stick in his hand; iron-shod shoes on his stockingless feet; a shaved head and a long beard.

The sweat, the heat, the journey on foot, the dust, added I know not what sordid quality to this dilapidated whole. His hair was closely cut, yet bristling, for it had begun to grow a little, and did not seem to have been cut for some time.

No one knew him. He was evidently only a chance passer-by. Whence came he? From the south; from the seashore, perhaps, for he made his entrance into D—— by the same street which, seven months previously, had witnessed the passage of the Emperor Napoleon on his way from Cannes to Paris. This man must have been walking all day. He seemed very much fatigued. Some women of the ancient market town which is situated below the city had seen him pause beneath the trees of the boulevard Gassendi, and drink at the fountain which stands at the end of the promenade. He must have been very thirsty: for the children who followed him saw him stop again for a drink, two hundred paces further on, at the fountain in the market-place.

On arriving at the corner of the Rue Poichevert, he turned to the left, and directed his steps toward the town-hall. He entered, then came out a quarter of an hour later. A gendarme was seated near the door, on the stone bench which General Drouot had mounted on the 4th of March to read to the frightened throng of the inhabitants of D—— the proclamation of the Gulf Juan. The man pulled off his cap and humbly saluted the gendarme.

The gendarme, without replying to his salute, stared attentively at him, followed him for a while with his eyes, and then entered the town-hall.

There then existed at D—— a fine inn at the sign of the <i>Cross of Colbas</i>. This inn had for a landlord a certain Jacquin Labarre, a man of consideration in the town on account of his relationship to another Labarre, who kept the inn of the <i>Three Dauphins</i> in Grenoble, and had served in the Guides. At the time of the Emperor’s landing, many rumors had circulated throughout the country with regard to this inn of the <i>Three Dauphins</i>. It was said that General Bertrand, disguised as a carter, had made frequent trips thither in the month of January, and that he had distributed crosses of honor to the soldiers and handfuls of gold to the citizens. The truth is, that when the Emperor entered Grenoble he had refused to install himself at the hotel of the prefecture; he had thanked the mayor, saying, <i>“I am going to the house of a brave man of my acquaintance”;</i> and he had betaken himself to the <i>Three Dauphins</i>. This glory of the Labarre of the <i>Three Dauphins</i> was reflected upon the Labarre of the <i>Cross of Colbas</i>, at a distance of five and twenty leagues. It was said of him in the town, <i>“That is the cousin of the man of Grenoble.”</i>

The man bent his steps towards this inn, which was the best in the country-side. He entered the kitchen, which opened on a level with the street. All the stoves were lighted; a huge fire blazed gayly in the fireplace. The host, who was also the chief cook, was going from one stew-pan to another, very busily superintending an excellent dinner designed for the wagoners, whose loud talking, conversation, and laughter were audible from an adjoining apartment. Any one who has travelled knows that there is no one who indulges in better cheer than wagoners. A fat marmot, flanked by white partridges and heather-cocks, was turning on a long spit before the fire; on the stove, two huge carps from Lake Lauzet and a trout from Lake Alloz were cooking.

The host, hearing the door open and seeing a newcomer enter, said, without raising his eyes from his stoves:—

“What do you wish, sir?”

“Food and lodging,” said the man.

“Nothing easier,” replied the host. At that moment he turned his head, took in the traveller’s appearance with a single glance, and added, “By paying for it.”

The man drew a large leather purse from the pocket of his blouse, and answered, “I have money.”

“In that case, we are at your service,” said the host.

The man put his purse back in his pocket, removed his knapsack from his back, put it on the ground near the door, retained his stick in his hand, and seated himself on a low stool close to the fire. D—— is in the mountains. The evenings are cold there in October.

But as the host went back and forth, he scrutinized the traveller.

“Will dinner be ready soon?” said the man.

“Immediately,” replied the landlord.

While the newcomer was warming himself before the fire, with his back turned, the worthy host, Jacquin Labarre, drew a pencil from his pocket, then tore off the corner of an old newspaper which was lying on a small table near the window. On the white margin he wrote a line or two, folded it without sealing, and then intrusted this scrap of paper to a child who seemed to serve him in the capacity both of scullion and lackey. The landlord whispered a word in the scullion’s ear, and the child set off on a run in the direction of the town-hall.

The traveller saw nothing of all this.

Once more he inquired, “Will dinner be ready soon?”

“Immediately,” responded the host.

The child returned. He brought back the paper. The host unfolded it eagerly, like a person who is expecting a reply. He seemed to read it attentively, then tossed his head, and remained thoughtful for a moment. Then he took a step in the direction of the traveller, who appeared to be immersed in reflections which were not very serene.

“I cannot receive you, sir,” said he.

The man half rose.

“What! Are you afraid that I will not pay you? Do you want me to pay you in advance? I have money, I tell you.”

“It is not that.”

“What then?”

“You have money—”

“Yes,” said the man.

“And I,” said the host, “have no room.”

The man resumed tranquilly, “Put me in the stable.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

“The horses take up all the space.”

“Very well!” retorted the man; “a corner of the loft then, a truss of straw. We will see about that after dinner.”

“I cannot give you any dinner.”

This declaration, made in a measured but firm tone, struck the stranger as grave. He rose.

“Ah! bah! But I am dying of hunger. I have been walking since sunrise. I have travelled twelve leagues. I pay. I wish to eat.”

“I have nothing,” said the landlord.

The man burst out laughing, and turned towards the fireplace and the stoves: “Nothing! and all that?”

“All that is engaged.”

“By whom?”

“By messieurs the wagoners.”

“How many are there of them?”

“Twelve.”

“There is enough food there for twenty.”

“They have engaged the whole of it and paid for it in advance.”

The man seated himself again, and said, without raising his voice, “I am at an inn; I am hungry, and I shall remain.”

Then the host bent down to his ear, and said in a tone which made him start, “Go away!”

At that moment the traveller was bending forward and thrusting some brands into the fire with the iron-shod tip of his staff; he turned quickly round, and as he opened his mouth to reply, the host gazed steadily at him and added, still in a low voice: “Stop! there’s enough of that sort of talk. Do you want me to tell you your name? Your name is Jean Valjean. Now do you want me to tell you who you are? When I saw you come in I suspected something; I sent to the town-hall, and this was the reply that was sent to me. Can you read?”

So saying, he held out to the stranger, fully unfolded, the paper which had just travelled from the inn to the town-hall, and from the town-hall to the inn. The man cast a glance upon it. The landlord resumed after a pause.

“I am in the habit of being polite to every one. Go away!”

The man dropped his head, picked up the knapsack which he had deposited on the ground, and took his departure.

He chose the principal street. He walked straight on at a venture, keeping close to the houses like a sad and humiliated man. He did not turn round a single time. Had he done so, he would have seen the host of the <i>Cross of Colbas</i> standing on his threshold, surrounded by all the guests of his inn, and all the passers-by in the street, talking vivaciously, and pointing him out with his finger; and, from the glances of terror and distrust cast by the group, he might have divined that his arrival would speedily become an event for the whole town.

He saw nothing of all this. People who are crushed do not look behind them. They know but too well the evil fate which follows them.

Thus he proceeded for some time, walking on without ceasing, traversing at random streets of which he knew nothing, forgetful of his fatigue, as is often the case when a man is sad. All at once he felt the pangs of hunger sharply. Night was drawing near. He glanced about him, to see whether he could not discover some shelter.

The fine hostelry was closed to him; he was seeking some very humble public house, some hovel, however lowly.

Just then a light flashed up at the end of the streets; a pine branch suspended from a cross-beam of iron was outlined against the white sky of the twilight. He proceeded thither.

It proved to be, in fact, a public house. The public house which is in the Rue de Chaffaut.

The wayfarer halted for a moment, and peeped through the window into the interior of the low-studded room of the public house, illuminated by a small lamp on a table and by a large fire on the hearth. Some men were engaged in drinking there. The landlord was warming himself. An iron pot, suspended from a crane, bubbled over the flame.

The entrance to this public house, which is also a sort of an inn, is by two doors. One opens on the street, the other upon a small yard filled with manure. The traveller dare not enter by the street door. He slipped into the yard, halted again, then raised the latch timidly and opened the door.

“Who goes there?” said the master.

“Some one who wants supper and bed.”

“Good. We furnish supper and bed here.”

He entered. All the men who were drinking turned round. The lamp illuminated him on one side, the firelight on the other. They examined him for some time while he was taking off his knapsack.

The host said to him, “There is the fire. The supper is cooking in the pot. Come and warm yourself, comrade.”

He approached and seated himself near the hearth. He stretched out his feet, which were exhausted with fatigue, to the fire; a fine odor was emitted by the pot. All that could be distinguished of his face, beneath his cap, which was well pulled down, assumed a vague appearance of comfort, mingled with that other poignant aspect which habitual suffering bestows.

It was, moreover, a firm, energetic, and melancholy profile. This physiognomy was strangely composed; it began by seeming humble, and ended by seeming severe. The eye shone beneath its lashes like a fire beneath brushwood.

One of the men seated at the table, however, was a fishmonger who, before entering the public house of the Rue de Chaffaut, had been to stable his horse at Labarre’s. It chanced that he had that very morning encountered this unprepossessing stranger on the road between Bras d’Asse and—I have forgotten the name. I think it was Escoublon. Now, when he met him, the man, who then seemed already extremely weary, had requested him to take him on his crupper; to which the fishmonger had made no reply except by redoubling his gait. This fishmonger had been a member half an hour previously of the group which surrounded Jacquin Labarre, and had himself related his disagreeable encounter of the morning to the people at the <i>Cross of Colbas</i>. From where he sat he made an imperceptible sign to the tavern-keeper. The tavern-keeper went to him. They exchanged a few words in a low tone. The man had again become absorbed in his reflections.

The tavern-keeper returned to the fireplace, laid his hand abruptly on the shoulder of the man, and said to him:—

“You are going to get out of here.”

The stranger turned round and replied gently, “Ah! You know?—”

“Yes.”

“I was sent away from the other inn.”

“And you are to be turned out of this one.”

“Where would you have me go?”

“Elsewhere.”

The man took his stick and his knapsack and departed.

As he went out, some children who had followed him from the <i>Cross of Colbas</i>, and who seemed to be lying in wait for him, threw stones at him. He retraced his steps in anger, and threatened them with his stick: the children dispersed like a flock of birds.

He passed before the prison. At the door hung an iron chain attached to a bell. He rang.

The wicket opened.

“Turnkey,” said he, removing his cap politely, “will you have the kindness to admit me, and give me a lodging for the night?”

A voice replied:—

“The prison is not an inn. Get yourself arrested, and you will be admitted.”

The wicket closed again.

He entered a little street in which there were many gardens. Some of them are enclosed only by hedges, which lends a cheerful aspect to the street. In the midst of these gardens and hedges he caught sight of a small house of a single story, the window of which was lighted up. He peered through the pane as he had done at the public house. Within was a large whitewashed room, with a bed draped in printed cotton stuff, and a cradle in one corner, a few wooden chairs, and a double-barrelled gun hanging on the wall. A table was spread in the centre of the room. A copper lamp illuminated the tablecloth of coarse white linen, the pewter jug shining like silver, and filled with wine, and the brown, smoking soup-tureen. At this table sat a man of about forty, with a merry and open countenance, who was dandling a little child on his knees. Close by a very young woman was nursing another child. The father was laughing, the child was laughing, the mother was smiling.

The stranger paused a moment in reverie before this tender and calming spectacle. What was taking place within him? He alone could have told. It is probable that he thought that this joyous house would be hospitable, and that, in a place where he beheld so much happiness, he would find perhaps a little pity.

He tapped on the pane with a very small and feeble knock.

They did not hear him.

He tapped again.

He heard the woman say, “It seems to me, husband, that some one is knocking.”

“No,” replied the husband.

He tapped a third time.

The husband rose, took the lamp, and went to the door, which he opened.

He was a man of lofty stature, half peasant, half artisan. He wore a huge leather apron, which reached to his left shoulder, and which a hammer, a red handkerchief, a powder-horn, and all sorts of objects which were upheld by the girdle, as in a pocket, caused to bulge out. He carried his head thrown backwards; his shirt, widely opened and turned back, displayed his bull neck, white and bare. He had thick eyelashes, enormous black whiskers, prominent eyes, the lower part of his face like a snout; and besides all this, that air of being on his own ground, which is indescribable.

“Pardon me, sir,” said the wayfarer, “Could you, in consideration of payment, give me a plate of soup and a corner of that shed yonder in the garden, in which to sleep? Tell me; can you? For money?”

“Who are you?” demanded the master of the house.

The man replied: “I have just come from Puy-Moisson. I have walked all day long. I have travelled twelve leagues. Can you?—if I pay?”

“I would not refuse,” said the peasant, “to lodge any respectable man who would pay me. But why do you not go to the inn?”

“There is no room.”

“Bah! Impossible. This is neither a fair nor a market day. Have you been to Labarre?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

The traveller replied with embarrassment: “I do not know. He did not receive me.”

“Have you been to What’s-his-name’s, in the Rue Chaffaut?”

The stranger’s embarrassment increased; he stammered, “He did not receive me either.”

The peasant’s countenance assumed an expression of distrust; he surveyed the newcomer from head to feet, and suddenly exclaimed, with a sort of shudder:—

“Are you the man?—”

He cast a fresh glance upon the stranger, took three steps backwards, placed the lamp on the table, and took his gun down from the wall.

Meanwhile, at the words, <i>Are you the man?</i> the woman had risen, had clasped her two children in her arms, and had taken refuge precipitately behind her husband, staring in terror at the stranger, with her bosom uncovered, and with frightened eyes, as she murmured in a low tone, <i>“Tso-maraude.”</i>

All this took place in less time than it requires to picture it to one’s self. After having scrutinized the man for several moments, as one scrutinizes a viper, the master of the house returned to the door and said:—

“Clear out!”

“For pity’s sake, a glass of water,” said the man.

“A shot from my gun!” said the peasant.

Then he closed the door violently, and the man heard him shoot two large bolts. A moment later, the window-shutter was closed, and the sound of a bar of iron which was placed against it was audible outside.

Night continued to fall. A cold wind from the Alps was blowing. By the light of the expiring day the stranger perceived, in one of the gardens which bordered the street, a sort of hut, which seemed to him to be built of sods. He climbed over the wooden fence resolutely, and found himself in the garden. He approached the hut; its door consisted of a very low and narrow aperture, and it resembled those buildings which road-laborers construct for themselves along the roads. He thought without doubt, that it was, in fact, the dwelling of a road-laborer; he was suffering from cold and hunger, but this was, at least, a shelter from the cold. This sort of dwelling is not usually occupied at night. He threw himself flat on his face, and crawled into the hut. It was warm there, and he found a tolerably good bed of straw. He lay, for a moment, stretched out on this bed, without the power to make a movement, so fatigued was he. Then, as the knapsack on his back was in his way, and as it furnished, moreover, a pillow ready to his hand, he set about unbuckling one of the straps. At that moment, a ferocious growl became audible. He raised his eyes. The head of an enormous dog was outlined in the darkness at the entrance of the hut.

It was a dog’s kennel.

He was himself vigorous and formidable; he armed himself with his staff, made a shield of his knapsack, and made his way out of the kennel in the best way he could, not without enlarging the rents in his rags.

He left the garden in the same manner, but backwards, being obliged, in order to keep the dog respectful, to have recourse to that manœuvre with his stick which masters in that sort of fencing designate as <i>la rose couverte</i>.

When he had, not without difficulty, repassed the fence, and found himself once more in the street, alone, without refuge, without shelter, without a roof over his head, chased even from that bed of straw and from that miserable kennel, he dropped rather than seated himself on a stone, and it appears that a passer-by heard him exclaim, “I am not even a dog!”

He soon rose again and resumed his march. He went out of the town, hoping to find some tree or haystack in the fields which would afford him shelter.

He walked thus for some time, with his head still drooping. When he felt himself far from every human habitation, he raised his eyes and gazed searchingly about him. He was in a field. Before him was one of those low hills covered with close-cut stubble, which, after the harvest, resemble shaved heads.

The horizon was perfectly black. This was not alone the obscurity of night; it was caused by very low-hanging clouds which seemed to rest upon the hill itself, and which were mounting and filling the whole sky. Meanwhile, as the moon was about to rise, and as there was still floating in the zenith a remnant of the brightness of twilight, these clouds formed at the summit of the sky a sort of whitish arch, whence a gleam of light fell upon the earth.

The earth was thus better lighted than the sky, which produces a particularly sinister effect, and the hill, whose contour was poor and mean, was outlined vague and wan against the gloomy horizon. The whole effect was hideous, petty, lugubrious, and narrow.

There was nothing in the field or on the hill except a deformed tree, which writhed and shivered a few paces distant from the wayfarer.

This man was evidently very far from having those delicate habits of intelligence and spirit which render one sensible to the mysterious aspects of things; nevertheless, there was something in that sky, in that hill, in that plain, in that tree, which was so profoundly desolate, that after a moment of immobility and reverie he turned back abruptly. There are instants when nature seems hostile.

He retraced his steps; the gates of D—— were closed. D——, which had sustained sieges during the wars of religion, was still surrounded in 1815 by ancient walls flanked by square towers which have been demolished since. He passed through a breach and entered the town again.

It might have been eight o’clock in the evening. As he was not acquainted with the streets, he recommenced his walk at random.

In this way he came to the prefecture, then to the seminary. As he passed through the Cathedral Square, he shook his fist at the church.

At the corner of this square there is a printing establishment. It is there that the proclamations of the Emperor and of the Imperial Guard to the army, brought from the Island of Elba and dictated by Napoleon himself, were printed for the first time.

Worn out with fatigue, and no longer entertaining any hope, he lay down on a stone bench which stands at the doorway of this printing office.

At that moment an old woman came out of the church. She saw the man stretched out in the shadow. “What are you doing there, my friend?” said she.

He answered harshly and angrily: “As you see, my good woman, I am sleeping.” The good woman, who was well worthy the name, in fact, was the Marquise de R——

“On this bench?” she went on.

“I have had a mattress of wood for nineteen years,” said the man; “to-day I have a mattress of stone.”

“You have been a soldier?”

“Yes, my good woman, a soldier.”

“Why do you not go to the inn?”

“Because I have no money.”

“Alas!” said Madame de R——, “I have only four sous in my purse.”

“Give it to me all the same.”

The man took the four sous. Madame de R—— continued: “You cannot obtain lodgings in an inn for so small a sum. But have you tried? It is impossible for you to pass the night thus. You are cold and hungry, no doubt. Some one might have given you a lodging out of charity.”

“I have knocked at all doors.”

“Well?”

“I have been driven away everywhere.”

The “good woman” touched the man’s arm, and pointed out to him on the other side of the street a small, low house, which stood beside the Bishop’s palace.

“You have knocked at all doors?”

“Yes.”

“Have you knocked at that one?”

“No.”

“Knock there.”

[rushikesh-d]

Sun Visor Market To Witness the Highest Growth Globally in Coming Years

The report begins with an overview of the Sun Visor Market and presents throughout its development. It provides a comprehensive analysis of all regional and key player segments providing closer insights into current market conditions and future market opportunities, along with drivers, trend segments, consumer behavior, price factors, and market performance and estimates. Forecast market information, SWOT analysis, Sun Visor Market scenario, and feasibility study are the important aspects analyzed in this report.

The Sun Visor Market is experiencing robust growth driven by the expanding globally. The Sun Visor Market is poised for substantial growth as manufacturers across various industries embrace automation to enhance productivity, quality, and agility in their production processes. Sun Visor Market leverage robotics, machine vision, and advanced control technologies to streamline assembly tasks, reduce labor costs, and minimize errors. With increasing demand for customized products, shorter product lifecycles, and labor shortages, there is a growing need for flexible and scalable automation solutions. As technology advances and automation becomes more accessible, the adoption of automated assembly systems is expected to accelerate, driving market growth and innovation in manufacturing. Automotive Electrical Steering Column Lock Market Size, Share & Industry Analysis, By Vehicle Type (Passenger cars, Light Commercial Vehicle, High Commercial Vehicle), By Sales Channel (OEMs, Aftermarket) and Regional Forecast, 2022-2029

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Key Strategies

Key strategies in the Sun Visor Market revolve around optimizing production efficiency, quality, and flexibility. Integration of advanced robotics and machine vision technologies streamlines assembly processes, reducing cycle times and error rates. Customization options cater to diverse product requirements and manufacturing environments, ensuring solution scalability and adaptability. Collaboration with industry partners and automation experts fosters innovation and addresses evolving customer needs and market trends. Moreover, investment in employee training and skill development facilitates seamless integration and operation of Sun Visor Market. By prioritizing these strategies, manufacturers can enhance competitiveness, accelerate time-to-market, and drive sustainable growth in the Sun Visor Market.

Major Sun Visor Market Manufacturers covered in the market report include:

Some of the major companies that are present in the sun visor market GRIOS SRO, akciova spolecnost, KASAI KOGYO Co.Ltd, KÃBO GmbH & Co KG, Grupo Antolin, Atlas Industries Holdings LLC, GUMOTEX, Howa Co Ltd, Irvin Automotive Products Inc, FOMPAK and KB Foam Inc., among the other players.

Sun Visor also helps to keep the temperature of the vehicle low by blocking direct sun rays from entering the vehicle. It also avoids the sun rays to reach directly to the audio system, which results in the prevention of damage caused by sun rays to the system. In recent years sun visors have been the most important part of vehicles as they improve the appearance of the interior of the vehicle. Rising sales and production of vehicles and rapid urbanization globally anticipated driving the sun visor market.

Trends Analysis

The Sun Visor Market is experiencing rapid expansion fueled by the manufacturing industry's pursuit of efficiency and productivity gains. Key trends include the adoption of collaborative robotics and advanced automation technologies to streamline assembly processes and reduce labor costs. With the rise of Industry 4.0 initiatives, manufacturers are investing in flexible and scalable Sun Visor Market capable of handling diverse product portfolios. Moreover, advancements in machine vision and AI-driven quality control are enhancing production throughput and ensuring product consistency. The emphasis on sustainability and lean manufacturing principles is driving innovation in energy-efficient and eco-friendly Sun Visor Market Solutions.

Regions Included in this Sun Visor Market Report are as follows:

North America [U.S., Canada, Mexico]

Europe [Germany, UK, France, Italy, Rest of Europe]

Asia-Pacific [China, India, Japan, South Korea, Southeast Asia, Australia, Rest of Asia Pacific]

South America [Brazil, Argentina, Rest of Latin America]

Middle East & Africa [GCC, North Africa, South Africa, Rest of the Middle East and Africa]

Significant Features that are under offering and key highlights of the reports:

- Detailed overview of the Sun Visor Market.

- Changing the Sun Visor Market dynamics of the industry.

- In-depth market segmentation by Type, Application, etc.

- Historical, current, and projected Sun Visor Market size in terms of volume and value.

- Recent industry trends and developments.

- Competitive landscape of the Sun Visor Market.

- Strategies of key players and product offerings.

- Potential and niche segments/regions exhibiting promising growth.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

► What is the current market scenario?

► What was the historical demand scenario, and forecast outlook from 2024 to 2030?

► What are the key market dynamics influencing growth in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► Who are the prominent players in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What is the consumer perspective in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What are the key demand-side and supply-side trends in the Global Sun Visor Market?

► What are the largest and the fastest-growing geographies?

► Which segment dominated and which segment is expected to grow fastest?

► What was the COVID-19 impact on the Global Sun Visor Market?

Table Of Contents:

1 Market Overview

1.1 Sun Visor Market Introduction

1.2 Market Analysis by Type

1.3 Market Analysis by Applications

1.4 Market Analysis by Regions

1.4.1 North America (United States, Canada and Mexico)

1.4.1.1 United States Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.2 Canada Market States and Outlook 

1.4.1.3 Mexico Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2 Europe (Germany, France, UK, Russia and Italy)

1.4.2.1 Germany Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.2 France Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.3 UK Market States and Outlook

1.4.2.4 Russia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.2.5 Italy Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3 Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, Korea, India and Southeast Asia)

1.4.3.1 China Market States and Outlook

1.4.3.2 Japan Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.3 Korea Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.4 India Market States and Outlook 

1.4.3.5 Southeast Asia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4 South America, Middle East and Africa

1.4.4.1 Brazil Market States and Outlook

1.4.4.2 Egypt Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.3 Saudi Arabia Market States and Outlook 

1.4.4.4 South Africa Market States and Outlook 

1.5 Market Dynamics

1.5.1 Market Opportunities

1.5.2 Market Risk

1.5.3 Market Driving Force

2 Manufacturers Profiles

Continued…

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[avastrasposts]

Frankie & Din

Ok, the brain worm inspired by @fuckyeahdindjarin post about which Pedro boys would bicker and fight has had me in a choke hold these past few days so I might've blurted out a 2.8 k one-shot with our favourite pilot, sweet Frankie and our favourite space boy, broody Din based on the line; "Go on then, space boy, fly this.” 

Happy Frankie (and Din) Friday!

Also, no warnings needed, this is just nonsense!

And yes, I did download a 34 page manual on how to start a helicopter to write this.

Frankie was immediately drawn to the sleek looking…airplane? The word didn’t seem correct for the silvery vehicle that stood parked on the asphalt, at the outskirts of the old airfield that stood host to the aviation fair. The vehicle glinted in the sun, a thruster on either side of the main cabin. They tapered off to sharp points, as did the cabin, giving the whole shining build a look of speed. It hovered just above the ground, seemingly not needing any landing gear. 

As Frankie got closer and circled around the vehicle, he noticed a figure stepping out from behind it. The man, at least he thought it was a man, was as shiny as the vehicle, clad from top to toe in glinting metal armor. Even his head was covered by a metal helmet, a black T shaped visor on the front. Despite his dark aviators, Frankie had to hold up his hand to shield his eyes under the peak of his cap, as the bright sun bounced off all the metal, He’s gonna start a fucking bush fire, he thought to himself. 

“Hey,” Frankie said, giving the shiny man a small nod as he walked up to the main cabin and looked into the open cockpit, “Nice ride.”

“Thanks,” came a gruff, modulated voice from behind the helmet. He was standing still next to one of the thrusters and Frankie noticed that he had a strange looking gun in a holster on his hip. 

“This thing, uuhh… a new prototype or something?” Frankie asked, putting his hand on the edge of the cockpit as he leaned in for a closer look at the controls. 

“Don’t touch that.” 

The shiny man’s tone was low but with a thinly veiled warning right under the surface. Frankie immediately took his hand off the cockpit. 

“Sorry, man, just curious about the controls, never seen anything like it.” He looked up at the helmeted man, “You fly this thing?”

“Yes.” 

“Cool.” Frankie pursed his lips as his eyes slid over the sleek form of the vehicle. “Wouldn’t mind trying it out if it’s available?” Frankie didn’t notice how the shiny man slowly tilted his head to the left, the visor trained on him. 

“I’m a pilot myself, you see,” Frankie continued, “Flew a heavy loaded Mi-8 over the fucking Andes once.” He rocked back on the balls of his feet, “yep, I cleared that ridge.” 

The other man silently crossed his arms, shifting his weight over to his right hip, as he watched the pilot circle back to one of the thrusters. 

Frankie squatted down, tilting his head to look inside the thruster, “I think you’ve got some rust here, pal.” 

“There’s no rust on my ship.” 

“Yeah, well, either you’ve got rust or you’ve got a pretty weird paint job,” Frankie poked between the blades as the other man uncrossed his arms and straightened up, the fingers of his right hand twitched and flexed, he he walked over to the thruster and stopped right behind Frankie. 

The shadow of the armored man fell over the pilot who had to crane his neck to look up at him from his crouched position. 

“Oh, sorry, let me just…” Frankie scrambled to his feet and shuffled to the side as the other man bent down and peered through the blades of the thruster, running a finger along the inside. As he pulled it back he gave the pad of the finger a hard stare, the rust red dust clearly visible. 

“Told ya,” Frankie said with a smirk, “this climate is hell on any metal.” He strolled over to the other thruster and peered through the blades, “Yup, you got some here too, pal. Personally I recommend Loctite Naval Jelly, best rust remover on the market.” 

The only response was a non-commital grunt through the modulator as the man stood up. 

“Soooo…how fast is this thing? Looks pretty zippy,” Frankie lifted his hand to pat the front of the ship but halted his movement as the shiny man turned his head and looked directly at the hand hovering an inch over the bonnet. 

“The original N-1 tops out at three point five parsec, this one has been heavily modified, I haven’t tested the max speed yet.” The armored man strode over to where Frankie was standing and rubbed his hand over the metal where the pilot’s hand had almost touched, buffing out an invisible spot.

“In English, pal?” 

“Eleven hundred kilometers per hour.” He ran his hand over the bonnet, caressing the smooth shape.

“Get the fuck out of here! Eleven hundred k per hour?!” Frankie’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “You’re fucking full of shit!”

“She’s a repurposed N-1 Starfighter fitted with the original Nubian Monarc C-4 hyperdrive and two added J-type Nubian 221 sublight engines.” The pride in the man’s modulated voice was evident as his hidden gaze drifted over the sleek starship. 

“Ok, this is some serious hardware,” Frankie’s voice was impressed as he did another lap around the vehicle, “any chance of a test flight?”

“It’s a one seater, sorry,” the other man’s voice betrayed that he was in fact, not sorry that the ship would seat only one person. 

“Oh, that’s ok, I’m a pilot too, remember?” Frankie walked over to the cockpit again and looked in, keeping his hands away from the edge this time. “Just show me the basics and I’ll get a feel for it in the air.” He looked up at the armored man, trying to find his eyes behind the visor as he gave him his most serious look. 

“No.” 

“Not even pilot to pilot? Professional courtesy?” 

“No.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, man, “ Frankie sighed, taking a few steps back and admiring the ship again, swiping his cap off his head for a scratch before cramming it back down, “She’s a real beauty.” 

“She’s a spaceship, not comparable to the vehicles a regular pilot flies,” the man said, “your skills won’t translate.” 

“Ah, man, c’mon, I’ll take you up in the Mi-8 as a thank you,” Frankie pointed over to a large army helicopter parked a few rows away. “She’s not as fast as your baby here, but she can fit thirty seven troop seats, kinda handy when you need more than just the one guy to show up.” 

Frankie tilted his aviators down his nose, giving the other man a look up and down under the beak of his cap, “No offense, your armor is very bad ass but sometimes you need a full company of soldiers, ya know?” 

The shiny helmet tipped to the right as the armored arms crossed over the metal chest plates. 

“Ok, ok,” Frankie said, “I’ll make you a deal, if you can fly the Mi-8 right off the bat, I’ll shut up, you’re the better pilot.” The visored helmet came up and stared at Frankie, “But, but, if you can’t, then you show me the ropes on this baby and I get a test drive, low speed, low to the ground, I promise.” 

The shiny man seemed to consider Frankie for a few long seconds, the gloved fingers drummed on his metal pauldron. 

“Ok, deal. I’ll fly your helopticer.” 

“Great!” Frankie grinned and motioned towards the Mi-8, “And it’s heli-cop-ter but uhm, hey, man, whatever,” he gave the armored man’s gun a quick look as the black T of the visor looked at him. 

…

“Ok, here we are,” Frankie stepped into the chopper’s spacious hull and hooked his aviators into the neckline of his t-shirt, “pretty nice huh?” 

The other man looked around, taking in the utilitarian set up, no comfort, strictly focused on practicality and gave a barely perceptible nod, “Reminds me of my old ship, a Razor Crest. More space than the N-1.” He walked over to the cockpit and took a look at the interior. “What kind of fire power do you have?” 

“Uuhh...at the moment, six weapons stations, for rockets and bombs, and two side-mounted machine guns, but all inactive in this particular one.” Frankie tapped the empty mount attached to the chopper.

“No lasers?” The other man’s helmeted chin tilted up, surprise in his voice and Frankie’s eyebrows knotted. 

“No, no lasers, we use bullets on this planet, pal.” 

“Huh,” came the modulated reply, the visor turning back to the cockpit as he stepped into it, looking around the controls. 

“You need keys for this thing, or what?” he asked, sitting down in the pilot’s seat. 

“Hey shiny, that’s the wrong seat,” Frankie snarked, stepping into the cockpit. The other man froze for a moment before he shuffled over to the other seat as Frankie’s chuckled, he felt pretty confident about this bet. Leaning back against the side of the co-pilot seat the man had just vacated, he crossed his arms and grinned. 

“Go on then, space boy, fly this.” 

The visor snapped back to Frankie who just arched an eyebrow at his own reflection, bouncing back at him from the smooth metal. 

“Keys.” Came the flat, modulated response. 

“No, no keys, you just activate the circuit breakers,” Frankie replied, watching the armored man scan the control panel. Through the modulator came a small huff. 

“Hrrrmm…” Frankie cleared his voice, “over here,” he said, leaning over the smooth metal of the shoulder piece and pointing to a row of switches. 

The other man flicked them and his fingers hovered over the next set of switches marked Banks for a few seconds, before he flicked them too. 

“And then the battery…” Frankie said, pointing to the dial when the other man’s gaze roamed across the panel. The dial had several settings and the gloved hand grabbed it but didn’t turn it, another huff coming from the modulator.

“DC Battery Buses,” came Frankie’s voice from behind him and the gloved hand turned the dial to the correct position before he sat back against the pilot’s seat, scanning the controls again. Frankie waited patiently, arms crossed, as the shiny helmet searched back and forth over the panel. 

“Hey, man, let me cut you some slack, ok?” Frankie finally said. “The deal was strictly speaking about flying, I’ll start her up and then you can take over.” He pushed off the co-pilot’s seat and stood behind the other man, “Shift over, pal.” 

The armored man sat still for a beat and Frankie reached out and tapped the metal pauldron, “Hey, buddy, you still hearing me?” 

“Yes.” The man stood up, and Frankie took an involuntary step back, the broad metal armor filling up the space between the two front seats, dwarfing the other man. 

“Uuuhh…yeah, so let me just start her up,” Frankie cleared his throat and squeezed himself between the seat and the very solid wall of metal in front of him and sat down in the pilot’s position. While his fingers danced over the control panel with practiced ease, the other man sank down in the co-pilot’s seat, watching the pilot flick a number of switches and dials while the machine slowly came to life around them. 

“Throttle on, Auxiliary power on, Rotor brake off,” Frankie mumbled, “Engine one start, engine two start.” WIth a hum the large rotor blades above the chopper started moving, making the other man lean forward and look up through the windshield as they slowly turned, picking up speed. 

“Alright, there we go, you’re up, space boy,” Frankie grinned and stood up, moving back behind the pilot’s seat again. 

“Don’t call me ‘space boy’,” the modulated voice had a surly tone as he moved across. “It’s Din.” 

“Nice to meet you, Din. I’m Frankie,” the pilot said, sitting down in the vacated co-pilot’s seat. “Now, there’s your stick, nice and steady on the up, give her power on the throttle but easy does it.” 

It turns out there are some similarities between Din’s shiny spaceship and the behemoth Mi-8 helicopter, physics are still physics. And although the large machine wobbled, the mandalorian managed to make it rise more or less straight up under Frankie’s watchful eyes. Going down was less smooth, the landing gear smacking hard against the asphalt, making the helicopter groan as Frankie winced. 

“Nice landing, man, but let's not make it a habit, ok?”

“Dank farrik.” 

“You owe me a ride, pal,” the pilot grinned from ear to ear, as he reached over and flicked a couple of switches, the roar of the Mi-8 slowly dying down. 

“Hrmph…” 

…

Frankie bounced on the balls of his feet as the two men made their way back to the N-1 starfighter, the setting sun glinting off the smooth metal. 

“Man, much as I love my chopper, I’ve got to give it to you, Din, she’s a real beauty, look at those lines!”

“Try not to touch the metal, I just had her polished.” 

“Yeah, of course, pal, of course,” Frankie strode up to the cockpit with Din reluctantly trailing behind. “Uuuhh…how do I get in? Just jump or what?” 

Din nodded, a low sigh heard through the modulator as Frankie grabbed hold of the edge of the cockpit and hoisted himself up. He surreptitiously buffed out a fingerprint the pilot had left behind on the shiny metal finish. 

“So…let’s see…” Frankie hummed to himself, letting his fingers trail across the buttons on the panel of the N-1 as Din nervously hovered by the cockpit, flinching as Frankie started flicking buttons. 

“You might wanna step back a bit there, pal, I got this,” Frankie grinned at him, the glass dome sliding back over the cockpit and the engines roared to life. 

“Wait..what!” Din spluttered as he had to stumble back, Frankie grabbing hold of the yoke and revving the engine. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back!” Frankie yelled, a wide grin on his face, before pulling back on the yoke, the N-1 taking off, leaving the mandalorian on the ground, coated in dust. 

“Dank farrik!” Din reached back to engage the phoenix pack, only to grasp at air, the damn thing was still stored on his ship!

Looking up he could see the starfighter zip across the sky, climbing higher. 

He punched the comms link on his vambrace, “Bring her back now or I will bring you in cold!”

“Hey, you’ve got direct comms to the ship, awesome!” Frankie’s voice crackled through the receiver, “Don’t worry, I just wanna clear the atmosphere, I’ve never been to space. I’m almost there.” 

“Come back now!” Din roared through his helmet but Frankie ignored him, a strangled gasp coming through from the N-1. 

“Holy shit, Din…this is incredible…” Frankie’s voice was laced with awe as the starfighter breached the Earth’s atmosphere and shot into the exosphere. “This is fucking incredible, man. It’s fucking space!” 

“Don’t go further out, we’ll lose comms, Frankie,” Din turned his head up towards the sky, watching the thermal trail of the N-1 disappearing up past what his helmet visor could track. 

“Don’t worry, I just…fuck…I just need to take in this view,” the comms went quiet for a minute, all Din could hear was Frankie’s shuffling inside the cockpit as he turned his head to take it all in. “Man…I can’t believe you get to see this on the daily, you’re one lucky fucking pilot, Din.” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible, I guess,” Din conceded.

“Alright, I’m coming back, lemme just….there, got a shot of it, Pope’s gonna blow his fucking mind when I instagram this shit.” 

The starfighter soon appeared as a tiny glinting dot in the sky and Din focused on it, following its decent back down to earth as Frankie smoothly pulled the ship out of the dive, leveling out and gliding back down to the asphalt, letting it hover just above the ground as he slid back the cockpit glass. 

“Holy fucking shit, man! That was fucking incredible!” Frankie jumped out of the N-1, slapping Din on the shoulder, as he bounced around the thrusters, “Absolutely fucking incredible!” 

He stopped and grinned at Din, his smile nearly splitting his cheeks. “Man…I cannot fucking believe you get to do that every day. I never thought I’d say this, but fuck, that actually beats flying choppers!” 

“Yeah, it’s wizard,” the mandalorian said, the modulator betraying a bit of glee as Frankie continued to bounce around the N-1, snapping shots of it from every angle. 

“Uhhm…” Din tilted his head and jerked his thumb behind him, “I’ve got a…an acquaintance, she’s restored an old Razor Crest. If you want, I can check if she’ll give you a good price, if you’re interested.”

“You serious?” Frankie stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide under the brim of his cap, “a spaceship?”

“It’s not an N-1 starfighter, but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Lead the way, pal!” Frankie slapped his hand on Din’s metal pauldron before hastily retracting it, “Sorry ‘bout that, I’ll just….” he surreptitiously buffed the metal with the sleeve of his flannel shirt under Din’s hard gaze. 

The two men walked off down the airfield as the sun dipped down beneath the horizon. 

“Hey, maybe when I get this ship, we can work together?”

“No.” 

“I bet you need extra cargo space sometimes.” 

“Hrmph…”

“Everybody needs a bit of extra space, pal”. 

“Maybe.” 

“Hey, lemme tell you about that time I flew over the fucking Andes!” 

“No.” 

The End

@imaswellkid Though you might enjoy this too!

[spotlightstory]

The Michigan Medicis of Donald Trump’s America

Left, clockwise from top left Blackwater founder Erik Prince; U.S. Sec of Education Betsy DeVos (Prince); philanthropist Elsa and Prince Corporation founder Edgar Prince. Right, philanthropist Hellen and Amway co-founder Richard DeVos; standing, businessman Dick DeVos.

If you ever wondered where the weird Republican ideas came from or how did we get here, well, here's a piece of the puzzle. Buckle up, it's a long read. Link to full article above. I pulled out quotes on topics below.

"In the solar system of elite Republican contributors, Richard DeVos Sr., who died Thursday at age 92—one of the two founders of Amway, the direct-sale colossus—occupied an exalted place, and his offspring did too. Since the 1970s, members of the DeVos family had given as much as $200 million to the G.O.P. and been tireless promoters of the modern conservative movement—its ideas, its policies, and its crusades combining free-market economics, a push for privatization of many government functions, and Christian social values. While other far-right mega-donors may have become better known over the years (the Coorses and the Kochs, Sheldon Adelson and the Mercers), Michigan’s DeVos dynasty stands apart—for the duration, range, and depth of its influence."

Conservative think tanks, advocacy organizations, and colleges

Grand Valley State University; Calvin College, attended by several generations of DeVoses, including Rich’s daughter-in-law Betsy DeVos, Northwood University, her husband Dick’s alma mater. Hillsdale, the libertarian-plus-Christian liberal-arts college in southern Michigan.

Other recipients of DeVos largesse: the Heritage Foundation, the Institute for Justice, and the American Enterprise Institute

"The DeVoses’ preference for “values-oriented” candidates reflect the teachings of the Christian Reformed Church. A small breakaway denomination of its Dutch forerunner, it has some 300,000 adherents in North America, many living in the same western-Michigan towns where their immigrant ancestors settled in the 1840s to pursue a faith.."

SCHOOL REFORM: Who can forget Betsy DeVos’s campaign to undo the state’s public-education system and replace it with for-profit and charter schools that, as she had put it two decades earlier, shared her mission of “defending the Judeo-Christian values"?

“[Among] her big ‘accomplishments,’” says Diane Ravitch, the N.Y.U. professor and respected education historian, “have been reversing civil-rights enforcement for kids with disabilities, putting administrators from for-profit colleges in charge of monitoring for-profit colleges . . . stabbing in the back young people with heavy debt for their college education, and being a constant critic of public schools.” One saving grace, Ravitch contends, is that DeVos has gotten very few of her budget proposals through Congress. 

LABOR UNIONS: Another target was labor unions. Amway and the Prince Corporation had no use for them. Now the family waged a public fight. After Dick DeVos was routed when he ran for governor of Michigan in 2006, he blamed his defeat, in part, on Michigan’s unions and began to push for a right-to-work law (weakening the unions’ economic power and political clout, a pillar of the state’s Democratic Party). In 2012, the bill got through, and Michigan—headquarters to the United Automobile Workers, no less—became yet another of the country’s right-to-work states.

FAMILY: "Betsy and Erik’s father, Edgar Prince, was a Chrysler-Plymouth salesman and then machine engineer who started a die-cast business and also had a tinkerer’s gift for inventions. One, the lighted vanity mirror on the flip-up sun visor (introduced in 1972), helped Prince become one of the wealthiest men in Michigan." (wow) "As he got richer, the elder Prince rewarded his hometown handsomely; Prince money has done much to preserve downtown Holland, which remains a 1950s time capsule of Candy Land façades."

The C.R.C.’s greatest figure, Abraham Kuyper, a Dutch theologian and prime minister who died almost a century ago, had declared, in words the faithful know by heart: “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!”  

The Princes and DeVoses—with neighboring homes in Holland—had effected a merger thanks to the 1979 marriage of their firstborn, Betsy Prince and Dick DeVos, then in their 20s. “Bible-reading jet-setter” was the description in a Detroit Free Press profile of Betsy.

Betsy and Dick own a 22,000-square-foot mansion on Lake Macatawa.

ERIK PRINCE was devoted to his father, who doted on him. He played four sports at Holland Christian and was the proudly straitlaced kid who, without being asked, put away the soccer balls after practice. Prince enrolled in the U.S. Naval Academy in 1987 but was shocked by the frat-house atmosphere—too much for a junior culture warrior who’d been an intern at the Family Research Council. After three semesters, he transferred to Michigan’s Hillsdale College.

Today Hillsdale, under its president, Larry P. Arnn (former head of the Claremont Institute, a citadel of far-right ideology), is known as a feeder school for the Trump administration, including Betsy DeVos’s chief of staff, Josh Venable. In May, the week Vice President Pence gave the commencement address there, Politico called it “the college that wants to take over Washington”—citing many alums who are now D.C. power players. 

In 1989, Erik had been invited to a “youth” inaugural ball for Bush—and there had met Joan Keating, the woman who would become his first wife. Prince even worked as a Bush White House intern. “I saw a lot of things I didn’t agree with,” he later said. “Homosexual groups being invited in, the budget agreement, the Clean Air Act, those kind of bills. I think the administration has been indifferent to a lot of conservative concerns.” He left that job for another, in the office of California congressman Dana Rohrabacher, who has often been called Vladimir Putin’s top Capitol Hill asset, so valued, the Times has reported, that he was given a Kremlin code name.

Prince spent four years with the SEALs in the early 90s but moved on after his wife was diagnosed with cancer and his father, aged 63, died of a heart attack. The elder Prince left behind a business with 4,500 employees. The family sold it for $1.3 billion, and Erik, at 25, now had a sizable inheritance.

One of Prince’s instructors in the SEALs, Al Clark, was also looking to set up a security-and-defense training company. Prince had money to invest. Out of this came Blackwater, which began as an instruction facility for law enforcement, the military, and special-ops squads in Moyock, North Carolina. 

The article goes into detail about Blackwater and it is mind-blowing. Their involvement post 9/11, Russian arms dealings, US government contracts,

"The source says he resigned after he discovered that Prince had approved plans to illegally weaponize aircraft and “actively train former Chinese Red Army personnel that are now being deployed into Pakistan, Thailand, Myanmar, and the Uighur region in China”—actions he perceived as supporting foreign interests above America’s. (Other Prince associates reportedly resigned for similar reasons.) Prince firmly denied the allegations."

[threewaywithdelusion]

I Would've Liked To Know You: Dustin

(warnings for suicidal ideation and major character death (Steve) that occurs before the story starts)

The car sat in Dustin’s driveway. A 1981 BMW 733i. It had leather seats and cruise control and a six-cylinder engine that could go 0 to 100 in under nine seconds — not that Dustin would know. It had been sitting in his driveway for a year, but Dustin had yet to drive it. Nancy had been the one to bring it over, after everything, and before her, Steve had been the last person to drive it. 

Steve’s sunglasses were still hanging off the sun visor. His tapes — and Robin’s, all mixed together — were still in the glove compartment. A can of hairspray was hidden in the trunk, probably for emergencies, though Dustin didn’t know if those were emergencies of the my-hair-looks-bad variety or the I-need-a-makeshift-flamethrower variety. 

Every Sunday, Dustin would go out to the driveway and clean the car. He would drag soapy sponges along the maroon paint, tracing around the dent where Steve had run into a Demogorgon. He didn’t touch the inside, afraid that it would lose the essence of Steve — the things scattered around, the smell of hairspray and cigarette smoke in the air, like he might come back any second. 

If Dustin cried when he cleaned the car, Tews was the only witness and he never told. 

The problem was that Dustin had had a great excuse not to drive the car for the first few months he’d had it. He’d been only fifteen, too young for his license, and definitely too young to be driving a car worth over $30,000 to the market and everything to Dustin. 

But now Dustin was sixteen, old enough to get a license, and all his friends were learning how to drive. Jonathan was teaching Will and El in Joyce’s Ford Pinto, taking them around empty parking lots after school and on the weekends. Lucas’s dad was teaching him, Erica occasionally hopping into the back to backseat drive even though she was only 12 and didn’t (or shouldn’t) know what she was talking about. Mike’s mom was teaching him and he was turning out to be a surprisingly good driver.

Max was the only other member of the party who didn’t drive, but she was blind, so she had a better excuse. 

Ma kept offering to teach Dustin, but he kept saying no. He was the youngest, besides Max, so it was easy to make Lucas or Mike drive him around and claim it was because he didn’t have his full license yet. Eleven drove like a maniac, but Dustin would almost rather die in her passenger seat than get behind the wheel. 

Steve was supposed to teach him how to drive. Steve had promised, but Steve had died and now the idea of learning how to drive with anyone else in the passenger seat made Dustin want to scream. 

So Steve’s maroon Bimmer sat in Dustin’s driveway and Dustin cleaned it every week because it was Steve’s and Steve had trusted it to him. He diligently cleaned the pollen off the windows and the bird shit off the paint and he thought about his eternal shotgun in Steve’s car. About keeping his tapes in Steve’s car and the way Steve would let him turn the volume all the way up and sing along. About the nights when he couldn’t sleep, when Steve would pick him up and they would drive around town in silence, the motion of the car eventually lulling Dustin to sleep. Because he’d been with Steve and he’d known he was safe, that nothing bad would happen while Steve was around. 

The worst thing had happened while Steve was around. Because Steve was around. Because Dustin had been right and Steve would always protect him, but Dustin hadn’t wanted protection at the cost of Steve’s life. 

Some nights, when Dustin lay awake, he thought about how he was poison. How Mike had jumped off a cliff to save him and Eddie had died in his arms and Steve had jumped in front of a Demogorgon’s cavernous maw to protect him. 

It sounded appealing sometimes, following Steve and Eddie into death. But if Dustin died, then Steve’s sacrifice would have been for nothing and there was no world in which Dustin could make Steve’s death meaningless. 

So he lived and he didn’t let the thoughts of death creep in during daylight hours and he pretended that his biggest problem was that he couldn’t convince himself to drive that fucking car. 

It was two months past Dustin’s sixteenth birthday, on a hot Sunday in July, that Nancy Wheeler, home from college, marched up the driveway as Dustin was cleaning the car.

“I heard from Mike that you don’t have your driver’s license yet,” Nancy said. 

Dustin rubbed the sponge carefully over the nose of the car. “Not yet.”

“You should know how to drive,” Nancy said. “It’s an important skill to have. It’s a teenage right of passage. It’s freedom.”

Dustin scowled. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn to drive.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Nancy asked. Her own car keys were dangling from her fingers, reflective in the sunlight. 

“Steve was going to teach me,” Dustin said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out somewhere between choked-up and strangled. 

Nancy hesitated. Then she nodded, coming up beside Dusin and taking the sponge from his hand. “You know, Steve was the one to teach me how to drive.”

Dustin jerked around to look at her. “What? But… your mom taught Mike?”

Nancy laughed. “Yeah. She tried to teach me too, but we were always fighting that year. Every time she told me what to do, it felt like she was criticizing me and I couldn’t learn with her in the passenger seat. So Steve gave me lessons, that year we were dating.

He used to drive the Bimmer out to the school parking lot on weekends. He would give me the keys and then sit in the passenger seat and let me figure it out on my own. He was endlessly patient. He never yelled at me, even when I scratched his car.”

“You scratched his car?” Dustin echoed incredulously. 

Nancy nodded, a fond little smile on her face. She grabbed Dustin’s hand, leading him to the other side of the car, by the left rear wheel. There were a few lines scratched through the paint, parallel to the ground. 

“I always assumed those came from the trees when we were running from the that pack of demodogs that came topside,” Dustin said. 

Nancy shook her head. “Nothing that exciting. That’s from me running into a post while trying to make a left turn. Steve wasn’t even mad.”

Nancy ran her fingers over the scratches, as if she could still feel the memory by tracing over the scars. Dustin knew the feeling. Sometimes he sat in the passenger seat and pretended Steve was driving him around. Sometimes he bought Marlboro Reds, Steve’s preferred brand of cigarette, and burned them just to smell the smoke. Sometimes, when his mom held him while he cried, he pretended she was Steve. 

He always felt guilty afterwards, like he was saying he’d be willing to trade his mom for Steve, which he wouldn’t. But he would give almost anything and everything he had for five more minutes with Steve Harrington. 

“Steve wouldn’t want this,” Nancy said, like she knew him better than Dustin did. Like she had any fucking clue what she was talking about. She was in college, living her life and not breaking down over the fact that Steve had died a year ago. 

But. 

Nancy had seen parts of Steve that Dustin had never known existed. Dustin envied her for that. 

“He left the car to you, Dustin,” Nancy continued. “He made me promise that if he didn’t make it through the final battle, I would make sure you got this car.”

Dustin wished he could be surprised by the knowledge that Steve had predicted his own death. But he knew. Maybe he had always known, the way Steve had always known. There had been too many close calls — the difference between their reactions to Steve’s increasingly near brushes with death was that Steve had accepted his fate while Dustin had thought that Steve was immortal. Unstoppable. 

Like a stupid kid believing that sleeping in a parent’s bed would keep the monsters away. 

“If you want,” Nancy said, “I can teach you to drive. Just like Steve taught me. It’s what he would have wanted.”

“You think so?” Dustin asked. 

Nancy nodded. “I know so.”

Dustin was in two places at once. He was thirteen years old, Nancy Wheeler coming to his rescue at the Snow Ball when no other girl would dance with him. And he was sixteen, standing beside his dead best friend’s car, Nancy Wheeler once again extending a hand when he needed it most. 

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

After that, Sundays became the days when Nancy would teach Dustin how to drive. She’d come to his house in the early morning and he’d meet her by the car, keys in hand. She would sit in the passenger side and almost never say anything, acting exactly the way Steve had when he had taught her and letting Dustin figure it out for himself. And when Dustin had hit a mailbox and added a scratch to the front right side of the Beemer, almost having a panic attack because the car was no longer in the condition Steve had left it in, Nancy had just smiled and said that Steve would have been proud to have Dustin leave his mark on his car. 

By the end of the summer, Dustin got his drivers license. He offered to drive everyone to the first day of junior year and Max claimed shotgun and the others all piled into the backseat. 

Dustin saw Lucas stroking over the leather seats and their eyes met in the rearview mirror as Lucas gave him a smile. “I missed this car.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, setting his hands on the steering wheel where Steve’s hands had rested for years. “Me too.”

[simpingcowboy]

🌈Pride On Navarro🌈

Pairing: Trans!Din x GN!Reader, reader is implied to be queer

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: allusions to transphobia, discussions of queer visibility, coming out, grogus says trans rights

Summary: After settling down on Navarro with Din and Grogu, a new celebration comes to town!

A/N: HAPPY PRIDE!! This was written as part of @flightlessangelwings 's pride celebration!! I used their photo prompt(the large pride flag photo above!) and their dialogue prompts "Do you trust me?" "Hold my hand tight. I'll protect you." This was a bit rushed, but I hope you still enjoy <3 This is also the first trans!din writing to include Grogu!!

Trans!Din Masterlist

It’d been less than a month since you’d first settled on Navarro. The humble two room cabin quickly became home to your clan of three. The morning, as most were, was slow. The twin suns are just beginning their journey through the sky, marking their path with a burnt orange hue. Grogu was content by the pond, refining his Jedi powers through his daily meditations. You watched him closely, keeping an eye out for Din; who had already headed out to care for the ranch you three resided on.

Though most of Navarro was typically just beginning to rise- there seemed to be an unusual amount of commotion on the horizon where the town center stood. You noted a mass amount of ships docking. Though there'd been many new arrivals as part of a reconstruction efforts, these ones seemed…different from the usual material deliveries. There were some standard carrier ships. Some vendors, the ones who hopped planet to planet selling their fine goods. A couple of personal ships. But most strangely were the rounds of passenger ships. Hoards of people seemed to be flooding the gates of Navarro, eager to breach the inner city.

“Cyar’ika?” A familiar modulated voice behind you interrupts. “What are you looking at?” Din approaches. Coming round to your side, shoulder rubbing against yours.

“The ships…there’s so many today.”

“Mmm I noticed too.” He confirms. “Karga hasn’t notified me of any disturbance-”

“No. I don’t think it’s anything like that. Look.” You say, pointing to the branded vendor ships. “Vendors…maybe a market?”

Din looks over the horizon, the heat signatures on his visor affirming the large crowds. “A big one.”

“Would you like to-?” At that moment you’re cut off by an insistent tugging at the hem of your bottoms. A familiar womp rat prying for your attention. You chuckle as you pick him up. “I think Grogu would like to go.” He makes a happy sound, purring under your touch.

Din sighs, seeming hesitant.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Karga…I’m sure he’d like to hear how we're settling in.”

He grumbles, never liking going into a situation blind. But his apprehension is quickly dissolved when Grogu coos. Batting his big brown eyes up at Din. A small pout plastered on his sweet face. Din huffs, giving Grogu a pat on the head. That is all the convincing it takes.

The entrance archway is decorated in an unusual fashion. An assortment of brightly colored paper is swirled around the entirety of its length. A steady flow of confetti raining over the town. Peeking down the streets, you see vendors crowding the narrow streets. Flags of various colors and designs are hung up around town. Though your first assumption was that they belonged to different planets, as the large pride flag standing in the center of town comes into view…their meaning becomes very clear. You can’t help but smile, squeezing Din’s hand just a little tighter. Grogu’s eyes are wide as he takes in the beautiful array of colors. Each glimmering under the bright light of Navarro’s two suns.

Approaching the entrance, you see a table of pins. Small buttons of varying pride flags sit to your side, but before you have time to draw Din’s attention to it Grogu has already done so.

“No! Grogu! Put it down!”

You hear Din scold from behind you. Turning around you see the Din helplessly trying to wrestle the colorful pin out of Grogu’s mouth.

“Not food!” Din continues. He’s unsuccessful in his battle. Not getting Grogu to release the button until he decides the bitter metal is not an acceptable snack. “Dank ferrick kid…” He huffs, assessing the button in his hand. His helmet tilting as he surveys the curious array of colors. Finally, turning to you he asks “Cyar'ika, what is this?”

You smile at him, taking the pin in hand and wiping it of any remaining mess. “It’s a pride pin. Not for eating.” You emphasize, throwing a pointed look towards Grogu. “Like a mini flag to represent who you are. Each flag means something different.” Din and Grogu watch closely as you explain. “This one represents all queer genders and sexualities. It’s for everyone.” You say smiling as you attach the rainbow pin to Grogu’s collar. His small hands delicately run over the smooth surface.

“What are these other ones?” Din pulls your attention to the table, looking over the various colors.

“Well let’s see…” You discuss the ones you knew, before landing on the one you’d been searching for. “And this is your flag!” You say with a smile, holding out the trans flag pin out to Din.

His body stiffens, his face under the helmet suddenly getting very hot. “Cyar’ika can I-? S-should I?” Din asks nervously. You catch the frantic glaces he shoots into the crowd, and the uncertain sigh that escapes him as he looks at the child. “E-everyone will know…” he says quietly.

You retract your hands, covering the flag. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to wear it."

Din stops you, putting a hand over yours. "I want to but…"

Though words fail him, but you understand. There's a weight that comes with making yourself visible. Vulnerable. To identify himself in a way he's never done so publicly. Especially in front of friends. Before a whole town who knew and respected him. Though he held no reservations about holding you at his side, this was something more personal. Unearthing a struggle he'd been more than happy to bury and move on from since his teenage years. Though his fears were real, the banners of color that swirled around you told you he’d be safe here.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, placing one hand on his beskar-covered chest.

He nods hesitantly. His breath catches in his throat as he watches you carefully attach the blue, pink, and white pin to his cape.

“You’re safe here Din.” You affirm softly. “We’re safe here.” You reach to the table for a pin of your own, quickly pinning it to your top.

His body eases as he sees you attach your own pin. A small coo from his side pulls his attention. Grogu leans forward in his carrier, reaching out for the mandalorian. Din picks him up, sitting the child in his strong arms. Grogu’s small hands grab curiously at his father’s pin. Under the helmet, he goes warm. Turning to you he asks, “Do you think he knows?”

Looking down at the child, you’re certain. He’s not shy or confused. Perhaps it is something in his Jedi nature, but he seems unphased by this information. Something about his reaction makes you think he always knew. “He knows.” You say with a soft smile; enjoying the tender moment Grogu nuzzles his head against Din’s helmet.

The mandalorian leans into the hug. “Thanks kid…” he says quietly, silently struggling to keep it together. After a moment they pull away, the child happily cooing.

“Well, should we go look around?” You offer.

The pair nod. Din continues to hold Grogu in his arms, unwilling to let go of him. The comfort Grogu provides him is too good to give up at the moment. Catching onto Din’s nerves you slip your hand into his free one. Leaning in you whisper. “Hold my hand. I’ll protect you.”

Din can’t help, but chuckle. Though he was certainly the more intimating of the two of you, he can’t deny the feeling of safety he gets from holding your hand.

The market is beautiful. Bright colors adorning each pop-up vendor. You’re sure to stop by some of Grogu’s favorite stores in hopes it will convince him to be well-behaved; it is only semi-successful. The biggest treat of the day is getting to just watch Din relax. With each stop, his shoulders drop a little more. You catch his lingering eye on the transgender flags you pass by; almost in awe of the audacity to just be. Din lingers even longer in conversation with individual vendors who adorn the flag. Though you were usually the one to do the talking, he can’t seem to help himself. Of course, Grogu doesn’t mind…the more time Din spends speaking the more likely it is he will be getting something out of the exchange. Walking up to the town center, a familiar face appears.

“Mando!” Karga gleefully cheers, quick to greet his old friend. “How wonderful it is to see you out today! And with the little one too!” He smiles down at Grogu, who is happily chewing on a rainbow cookie. Karga greets you too, shaking your free hand. “I hope you’re settling in alright.”

You smile at the high magistrate, “Of course, it’s perfect for the kid. Thank you again for the offer. And thank you for holding this event! It’s lovely.”

“Well of course we had to do something for Pride! It’s important we establish ourselves as a free land! Navarro is open to all! We’re civilized now, nothing like the barbarians that once walked these streets. Speaking of- Mando, I was hoping to ask you. Is this something Mandalorians do? Pride- I mean. Is this accepted-”

You interrupt with a light cough, not to subtly nodding to Din’s trans pin.

“Oh! Well, I suppose that answers that!” Karga says with a chuckle. “In that case, tell your Mandalorian friends to come by for the festivities! And happy Pride to you Mando!”

“Th-thank you High Magistrate…” Din thanks him shyly, a sigh of relief escaping him at how easy that went over.

“That went well.” You say smiling at Din.

He shrugs, “As good as I could’ve imagined.”

“Now come on! Let’s see if we can get a good spot for the fireworks, huh?”

Hidden under the helmet, is a small smile spreading across Din’s face. He follows silently, letting the decision be between you and Grogu. You settle atop a ridge, in the perfect place to see the fireworks bloom over the town center. Din sits beside you, legs spread out in front of him. Grogu sits at the end of Din’s feet, happily digging through the bag of goodies he got through the day. You take your position at Din’s side, your head resting against his pauldron. Your hand entwined with his rests on his thigh. Anticipation building as the time nears.

He dips his head down to yours, “Cyar’ika?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what, Din?”

“For loving me.”

With that an explosion of colors graces the skyline. A boom of cheers erupts from the crowd.

“You’re very easy to love...”

Tucked away under the safety of the mountain ridge, Din is unable to stop himself. Lifting the lip of his helmet enough to press himself to you. All the words of his unspoken appreciation for you translating themselves through the fire of his kiss. The fireworks are quickly forgotten, this moment of intimacy taking superiority. Not even the roaring boom of each firework is enough to tear you away. Only the high pitched cheer of the child is enough to draw your attention away from each other. You both turn away from one another, looking at Grogu who smiles brightly, pointing up at the sky. Where a sudden explosion of blue, pink, and white fill the sky. Matching perfectly to the pin attached to Din’s cape. And an unknown pride fills the Mandalorian’s once beskar-clad heart.

[tuzesdays]

tuz... for the writing prompt... dancing in the kitchen while cooking dinner pLEAAAAASE IM ON THE FLOOR

(Hope you have a good day/evening :D)

oh you guys liked that one. awesome, so did i.

WORDCOUNT: 1335 | Fluff, Domestic (obv) | No warnings

Sun took a liking to cooking that you probably should have expected.

It was a surprise, the first time he had offered to help Obi-wan as your friend had been – in hindsight, a little desperately – trying to force some normalcy back into your lives. Maybe it was because you were still more than a little nonverbal at the time, still recuperating from the events that led you to taking shelter in Obi’s family home, or maybe it was because you always thought Sun was a little too dedicated to cleanliness to consider enjoying the mess that comes with cooking; honestly, considering his long standing love of arts and crafts, you really shouldn’t have been surprised.

More than a year down the line, the new love of cooking hasn’t died yet.

You have a grocery budget now, something that was not just redundant but completely unneeded before you began living together. The two of you actually buy ingredients instead of ramen packs and microwave meals, and then you really use them. He charms the old coupon champions in the store isles and makes small talk with the clerks. He towers above the shelves and insists on using cloth shopping bags.

It's… bizarre. Or it was bizarre, before you got used to it – and every time you tease him for trying to become a house husband, he teases you right back with your dedication to updating the grocery list.

You and your lists. Never ending.

“Something on your mind?”

Oh right. You’ve been staring at him for the last few minutes to the tune of ‘Grilled Cheese’ by Peach Face, completely lost in the melody. “I… might’ve forgotten.”

He doesn’t look at you again, focusing back in on the pan he’s stirring ingredients in and occasionally looking at the pot of pasta boiling to the side. The smells of chicken, garlic, spinach, parmesan, and a bunch of other stuff that you didn’t have a hope of keeping track of waft through the house: there’s a reason you’re not the one cooking. You were never good at this stuff, had always elected to buy food when the things in your apartment didn’t cut it. “Was it… about the market this weekend?”

“No, but thanks for reminding me.” Farmers markets. Knowing him, it’ll be an all-day event.

“Not the market.” Sun hums along to the soft tune as he thinks. “Future dinners?”

You smile. “Have I ever managed to plan a meal before?”

“Hope springs eternal, Sunbite.” He sets the spatula he was using to the side and picks up the wooden spoon he’s been stirring the pasta with. “Something for tomorrow?”

Your gaze wanders as you try to think. “Maybe…?”

“Getting closer then! Is it a laundry day?”

“Nope.” But the idea of clothes…

“How about a gardening day?”

“Not that either.” Gloves…?

“It shouldn’t be one of the Rulebreaker’s school events.”

“It’s not, we don’t have to be at one of those until next month.” Unless Gregory gets in yet another fight that one of your patchwork group has to attend a conference for. But no – he knows it’s too soon after the last one. He may be a little shit, but the kid is still wicked smart; he won’t pick another fight if he doesn’t know you’d take his side for it. Little brat. “The, um, the competition he’s in.”

“We still think the robotics is worrying.”

You absolutely agree. “He’s allowed to choose his own coping projects. Unfortunately.” The second that child learns to use a welding torch, you and your boys are going on vacation. You’re not dealing with that chaos. The mental image of Gregory wearing the visor, gloves, and apron of heavy metalworking is enough to give you nightmares.

Oh fuck! You gasp in realization. “That was it! Okay, no more guessing, we’re good.”

“Do tell?”

“It’ll be a surprise.” You pull out your phone and do a quick search for cooking aprons with dumb puns on them, pleased to find there’s a nice variety. On top of that, there are a bunch of different ‘kiss the cook’ ones that shouldn’t be as tempting as they are. “A gift, not a day plan.”

That gets you a wide, excited smile, Sun turning away from the stove to approach you – you quickly lock your phone again so he doesn’t see the screen. He looms over your seat at the table, bending at the waist so the two of you could be face-to-face. “You’re going to spoil us.”

You lean in smugly, unbothered by the closeness. “Should I save it for the holidays? Only six more months to go.”

“Don’t tease!” The top of his faceplate bonks lightly against your forehead before retreating again. “And you say that as if we don’t get the gift of your company every day!”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Sun, I could be passed out on the couch for an entire day and you’d still be happy about it.”

“Funny how that works, doesn’t it?”

You angle your head past him. “The burner’s still on, Poppy.”

He makes a huff sound, jokingly irritated at the deflection, and goes back to the stove. “This should be just about done! A quick stir, some more parmesan to top it all off… and voilà! Now for those noodles—”

“Smells great.”

“I would think so!” He switches off both burners after a moment and carries the pot of noodles to the sink, pouring everything into a drainer. You watch as the steam from the spilling water rises to drift against his rays, the slowly dying sunlight outside and the lights around the kitchen throwing the clouds into stark relief.

Little moments like these just remind you how fucking pretty he is. How pretty both of your boys are – in a wardrobe tailored to their size, Sunny’s cleanliness obsession making all shirts freshly ironed while the same instinct leads him to rolling up the sleeves past his elbows while cooking, hooked in place by sewn on star-shaped buttons you had given him ages ago. Loose cargo pants reminiscent of his jester clothes, not falling in the same places but comfortable all the same – you remember the day they discovered what decorative patches were, ironing and sewing on a select few to those pants as soon as they got their hands on some: on each pocket is a bright yellow or blue star. He’s taken their usual bells off for cooking, but the ribbons lay on the table in front of you, ready to be fastened again.

You nudge one of the bells absent-mindedly as you hear the song change. ‘Hey Lover’ by Daughters of Eve. Fitting.

You’re so gone for these boys. “Is this the favorites playlist?”

“It is.” He shakes out the drainer and carries the pasta back over to the stove, dumping it all into the pan with a small flourish and mixing so the noodles are coated in sauce. “And this is dinner, done at last! Now just a moment…”

“Bowl?”

You get up to serve yourself, but get intercepted by an arm at your waist. “Not quite!”

He moves into a more familiar hold. You feel the warmth in your chest burst and overflow.

If you had the mind to care, you would notice that the smile that breaks out is one that you can’t help, or that your posture straightens to match his own. Of course, you don’t give a shit about anything other than the person pulling you into a turn around the kitchen floor – your feet step fluidly around each other, this very dance having been gone through maybe a thousand times by now but no less exciting.

As the first ring of ‘true love and understanding’ echoes around a room already full of warm, homey smells and your own soft laughter, you realize, not for the first time and certainly not the last, that this moment – and every moment that follows, forever – is what you had always been working for.

This moment.