#din djarin x female oc

[kaleidescope-writes]

"So that's where you are..."

Din Djarin x reader

18+, Minors DNI

Tags: Established relationship, swearing, protective!Din, No use of Y/N, no mention of the show's plot, mention of violence, Din's sexy ass voice, year long wait

Pretty sure I missed something, if I did lemme know!

Should I make a part 2?

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew this wasn't going to end well. But you were too far in to stop now. You'd been traveling with the infamous Mandalorian for months, looking for jobs and trying to keep the little green monster safe. It's been rough for the three of you, especially since many of the available jobs would compromise the three of you and put Grogu in inescapable harm. "There are more jobs out there, safer jobs." Din would say. But none of them would pay half as much as those he deemed "too risky." Not only that, they were scarce throughout the Galaxy. Every planet you landed on only had a few jobs Din was willing to take.

It was funny to you. Before Grogu came along, the last thing on his mind when taking a job was whether it was too dangerous. You'd often have to scold him for caring so little about his own safety, claiming he had no sense of self-preservation. Grogu changed that. Grogu was his wake-up call. Now he cares more about the safety of all three of you than how many credits the job offered. You were struggling to buy provisions and keep the Razor Crest in good shape. Peli was a big help, giving you a discounted price on repairs, but it still wasn't enough sometimes. Sometimes you had to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to have enough rations to make it to the next job. Despite wanting to stay optimistic, you knew you couldn't keep this up, it wasn't practical. You had a few conversations with Din about your concerns, but he kept reassuring you that it was fine. "Yours and Grogu's safety is what matters the most. We'll find other jobs, but I can't let anything happen to either of you." But that wasn't enough to make your worries dissipate. You still didn't have enough credits to buy the supplies you desperately needed.

That's what brought you here. You told Din that you were going into the next town over to try to find cheaper supplies for your travels while he took the next job. You hated having to lie to him, but it was getting harder to get by. The last time you visited Peli, you bargained asked for a favor. You asked her to send one of the droid-piloted ships in her possession to the next planet you were headed to, in exchange for a portion of the credits you'd get. You then had it take you to a different planet in the solar system, one you knew you could find one of the jobs Din refused to take. So here you were, waiting in an isolated corner of one of the grime-filled, crowded bars that bounty hunters frequented. You were looking for the zabrak that had offered Din the job a few days prior. He'd said that it was about killing a mercenary that had double crossed him a few months back. They weren't exactly well-known, but they'd made enough of a name for themselves in the underground for other hunters to stay away. Din said he could've taken care of it, but the only thing that stopped his was the very thing you were tired of hearing about. You knew you could handle it. Din had trained you well enough to take a job like this yourself, but he never really gave you the chance to prove it. You didn't need to. He would always be there to make sure you didn't. But now you had to.

A chirping noise coming from your belt pulled you out of your thoughts. Pulling out your holoprojector, you started to feel uneasy. You'd been gone for hours, he definitely noticed by now. As reluctant as you were, you knew that if you didn't respond, he would be absolutely mad with worry. Despite trying to get the job done as secretively as possible, you knew that worrying him would make it harder for him to understand why you decided to ignore his wishes for you to stay safe and stay near him. You knew you had to answer. The moment the hologram took the form of his helmet, the pressure in your stomach became harder to ignore. "Where are you?" His deep, modulated voice asked. You debated continuing the lie you previously used to leave his side, but the way he tilted his head towards you served as a warning against it. "I came looking for another job," you replied bluntly, "We need more than a few credits to get by this time." A deep exhale sounded through the hologram, he was upset. "You weren't in the next town over, I looked for you in every shit hole bar I could find. Where are you?" he asked more sternly He knew you'd gone farther than that, there was no doubt in his mind. That didn't deter you from accomplishing your original purpose here. You needed the supplies. That was something even he couldn't deny anymore. "Looking for another job," you repeated, knowing he wasn't going to stop asking, "I'll go back when I'm done, I just need you to be patient."

"Cyar'ika, tell me where you are. I'll pick you up and we can find a job together," Din tried, his voice easing up a bit as he spoke. Your stomach churned more, preparing another avoidant response. "Ah, there you are!" A very distinct familiar voice called over the noise of the crowd of drunkards, "You changed your mind then? You'll take the job?" Approaching your secluded corner of the bar, the zabrak you were looking for announced his presence out enough to be heard by your concerned lover. You felt your heart drop to your knees, knowing damn well Din would recognize the shrill, raspy voice of the man that had previously offered him the job. You turned your attention back to the holoprojector in your hand, attempting to end the projection before he'd fully realize where you were. But you weren't fast enough, as a deep hum resounded from his image followed by a sentence that would upturn your anxiety.

"So that's where you are."

*********************************************

A/N: Heyo! I know it's been almost a year since I posted the preview, sorry for the delay. Also, I meant to make this longer, but I figured if anyone wants to read more I can make a part 2. Love you guys, stay safe, stay proud, stay strong! 💖

Also, if my irl friends find this, not you fucking didn't 🫵😠

[peterparkersnose]

I Need You More Than I Wanted To

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: needy din, lowkey out of character but idc, pining possibly one sided, lots of begging, angst, description of y/n’s body, masturbation reference if you squint HARD, sappy speeches at the end, arguing, lots of angst (bc angst is my favorite)

a/n i’ve had this idea in my drafts for MONTHS so i’m so happy i’ve gotten around to writing it.

summary Y/N overhears a damaging conversation between Din and Greef Karga

masterlist

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read time: 11 mins 8 seconds

Din’s heart ached like no other watching you these past few days. The silent suffering, the longing, and the pain he has been observing was hard to watch; the hardest part was that he was the reason for this.

He knew you like the back of his hand. For years the two of you have been traveling the galaxy, searching for as many credits as possible and managing to have a fun time while doing it. Living life with you is how Din preferred it. It was carefree. The two of you made a great team and wanted to live lavishly one day. That was the dream, at least. The two of you saved credits like crazy, but it never seemed to be enough to purchase a palace. Once the kid came along everything changed. The sudden dream of living large seemed to fade over the horizon. Something clicked. The two of you were now parents.

When Greef mentioned to him about you when the two of you visited the new Nevarro, Din was sure he was just messing with him.

“Are you two finally together?”

The question confused Din.

“You know, the way she looks at you. That’s love.”

Din was shocked. Had he really been that clueless?

“That’s impossible,” Din responded. Greef laughed. “You're telling me that if she made the first move, you wouldn’t reciprocate it?”

A strict “No” came from Din. “Never.”

The child cooed and the two men turned around. There you stood in the doorway, waiting for them to finish their conversation. The exact conversation you had just overheard.

Your mouth slightly dropped. The expression on your face was shocked. You quickly blinked and closed your mouth, trying to mask your disappointment. But Din knew. Maybe it was enough to fool Greef Karga, but Din knew he had just hurt the person he cared for the most deeply.

“H-he wanted you,” you said silently, not expecting your voice to quiver. You set down Grogu on the red velvet couch. Din nodded. Your lip quivered as you stared at him through the visor in pure shock. With hurt in your eyes, you excused yourself to the shared quarters the two of you were given for the time of your stay.

“And that…” Greef began. Din scooped up Grogu in his arms. Grogu made a noise and grunted, seemingly wanting to now leave his father and attend to his heartbroken mother. He squirmed in Din’s arms until he let him down.

“That was the look of heartbreak.”

The next few days on Nevarro were filled with a cold distance. Neither you nor Din wanted to discuss the elephant in the room. Simple words were exchanged in the interest of the child, but that was about it.

It was your last night on Nevarro.

Din had been at the cantina with Greef Karga and some of his associates, celebrating the newly liberated Nevarro. You had gone to bed early, staying with Grogu.

You were surprised Din even agreed to go out, he hated outings such as drinking with friends. If things weren’t so heated at the moment, he would have much rather preferred a night staying in with you and watching some stupid show on your datapad and eating whatever your heart desired.

The sun had been set for hours. You were lounging in your satin red sleep robe that was complimentary given to you upon your arrival. The beautiful braid you had your hair up in all day was now gone, your hair was curled due to the all-day friction. The ladies assigned to your care were more than delightful. With the satin robes and braids you could never master, it was like you never wanted to leave. You lay on the king-sized bed you had been giving to Din the last few nights. The couch was beginning to hurt your back, and he was nowhere to be found. 

Grogu, still not asleep, was patting the lavish sheets with his hands. You smiled, watching the curious creature discover the new textures. Your eyes wandered to the marvelous carvings coated in gold paint that covered the pillars in your room. Eyes beginning to droop, you were suddenly awoken by a cold hand on your exposed thigh. 

“Buir!” he squealed. Recognizing the Mando’a right away, your thinned-lip smile turned into a frown. “I know,” you sighed, extending your hand towards the child and brushing the top of his head. “He’ll be back soon.”

Grogu crawled up your legs and onto your torso. Grogu began grabbing some of the strands of hair that lay on your chest, you slowly separated his hands from the grasp. “Good job on speaking, buddy.” you smiled, now sitting against the bedframe. Grogu sat in your lap, reaching for your hair once again. A genuine smile arose on your face as you watched your son rest in your lap. The thought of Din left your mind, but only temporarily. He seemed to haunt your dreams as he haunted your days. You fell asleep with Grogu in your lap. 

Din’s clanky armor trudged up the many stairs to the guest bedroom. It was almost like a full workout, he was ready to get into the shower and then get into bed. 

Din absolutely hated his time out; barely being able to sip his drink and listening to the arguing of men about topics he didn't even care about was not his idea of a good night. He didn't want to admit it though—he yearned to spend the night with you. You consumed his every thought, and with every sip of his strong alcohol, he just kept feeling worse and worse. The image of your face re played in his head all week. With the disappointment and hurt he never wanted to inflict on you, the guilt was building up in his stomach like no other. 

Slowly, his ungloved hand waved against the sensor. The door whirred open. Din hoped he didn’t wake you, it was already almost morning, even though the sunrise was hours away. He could hear the morning bugs begin to chirp on his way home. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he set his helmet down on the chair in the corner. He turned around to find you- his heart seemed to skip a beat. 

Laying in the silk robe you were gifted, your legs were parted awkwardly as you slept. You lay on your stomach with your face delved in a pillow. The slow movement of your back going up and down gave Din the confidence that you were okay. One arm lay at your side, the other cradled Grogu against your waist. His breath finally caught up with him once he realized he had been staring for too long. 

The only thing he could seem to think about in his shower was his best friend. The woman who had always been there for him. She was merely a partner until Greef suggested otherwise. The thought of even diving into anything romantic with you never crossed Din’s mind until then. His hand held his seemingly limp body on the wall, holding him upwards as the water washed over him. The thought of you sprawled out on the bed, on his bed was just… 

The thought went straight to his head, making him feel emotions for you he never had before. Your body, the way you lay, how you were protecting his son even in slumber. Everything about you seemed so appealing in a way Din had never felt for another woman. 

“You know, the way she looks at you. That’s love.”

Greef’s voice haunted Din’s mind as he slept. He woke up gasping for air on the couch. You turned to look at him but only for a moment. You made eye contact. It was rare you saw him without his helmet, and even rarer to make complete eye contact. Din wasn’t one for eye contact. Looking down, you continued to fold Grogu’s extra robes that were freshly cleaned and delivered to your room earlier this morning. You were packing to leave. 

Din sat upright, his hand holding his forehead. His head was pounding. Looking up, he noticed a glass of water and a few pills sitting on the table in front of him. Presumably set up for him, by you. His heart sank. Even in pain, you somehow still cared for him. He turned to look at you again. You were still getting Grogu ready to leave. He was jumping on the bed, making gargling noises as you tried to dress him. Din took the pills and finished the water and set the glass down with a clank, so you knew he had seen your gesture. 

“What time are we leaving?” he asked, standing up to finish his packing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; his hair was disheveled and he was in need of a shave. He ran a hand over the patchy stubble on his cheeks. To his surprise, his bag was sitting packed on the same chair where he rested his helmet last night. His helmet was sitting on top of the bag. 

You sighed. “Din,” you croaked, saying his name for the first time in days. He looked over at you. The same pain was there, but the look of exhaustion followed it. “I-I’m not going.” 

His brows raised. A slight panic set in. “What do you mean, your not going?” he asked in a more hostile tone than needed. You drew in a sharp breath and looked back at the same gold detailing you were looking at the night before. “Grogu is packed,” you simply said, scooping the child up in your arms. He squealed at your embrace, cuddling up in your arms. It was the last time you were going to be with Grogu, at least for a while. “Greef invited us to breakfast,” you said, swiftly walking past Din to the door. Your attempt to leave was unsuccessful.

Din grabbed your arm and pulled you back. Grogu let out a whine, as he was shuffled in the hassle. No words had to be said, the stares you were giving each other were enough. Din tilted his head slightly. The feeling of you was slipping through his fingers. Memories of you two fighting bounties, saving credits for a future, and then raising Grogu together hurt him more than ever. You were already too far gone. He had done damage that seemed irreversible.

A single tear rolled down your face. 

It was never meant to go this far. 

“Let me go,” you begged. Din didn’t realize his grasp on you was getting tighter as the seconds went by. “I don’t want to,” he whispered, closer to a mumble.

With reluctance, he let go of your arm. 

“What about the villa?” he called after you as you were about to exit the room. You stopped cold in your tracts. “Don’t bring up the villa-” you scolded him, turning around. The once-thought dream of living lavishly with Din, as a retired pair on a fancy planet scorned your broken heart. “You're really just going to leave? After everything?” he asked.

“You were my everything.” you bitterly cried out. Grogu squirmed in your arms. You sat him down on the bed.

Those words punched through Din like a thousand knives. “I didn’t mean-”

“Then what did you mean?” you ask, approaching Din. “I heard your conversation loud and clear, Din. I understand your intentions.”

“Y/N I had no clue,” he tried to defend himself. “Liar!” you screamed. Din was taken aback by your anger and took a few steps back. “I have spent the last many years of my life following you around blindly. We lived together, slept in the same bed, shared meals, shared laughs, and now share a child! I held you during cold nights! I saw your face, we’ve seen each other nude more times than I can count, you cared for me when I got hurt on that one mission to Tatooine. You cared for me while my leg was broken and I was helpless. We were everything without a title, Din! There is no way you never saw or felt anything. I simply don’t believe it. I can’t believe I thought I could see the true heart of a cold, selfish Mandalorian.”

Din was almost at a loss for words. He stood for a moment, finding words to say as he watched you realize every single word you had just spewed out at him. Your hand began to shake as you sat down, covering your mouth and staring at the carpet with wide eyes.

“Do you think I chose this? This is how I was raised, Y/N!” he argues. Your gaze moved from the carpet and back to Din. “I cannot take a spouse unless they are a Mandalorian, you know this,” Din begged, grasping for straws. He wanted you more badly than anything else in the world, but the creed that was so deeply indoctrinated in him was fighting the feelings.

“Blinded by your creed.” you spat out. Din seethed. The creed he was in the process of abandoning anyways. 

“Why do you think I’m leaving it?” he blurted out. He didn’t want to admit it, but he said it out loud. Never had he ever admitted before to himself, let alone another person that he was done with his origins. The religion he was raised in, the culture that had brought him in and saved his life was now being thrown out… but for what? The convincing Bo-Katan did and saving him from this cult-like creed saved his life, truly deep down. Even if the efforts were small, they awoke something in Din. But was he really ready to shun his culture completely? Din never really came to terms with it, I guess, until now. 

“You have hurt me deeply, Din Djarin,” you said with your lip quivering, stating your final words. With that, you took Grogu and went to breakfast. You knew using his full, true name always hit him in a spot where it hurt most.

As you were about to walk down the spiral staircase at the end of the hallway, you heard your name being called clearly from the other side of the hall. You turned around, seeing Din jogging down the hall to you.

“Din! Your helmet,” you cried out. He had left the room without it. As he only trusted you and Grogu to see his natural face, anyone who he didn’t trust could turn him into the leaders of his clan. It touched him that you seemed to care for him on some level to still care about his helmet insecurities.

Then again, the reigns the creed held on him were loosening day by day.

“Wait,” he said, huffing as he approached you. “Please.”

“I want to go eat breakfast,” you said sternly.

Din’s arms loosely fell over your figure, his hands slowly touching your arms as they cradled Grogu.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

You looked up into his glossy eyes. Often you would forget how much taller he was than you. Sighing, you looked away.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

Din’s knees seemed to collapse under him. He gave in to the buckling of his kneecaps and grabbed both of your hands, begging on his knees for you.

“To live all these years blindly, to not see what was truly in front of me will haunt me for the rest of my days. I am lost without you. Like a galaxy without stars, I am incomplete. I hope you can forgive me for my foolish words, I did not know what I was saying. You are everything to me. The mother of my child, my partner in crime, my light in the dark, my moon to guide me at night, my motivation, my companion, my love. Please forgive me. I need you to stay. You are all I have, you are all I need. A life without you is not worth living.”

To end his plea, he kissed your hands and wept.

Your right hand moved from his grasp to cup his cheek. It was wet with tears. “Don’t cry,” you whispered, wiping a tear away. “Din please,” you said, tearing up as you watched him sit and beg for you.

As his were moments before, your knees seemed to fail you and you joined him on the ground. Your hands grasped his hair as you engulfed the sobbing man in a hug. The soothing sounds of you shushing him like a baby filled the empty hallway.

“I won’t leave, I promise,” you whispered. This seemed to only make him cry harder. The realization Din had of how lucky he was and how close he was to losing you terrified him.

You would have never thought that you would be holding a sobbing Mandalorian. This was living proof of how much he loved and adored you. “H-how could you ever forgive me?” he asked, looking up into your gaze.

“I already have, my love.”

And with that, the two of you delved into your first kiss. It was wet and filled with passion, but also had a theme of hesitation from the two of you.

In all honesty, it was Din’s first kiss ever.

He moved his lips against yours, following your lead. The passion that moved between the two of you was something you had never felt with anyone else before. His hands wandered to your waist as he feverishly begged for more, but knew the limits of the setting the two of you were in.

Moments before the inevitable breakaway, your kiss was interrupted with a cool paw on your leg and a “Patu”

You rocked back on your legs to see the tiny green baby looking angrily at the two of you. A small laugh came from you and Din as he picked Grogu up and fixed his robes.

“Go get fixed up,” you said sweetly, kissing Din on the cheek. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“One question?” he asked, just as you were standing up to leave.

“What time are we leaving?”

“12.” you smiled, ruffling his already messy hair.

-

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[xmissrogersx]

✩₊̣̇.♡ the lyric: “his hand so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face”

me instantly:

this song is so them, literally. I would let them do whatever they want to me. I’m no kiddin :)

when i’m listening to i can fix him (no really i can), mi mind screams “GO TO WRITE ANOTHER OF JOEL AND DIN”

today i will post 2 one-shots. stay sintonized ♡

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Twenty-six point Five.

pairing: din djarin x plus-size fem!O/C           

word count: 8.1K        

chapter summary: Din and Marathel reminisce, Grogu tries to play matchmaker again, Din removes his helmet several times, and the Crest gets back to Unmanarall. 

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, mention of mental breakdowns, mental illness, and vomit, English and Mando’a cursing        

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***         

You Were Marked: Masterlist    

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Marathel opened her eyes and briefly panicked; she could see nothing at all.  There was also what felt like a knee pressed against her backside and a hand draped over her waist.  Then she remembered that Din had turned off all the lights on the ship, and he was asleep beside her. Marathel sighed.  It seemed sucking him off put him into a deep enough sleep that she should be able to get up without disturbing him.  She carefully scooted away and then stood up.  She did not hear any movement from Din.  I hope he stays asleep; I desperately need the vac tube.   

Marathel gathered her blanket and slid her feet along the floor, reaching out in the darkness.  Her fingertips touched the wall where she believed the door for his quarters was. She went down that wall and discovered the cockpit ladder and the alcove with the vac tube. Marathel tucked the blanket under her armpits, letting it drape down her front to the floor as she pulled down her pants and backed up into the vac tube.  The lack of a seat made sitting uncomfortable, so she tried to be as quick as possible.  As she searched in the darkness for the cleaning paper storage, she heard a door slide open and she held her breath. 

The next thing she knew, she could see Grogu standing in front of her, and hovering above his little hand was a small glowing ball of light, dim as one of her glow-worm lanterns but enough to see by. “Grogu,” she whispered.  “Thank you for the light, but … I need privacy right now.  Please turn around.”  Grogu nodded and turned around, but still held up the light ball for her.  She quickly finished but decided against toggling the vac tube —she didn’t want to wake Din with its loud whooshing noise. 

Marathel stepped out from the little alcove and realized that with Grogu’s little light, she could now see Din, lying on his side, facing away from her.  She could see the back of his head, his wavy hair, a large half-healed wound, and one ear.  Gasping, she turned away and closed her eyes.  As much as she wanted to see his face, peeking at him while he slept was not how she wanted that to happen.  Marathel stole a look at Grogu, who was looking back at her again.  He pointed at Din.  “No, love, I won’t look,” she whispered.  Grogu grunted and looked downcast.  Marathel turned her back to Din and she moved down the opposite wall to the basin so she could quickly wash her hands.  She carefully moved back to her blankets and lay down as she had before, facing the swinging empty boxes.  Grogu stood in front of her, pouted and pointed at Din again.  “No, Grogu, I won’t look at Patu.  That would be … cheating.”  Grogu looked so crestfallen that Marathel relented.  “But … if you can put his helmet back on without waking Patu, then you can snuggle between us and we can … cwtch, like I promised before, when you had an upset tummy, remember?”  Cooing with delight, Grogu lifted his little hands and concentrated; Marathel heard a shuffling noise behind her.  Grogu clambered over her, and she carefully turned over to see Din as she knew him best. Why can’t the sight of his helmet, the sound of his voice be ENOUGH for me, she cried in her mind. 

But then, Marathel had to look down and away from Din; even with the helmet on, it was suddenly all too much for her.  I want to see him, yet I can barely look at him, I can’t stand his touch anymore.  Even so, I crave his arms around me, but if he does that, I think I may scream! Oh, she was so mixed up, and her mind hurt her so much!   She cautiously laid her hand against his chest, still without his cuirass, his pauldrons and cuisses off as well.   

Din sniffed sharply and grunted.   “Mesh’la?” 

“I’m here.  So is Grogu.”  My family. 

Still half-asleep, Din asked, “Why is my helmet back on?” 

“Grogu did that, so we can … cwtch without breaking your Creed.” 

Din looked up at the pale ball of light hovering over them. “Grogu is doing that, too, right? I’m not dreaming?” 

“You’re not dreaming.” 

“Good.”  Din stroked Grogu’s ear.  “Glad you could join us, kid.”  Looking up at Marathel’s face, he said, “Cyar’e … you didn’t sneak away for once.  You usually escape from me when we’re sleeping together.” 

Marathel swallowed.  “I … I promised Grogu that we could cwtch, all of us.  When he had the upset tummy, remember?”  She looked away.  “I promised him.” 

Din frowned, wondering why she seemed so … well, extra nervous.  Pensive.  “Cwtch. Does that mean … cuddle?” 

Marathel was surprised to hear such a childlike and soft word coming from this man of metal and weapons.  Searching for the words, she said, “It’s more … how you feel when you cuddle.  Safe, warm …” 

“Loved?” 

“If you like … yes.”  She sighed.  “It’s like rwy’n di’rugar.  Meant for only Diwhyns and children.” 

“I don’t mind.  I would love to be cwtched by you … If that’s how to say it in your Oldtalk.” 

Marathel half-shrugged. “Close enough.” 

Din caressed Marathel’s cheek, and he noticed her flinching slightly from his touch. “Close enough is only good for running beast shoes and hand grenades.  What’s the proper way to say it?” 

“To say, ‘I want to be … cwtched by you’ … um … Ga’yl fi cwmigduhwrtch gen’nyd chi.  We cwtch, we have cwmigduhwrtch before, we will be cwmeilgilwrtchydd later.” 

Din raised an eyebrow under his helmet.  Dank ferrik, that Oldtalk is one fucked-up language.  “Is koo-mee-ihl … forget it, I can’t possibly pronounce that …” Marathel smiled a little.  “… is it all right if we cwtch?” 

“I promised Grogu.” 

“That’s not what I asked you, Marathel.” She continued to look away from Din.  “Mesh’la … you don’t want me to touch you, do you?”  Her eyes filled with tears.  “I can understand why you wouldn’t want me to, truly, I do.  You’re forcing yourself to be near me, aren’t you?  You forced yourself to … put your mouth on me earlier. Why did you do that, Marathel?” 

Her tears spilled over, and Grogu crawled over to snuggle under her chin, trying to soothe her.  “It’s what you wanted.”  She dropped her chin to kiss Grogu’s head. “It’s all I know how to do.  It’s all I’m good for.” 

“No, cyar’e, you’re so much …” 

“I only gave you what you wanted. Were you not pleased?” 

“Ner kar’ta … you please the living shab out of me.  You are magnificent in your ability to please me.  But I didn’t want you to … I did, yes, but not just …” Din wanted so much to hold her hand, but he was afraid to upset her more, so he held Grogu’s hand instead. “This, right here, right now, is what I want. With you and Grogu, the three of us, together.   Cyar’e, you said the days we spent together in your little hut were the happiest in your life.  They were the happiest days in my life too, and right now, I will say anything, try anything, to make you change your mind.  We have so little time left.” 

Marathel’s face fell. “How long?” 

He looked at the tiny monitor on his vambrace, then she heard him swallow.  “Two, three hours.” 

Marathel closed her eyes in despair.  She hadn’t realized how much time had passed in the artificial environment of the ship. She looked up at the little ball of light that Grogu had conjured; it was growing smaller and dimmer as the little boy grew drowsy, curled up between them.  Marathel looked back down at Grogu, and she moved her hand on him slightly, just enough that her index finger lay over Din’s.  Even though he was wearing gloves, the pressure of her finger on his nearly made his heart explode, the simple touch giving him almost more pleasure than her mouth did on him a couple hours earlier.  Marathel asked, “How many days …?” 

“Twenty-six.” 

Marathel blinked in confusion.  “I beg your pardon?” 

“I met you twenty-six days ago.” 

“Twenty-six?  Is that all?  But it seems …” 

“… Like much longer, doesn’t it?”  Like forever, but in a good way that it makes me wonder what in blue fuck I was doing with my life before you threw a rock at my head, he thought.  She said nothing. Din continued, “You lost a few days in the middle, my wounded acorn.  But I can tell you what day any event happened since I met you.”  Marathel looked at him dubiously.  “Go ahead, ask me.” 

“What day did I throw eggs at you?” 

“Day four.” 

“What day did you puke up my clam stew?” 

“Day six.” 

Marathel smiled.  “Hmmm.  What day did I puke up the Mist?” 

“Day two.” She laughed.  “I remember things.  My father was an engineer; I think I inherited his brain.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it; I don’t know what an engineer is.”  After taking a breath, she asked, “What day did you kiss me?” 

“I kissed the top of your head very early in the morning on day seven.” 

“That doesn’t count,” said Marathel, rolling her eyes. 

“Good to know,” said Din with a small chuckle. “I kissed you the first time on day ten, I think.  Possibly eleven. I had a concussion at the time.” 

“… the first time?” 

Din sighed.  “Your lungs were filling with fluid, and I was sure I was losing you. You were unconscious, and I’m sorry.  You were dying right in front of me. But Grogu made you breathe again.  I think he kept you alive, moved air in and out of your lungs, kept your heart beating, until we got you to Tatooine.” 

Marathel looked down to Grogu, who was nearly in a deep sleep, his ears twitching.  She ran her fingertip along the edge of his ear and the little boy sighed.  The little light ball was almost completely extinguished by now.  She looked back up into Din’s visor.  “Din, I wasn’t asking you how many days we’d known each other.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “What were you going to ask?” 

Marathel bit her lip nervously, her face flushing pink.  “Before I ask that … once this light goes out … would you … kiss me again?”  

“Are you sure?  You want me to …?” 

“We have so little time, as you say. And ... and your kiss was one of the sweetest things I’d ever felt.  I think I deserve that memory, at least.”  Din carefully reached up and touched her cheek; Marathel’s eyes fell closed with a sigh that was part whimper.  Din watched the tiny light bubble wink away, leaving them in darkness.  He quickly removed his helmet and touched his lips to hers; they couldn’t get too close with Grogu between them.  Din kept his lips closed, his teeth apart, his touch soft and unmoving, wanting to try to kiss her the way Cobb tried to teach him, but he was too nervous, afraid of scaring her.  

Marathel, meanwhile, didn’t know how to kiss a man, so she mimicked Din’s kiss and wondered if this method was what Cobb had taught him.  Marathel dared to touch his cheek again, as she had when he’d kissed her the first (second) time, and she felt him jump just a little at her touch.  She then ran her hand into his hair, soft, wavy, a bit sweaty (it must be so warm in that helmet), and she felt his quiet moan against her lips as much as she heard it emanate from his throat, just as Cobb had when she did a similar thing. Is it about me — or about the touch?  Could it be anyone touching him? 

Din’s lips left hers, and he leaned forward to touch her forehead with his.  “I don’t kiss very well,” he admitted. 

“I don’t know how to kiss at all.” 

“You did just fine, mesh’la,” he said, smiling. I only wish we could learn how together.   After a moment, Din said, “If I were wearing my helmet, this right here, our foreheads touching, this would be considered a kiss.” 

“Really?”  Marathel felt his slight nod against her forehead.  “You’ve been kissing me in the Mandalorian way this whole time, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“It’s called a keldabe kiss.” 

“You Mandalorians don’t let people get close to you at all, do you?”  Her hand remained in his hair, and her thumb stroked the upper edge of his ear. 

“No,” he said with a shudder, her gentle touch making all of his hair stand on end. 

“How lonely you must have …” Before Marathel could finish her sentence, Din kissed her again, harder this time, more like the time he’d kissed her before she went away to the Reconstructionists, and this time, it was Marathel who softly moaned, the tiny vibration making Din nearly lose control altogether.  Their lips broke apart, and Marathel asked breathlessly, “What day did you kiss me the second time?” 

“Day fifteen.  The same day you went to the market with Cobb.  The same day Grogu called you Mama the first time.” 

“Busy day,” remarked Marathel. 

“Very busy.  You got to pet a sheep.  You got your first pair of shoes.” 

“I puked blood on Cobb’s boots.” 

“Okay, I don’t need a recap of every vomiting incident,” grumbled Din as Marathel quietly giggled.  “I got good and drunk that day, too.” 

“Drunk?” 

“Like you get if you have too many dreamberries.” 

“Oh.  Deffdonyn.” 

“If you say so,” said Din with a chuckle. 

“Why in Frith did you do that?” 

“Well, I’d just kissed the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, then told her that I loved her.  My boy suddenly started calling her Mama and had a screaming meltdown because she had to leave for who knows how long to try to keep her from dying and I didn’t know if we’d ever see her again.  Cobb thought I’d had a tough day.” 

“Oh, you had a tough day.  Hmm.” Marathel continued to lightly drag her fingernails through the short hairs at Din’s temple, giving him goosebumps all over.  “So, it was all Cobb’s doing?  What did you men discuss?” 

“Oh, the usual.  Women and relative breast sizes and what a chickenshit tymffod I was for telling you I love you and then running away.”   

“Relative breast sizes?” asked Marathel, her tone slightly snippy. 

“Well, yes,” said Din with an embarrassed shrug. 

She sighed.  “You men.  Born with your hands on your penis and looking for a tit to suck.” 

Din laughed.  “My buir — my foster father, the Mandalorian who rescued me as a child — oh, he would have liked you so much.  He once told me that men spend nine months trying to get out of the womb and the rest of their lives trying to get right back in.” Marathel laughed as well, then they both went quiet for a long time.  “This is when we’re at our best, ma’mwsh ha’laa, just like this.  You make me laugh.  No one has made me laugh as much as you.  Before Grogu, before you, I was so alone … I had no one and nothing to live for.  Grogu has given me a purpose in my life that I didn’t know I needed.  Knowing you has given me a joy that I didn’t know I could have.” 

Din heard Marathel sob before she hissed, “Joy?  What joy can I give you?  I will bring you nothing but shame and regret!” 

“How could you possibly …” 

“Who I am!  What I’ve done!” cried Marathel. 

“You think you’re the only one with a horrible past?  What was done to you was not your choice.  But I have killed innocent people, not because they did me wrong, but for money. I have murdered …” Din’s voice gave out; he still could not admit his worst sins out loud.  “I have done the most terrible things, all of my own free will.” 

Marathel was baffled.  “But … I thought … Mandalorians were honorable people …” 

“Life can’t always be honorable, my ma’mwsh ha’laa, not if you’re trying to survive in this galaxy.” Din swallowed.  “Believe me, I’m not trying to excuse my past.  It’s a dark, dark time I’m trying to deal with.  What I do know is that since I’ve met you, I’ve finally been able to sleep at night …” Marathel scoffed. “… not just because of that, my mesh’la … but I think some of my best days in my adult life were spent sitting on your steps drinking tea and watching you and Grogu play that running game of yours. 

“You made us a family, ner kar’ta, you welcomed us into your home and gave us your love and became a mother to Grogu.” 

“There are others better suited to do that for you …” She began to push him away. 

“No, Marathel, you’re the one I want!” Beginning to panic, he gripped her face in both hands.  “Don’t fight me on this, not now, not when we have so little time.  Please.  If you’re going to leave me, let me have these last few hours with you close to me.” 

“Din, I …” 

“Please, ner kar’ta …” He kissed her brow.  “I know it’s hard for you, having my hands on you like this … How could it not, my ma’mwsh ha’laa, with what was done to you?  And you think you must do this, that you must obey.”  He kissed her lips again.  “And I’m sorry I keep touching you, keep holding you so close, but I … don’t know what else to do!   If only you’d tell me that I’m not leaving you behind on that planet you came from!” 

“But, Din, I …” 

“Please, cyar’e …” 

“No, Din, just … hush, please, just for a moment!  In the name of Frith!”  Din went quiet and pulled his face back, letting go of her cheeks, anxious, dreading her continued rejection.  “Din, what I originally wanted to ask was, how many days has it been since I left the Reconstructionists and returned to Tatooine?” 

“How many … five, six days.  Why?” 

“I need to repeat the treatment, to make me not bleed?  I have a set of injections.  But … I need help.” 

“Of course, mesh’la.  I’ll … please, though …” 

“What?”  Din didn’t answer; Marathel only felt his warm breath on her face.  “Frith save us,” she muttered as she leaned forward and kissed him, and Din felt her full lips suck briefly on his lower lip, a motion that both thrilled Din and scared the shab out of him, for he was uncertain if he should do it back.  “Din, please. Put your helmet on, turn on a light.”  Din muttered apologies as he replaced his helmet and turned the overhead lights on low.  So easily distracted … that can’t be good for a Mandalorian, she thought wearily as she pulled out her bag from under the hanging carbonite shells.  She found one set of the injections and lay back down on her side, facing Din.  She held up the syringes.  “Red cap first, then we wait a little while, then the purple cap, then the black cap.” 

“Where am I injecting these?” 

Marathel patted the side of her neck, saying, “Here.”   

Din carefully cleaned the side of Marathel’s neck with the swab she gave him and uncapped the first hypo.  He placed it on her skin, asking, “Will it hurt?” 

“Not so much … it’s just strange.” 

Din triggered the hypo, which gave the injection with a small pft of air.  “All right?” 

Marathel felt the instant cold and grimaced.  “Hold my hand. Please.”  He did, giving her hand a squeeze.  Marathel closed her eyes and said, “Oh, it’s starting already.” 

“What is?” 

“It’s like spiky pebbles are rolling about inside my arms.” 

“That sounds horrible.” 

Marathel smiled.  “Cobb said the exact same thing.” 

“Did he, now?” 

“Yes.”  Marathel opened her eyes.  “He also said that you were thinking of me.” 

“I was.  Every moment, practically, ner kart��a.”  The spiky-pebble feeling grew worse, and she began breathing fast.  “What is it?” 

“It’s like spines now, long spines, trying to spear through my flesh,” whimpered Marathel.  

Din held her hands and stroked her knuckles with his thumbs.  “I have you, mesh’la.  You’re safe.” 

“Oh, it feels awful, so much worse than the other times … it feels horrible …” Weeping now, Marathel pulled her hands away from Din and covered her face.  “Why did I ever tell you what was done to me?  Why did I ever ask you to stay with me? Why didn’t you just leave?  Why did I have to find out what I am?!”   She sobbed for a while into her hands, then sniffled, and said, “Can you … do the second injection now?”  Wishing he could comfort her more, Din applied the purple-capped hypo, then found a cloth in his pocket and dried the tears from her face. 

“Oh, I forgot how this one burns,” muttered Marathel, gritting her teeth, doing her best to ride out the burning sensation as it coursed through her.  After some time, her breathing slowed, and her eyelids lifted to gaze into Din’s visor as she searched for his brown eyes in the dark expanse.  Marathel lifted one of her hands and placed it on Din’s helmet where his cheek would be.  “Din? Cwryiad? I’m already getting so sleepy.” 

“You’re going to sleep?” No, please, we have so little time. 

“I’m sorry … the treatment … makes me sleep … Din, I’m so scared, scared about going back.” 

“Then why go back, mesh’la?” 

Marathel’s eyelids were heavy, and she fought to keep talking.  “I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry that I lied to you about … what would happen to me in the Hold.  I’m sorry for not telling you about the Dahls, and my connection with them.  I always felt so safe with you those nights you were there with me.  Even after …” Marathel’s hand slid from Din’s helmet to his neck, close to his jaw.  Her thumb reached under the edge of his helmet, brushing against his sparse whiskers there.  I deserve to have that much of him. A few kisses and a couple of touches. “Oh, it’s becoming so hard to talk.  I’m sure I’m no longer making any sense,” she mumbled.  “You think I’m going back to Unmanarall  to punish myself … ease my guilt over who I am. But I don’t know why anymore … I only know that I must go and there is no point in objecting … it doesn’t matter, because I must go back.  And you must let me go.” 

“No …” Din moaned.   

Their words tumbled over each other's, Marathel’s in her exhaustion, Din’s in his despair. 

“You must …” 

“I’ll stay there with you, Marathel …” 

“No, Din, you must redeem yourself … Living Waters …” 

“Then I’ll come back …” 

“No, cwryiad, go live your life with Grogu …” 

“Not without you!” 

“This is the way,” mumbled Marathel.   

“This is the way,” Din responded automatically.  “Marathel, I love you.” 

Marathel’s eyes closed, her brow furrowed with despair.  “I know.”  She took a deep breath, opened her eyes again.  “Promise me …” Marathel groaned , forcing herself to remain awake with all the energy she could muster.  She pulled his face close to hers, her hands up under the edge of his helmet, holding his jaw firmly and staring into the darkness of his visor.  “Promise me.  Do not take vengeance on the Bishop, or anyone in the Hold.  They are not worth your anger.  And I’m not worth your pity.  Promise me this… and I promise you… I won’t kill myself.  I will live out the rest of my days alone with you and Grogu in my heart.” Marathel wished she could see his eyes.  She gave Din a little shake. “Promise me!” 

“I promise you, ner kart’a.  This I vow.” He turned his head to kiss the heel of her thumb.   

Apparently satisfied, Marathel said, “Last injection … then you can hold me while I sleep … and I won’t fight you.  I won’t escape.  Maybe I’ll dream of how happy you made me.  Keep me safe … while you can …” Her words drifted off, and Marathel’s eyes closed as she went limp, already sleeping deeply. 

“Mesh’la?  Ma’mwsh ha’laa?”  Marathel did not respond.  He applied the last hypo, the black-capped one.  Damn it, Marathel, our last hours together, and you’re gonna be sleeping?  

Grogu began to stir; there was too much noise and angst going on for him to fully fall asleep, so he woke up and leaned against Din’s chest.   

Patu was very sad.  Mama was sad too, but now at least the dark inside of Mama’s head was quiet.  The dark inside Mama’s head kept trying to say bad things to Mama all the time. Bad things that made Mama hurt inside.    Grogu was glad that the dark inside Mama’s head was letting Mama sleep.  Grogu knew Patu was sad about Mama sleeping.  But Grogu also knew that Mama was still so hurt, and Mama needed to sleep.  Grogu was sad, too.   

Grogu sighed.  Din patted Grogu’s belly, swallowing, trying to keep his tears in check.  “Hey, little bub, us grown-ups are keeping you awake, huh?  I tried to keep Mama awake too, but it didn’t work.  Mama is too tired.  Is that something you can fix?”  Grogu whined softly.  “I guess not.  It wasn’t fair to ask you anyway; sorry, kid.”  Din sighed.  “I think, though, that if I’m going to spend the next couple hours holding on to both of you, I need to get comfortable.” 

Din pulled Marathel close to his side,  dragging her by her blanket pallet.  He carefully maneuvered her so her head was on his shoulder, and she was curled against his side with his arm wrapped around her.  Din patted his chest, inviting Grogu to lay on top of him, which Grogu did with a happy squeak.  There we go, he thought.  Got my woman, got my boy. 

Then Marathel did something he didn’t expect: she sighed in her sleep and snuggled tighter against him, throwing her arm across his waist, and sliding her leg over one of his.  Din held his breath for a moment, and then he reached to hold her hand that lay on top of him.  So wonderful, thought Din. Only one thing would make this perfect. 

As if Grogu had heard his thoughts, Din watched as Marathel’s hair lifted into the air like a veil caught in a gentle wind, fanning out over Din and Grogu in a blanket.  Din lifted his head to look at Grogu; the child’s large eyes gazed back up at him.  “You too, huh?” Din chuckled.  “I like how you think, kid; I think I’ll keep you.” Grogu burbled as he wrapped a lock of Marathel’s hair around his hand. 

Din basked in the perfection of this moment.  So this is what it means to cwtch. A soft, beautiful woman curled up beside him.  His child on his chest.  So little time.  So little time.  Din swallowed the tears in his throat and began talking out loud, the way he’d taken to when Grogu had appeared on the scene.  “Kid, I’ve been thinking … Maybe the only way for Mama to get better is for Mama to let herself get better.  And she can’t ... do that right now.  Maybe Mama can get better on the planet she came from. I guess I have to let her try.   

“You know, you’re doing a much better job of dealing with this than I am.  Maybe you can see how this might help her.  Maybe ... you understand, better than I can, that she needs to do this.  I just haven’t figured out yet ... how I’m going to handle her being gone.  What I’m going to do without her.  Will you be able to help me with that?”  Grogu reached up under Din’s helmet, pressing his tiny hand against Din’s chin.  Instantly, Din felt his anxiety go down by about a hundred points.  “Thanks, buddy.  You’re really good at that. 

“Kid, have I ever told you about how Mandalorian people get married?  Married is when two people who really love each other decide that they’re going to live together all the time … just like we did with Marathel on her planet.  When a Mandalorian wants to marry another, they say together, ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.’  Of course, they wouldn’t say it in Basic, they’d say it in Mando’a, which ... goes like this ...” Din lifted his helmet, and looked down at the top of Marathel’s head. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” he recited against her hair, and then he kissed her softly.  “Mama would have to say it back for it to really count, though.  But for now, kid ... this counts to me.”   

Din lifted his head to speak to Grogu directly.   “Oh, um … Don’t tell Mama I did that.  I’ll let Mama know when she wakes up.” Maybe.  Maybe not.  Din replaced his helmet and lay back, waiting for the alarm that would come far too soon, the alarm that would tell him the Crest had arrived at Unmanarall. 

Din was unsure whether he slept or not as he counted down the remaining minutes in hyperspace.  Perhaps he did sleep.  He’d slept a lot on this trip, which was unusual for him.  He hadn’t been blowing smoke earlier:  since meeting Marathel, he’d been able to sleep.  He knew he was awake right now, though.  

Marathel hadn’t left his side.  She’d jerked a couple times, causing her knee to knock him in the crotch, but not hard enough to matter.  She must have dreaming at some point; she muttered something in her language, then squeezed him tight. Her hand laying on his ribs had twitched often, and several of her fingers seemed to have a permanent tremor.  She’d also passed gas once, a little bubble of a fart that made Din chuckle.  The intimacies of a relationship, he thought, then wondered if relationship was the right word.  He then decided that considering the sparring, vomiting, injuries, laughter, tears, and the … sexual activity that went between the two of them, relationship was the correct word indeed.  Dank ferrik, I even made her breakfast once.  He hadn’t ever made breakfast for X'ian, but then she preferred a good old-fashioned breakfast of caf and half a pack of smokes.  Thank Frith I never kissed her, it would have been like licking a fire pit. 

He thought back to the promise he’d made to Marathel.  He had put all his thoughts of revenge against the Hold on the back burner when he’d taken her broken body away from Unmanarall.  The idea had never fully left, especially with the information that the New Republic didn’t give a biased piss about the place.  He relished the idea of obliterating the Round Building and every male that drew breath on that planet, but he was only a two-credit mercenary, not a savior for a society of downtrodden women, and he couldn’t come up with a plan to help them beyond simply blowing away the Hold, the source of their pain, in a barrage of laser blasts. 

I can’t even rescue one woman from that place, how could I possibly help an entire Hold of them? 

He continued to stroke the back of her trembling hand with his gloved thumb.  He wondered how many times he’d begged her to not leave him, only to be rejected each time.  Then she would draw herself close to him, and in the next moment, pull herself away.  He supposed that a reasonable person would have given up by now.  Not that I’m a reasonable man.  But then, what reasonable man falls in love with a woman who has suffered this much damage? 

He had no answer for that one, just like he had no idea why he continued to follow her command to return her to her home planet, a command that she herself admitted had no reason.  A command about to come to fruition. 

Din gently shook her arm.  “Marathel?  You have to wake up now.”  Marathel groaned quietly and turned her face into his shoulder.  “Mesh’la.  It’s time.”   

Marathel raised her head, squinting, sand in the corners of her eyes.  “Din?  Are we there?” 

“Almost.” 

Marathel, still very groggy, dragged herself up to her elbow, rubbing her eyes with the side of her hand.  “I was dreaming,” she mumbled. 

“What about, mesh’la?”   

Before Marathel could answer, a loud alarm began blaring, which startled her fully awake, and she curled tighter against Din in fear.  “What is that?” 

Din sighed and sat up, holding a yawning Grogu against his chest, his other arm still around Marathel.  “We’re here.”  Marathel looked at him, dismayed by the quick passage of time, but she nodded, and rolled up to her knees, and then her feet.  She held out her hands for Grogu, and Din handed him to her.  She gave Grogu a squeeze, and then offered her shaking hand to Din.  He put his gloved hand in her splinted hand, and she gave a pull to help him up.  Once standing, Din immediately pulled them both into his arms, holding them tight enough to squeeze a sob out of Marathel.  “Cyar’e ... I can’t do it. I can’t let you go.” 

“You have to, Din.” 

“We had five days, five days, to figure it out between us, and we squandered the whole trip with petty fights ...” 

“There was no point, Din.” 

“You don’t even know why you’re making me take you back!” 

Marathel pushed back from Din, looking into his visor.  “You’re taking me back because you love me, and you will honor my request.” 

“I won’t do it.  I’m turning this ship around, and I’m taking you ...” 

“Din,” Marathel said firmly, sliding her hand up his throat and under the edge of his helmet – something he’d never allowed anyone to do before meeting her – and her thumb pressed against his lips, stilling him into silence.  “It’s time to go back into the cockpit and drop out of hyperspace.”  She felt his lips tremble with sorrow.  “Let’s go,” she said quietly, dropping her hand.  She heard Din’s quiet sob before he turned away from her. With a sigh, Din shoved his bedroll back into the tiny room he used as his sleeping quarters, then ascended the damned ladder they’d had to climb over and over the past few days.  Marathel lifted Grogu up and into the cockpit before following Din.  They sat in their respective charis, silently strapping themselves in before Din shut off the alarm and set the controls to drop out of hyperspace.  Once again, Marathel felt her insides rearrange themselves and the old ship lurched into orbit above her home planet.  Marathel gasped at the sight of the lovely blue-green planet before her.  “Is that ...” 

Din swallowed.  “That’s Unmanarall.” 

“Why ... it’s pretty.  I never knew ... there’s so much water.  Such big oceans.”  Marathel undid her safety straps and stood to lean against the console.  “Can they see us?” 

Din cleared his throat.  “No.  We’re too small and too far away.” 

“I don’t even know where the Hold is.” 

“The Hold is just on the other side of the planet.” 

“Is Unmanarall a large planet?  As planets go?  Have you been other places that look like this?” 

Despite his deep sorrow, Din was amused by her childlike curiosity.  “It’s not very large, but yes, there are other planets similar to this one.  But the strange thing is ... your Hold is the only location on your entire planet that is inhabited by people.” 

Marathel turned to look at Din.  “I don’t understand.” 

“What that means, Marathel, is that your people had to come from somewhere, and ended up on Unmanarall.  There is no other logical explanation for your people being there.  People just don’t ... naturally occur with a small population like yours, and in only one location.” 

“But ... what does that matter?” 

“If you could find out ... If I could find out where your people originated from, maybe I could get help for the women there.”  Marathel frowned and began shaking her head.  “Marathel, even if you don’t go back to the Hold, you can’t let those women continue to suffer ...” 

“It doesn’t matter, Din.  The Hold will die out eventually.” 

Din pulled off his safety straps and stood, trying to grab at Marathel’s hands.  “You can’t mean that.” 

“Yes, I do.  Even if, for some reason, the Hold could be emptied and everyone taken back to ... wherever ... what would be the point?  We’re all too ...”  She searched for the words in Newtalk and couldn’t find them.  “Nydwes Unmanarall, Wmodhmabarall maelowyth.  That means, ‘there is nowhere else, everywhere else is death.’  We can’t leave.  I can’t manage anywhere else, none of us would be able to.  It’s just best ... to leave us to our own destruction.  I’m sure it will come soon.” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “What are you saying, Marathel?” he asked, wary. 

“I’m saying it’s time for me to go.”  She gently removed her hands from Din’s and went back to sit in the aft chair.  “Is there a way to fly in where they won’t see the ship?  I would rather they not know, so that I may quietly disappear to someplace else.” 

“It’s ... night there now. I don’t want to leave you there in the dark,” Din said, grasping for any possible reason he could to keep her on the ship. 

“It won’t matter. I will know where I am. And the Eyes of the Mothers ... the stars, I mean ... they will give me enough light to see by.” 

Din stared at her for a few moments, and then sat in his chair and began moving the controls to carefully fly the ship into the atmosphere, following her direction to avoid being observed by the Hold.  Why am I doing this? He cried out in his mind.  He came in low, just over the tops of the grove of gorugelly  trees, and touched down in a flat rocky area surrounded by thick tall underbrush.   

Once the Crest had settled, Marathel got up and went down the ladder to gather her belongings while Din flipped switches and adjusted controls.  She quickly placed the knitted jacket and slippers for Grogu, as well as the cowl and the felted wool cloths for Din, on the end of Din’s bedroll.  She located her bag, folded her blanket, and shoved it inside.  By the time Din came down the ladder with Grogu, she was refolding the blankets she had slept on.  Din waved his hand dismissively.  “You don’t have to bother with those.” 

Marathel shrugged, saying, “It’s as good as done.”  She approached him, holding out the blankets.  “Trade you?  Just for a moment?” 

Grogu was reaching out for her, so Din handed him to Marathel, taking the blankets from her.  While she cuddled with Grogu, Din turned away to place the blankets on his bedroll, and he noticed the items she had left there.  He felt a hitch in his heart, knowing that she had made those things with her own hands, her hands that were broken directly because of what they had done together, and he thought he might melt down completely.  Instead, he turned to see the woman he loved holding his boy, smiling beatifically at him as he gazed at her with his large, beautiful eyes. “My love,” said Marathel. “Thank you for being my little boy for a while.” She kissed Grogu on his little fuzzy head and gently placed him on the floor, and he escorted her to the ramp door.  

Din came to stand next to Marathel, and she turned to him, saying, “Thank you, Din.” She leaned over and kissed the side of his helmet. “Open the door, now. It’s time.” Din swallowed and dumbly reached for the controls, opening the iris-style ship door. As the ramp lowered, a breeze came in, and Marathel inhaled deeply, her eyes closed, taking in the scent of the leaves and grasses and the clean air, so different from the heat and the dust and the fumes of ship fuel on Tatooine. I’m back ... here, she thought, as she realized that Unmanarall was no longer home. She opened her eyes, shifted her weight to take a step down the ramp, and then ... paused. Marathel looked down to her feet, still in the shoes that Cobb had bought her. Din watched as she contemplated her feet for a few moments, and then she used her toe to remove one shoe, then the other, and then she used her foot to gently slide the shoes sideways and away from her. 

She did not bend to pick them up. 

She no longer needed shoes. 

Not on Unmanarall. 

Not ever again. 

It was at that moment, as he saw Marathel, once again barefoot, about to step back onto the planet that had done its best to kill her on multiple occasions, that Din knew he could not let that happen. 

Din ripped off his helmet and flung it far from him, crying, “No, Marathel! I won’t you let do this!” 

The instant she heard Din’s voice change from the modulated sound of the helmet to the low cadence of coming directly from his lips, Marathel shut her eyes tight.  She did not wish to see his face, because in her soul she knew that she didn’t deserve such a privilege.  She knew if she saw his face, she’d change her mind on leaving him. And, in the deepest darkest part of her soul, she wanted to reject his last-ditch declaration of love and cause him pain.  Make him reject her, to salve her soul for existing in corporeal form.  Her remaining life would be easier when she had nothing left to lose. 

Din grabbed her hand, shouting, “Look at me, mesh’la!  Please, look at me!” 

Marathel slapped his hands away.  “No, Din, there’s no point!”  Din got hold of one hand and one shoulder, pulling her towards him as Marathel ducked her head, keeping her eyes closed.  “Let me GO, Din, LET ME GO!”  Marathel twisted her hand loose and thrust it between Din’s flight suit and his armor.  Flexing her hand into a claw, she dug her fingertips into the flesh and muscles underneath the bite mark she’d left on him.  Where she had marked him as hers. Where he believed she could control his movements and his feelings.  Din growled in pain, and Marathel pulled her hand away as she whispered, “Be still, my love.”  Din froze in place, allowing her the moments she needed to escape him and the ship. 

Marathel’s bare feet hit the ramp, and she ran as fast as she could, running straight into the tall brush to hide herself from the Bounty Hunter, for if he did not wear his helmet, it would be harder to find her.  No seeing in the dark, no seeing how hot or cold someone was, just his own eyes.  He had seen her with his own eyes, but she had not been allowed to see him with hers, not the way she wanted! 

He never saw me as his equal, I never deserved it, no matter what he said, I was never enough for the Mandalorian, she cried in her mind, ignoring the pain in her bare feet as she ran over some brambles.  She dropped down a small ridge and dashed across a grassy field, heading for the gorugelly trees.  She went deeply into a dark thicket, looking up at the sky, waiting for the Bounty Hunter’s flying ship to soar over her head, and wink away into the stars.   

Din, with the bite mark burning and painful, heard her whispered words be still, my love, as Marathel broke away from him and ran down the ramp.  “No!” shouted Din, running after her.  “No!  Don’t make me!”  He got to the bottom of the ramp, but she’d gotten a head start on him, and he hadn’t seen which way she had gone. “DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted into the brush surrounding the ship.  “DON’T MAKE ME LET YOU GO!”   

Without his helmet, Din heard nothing but the muffled echo of his own shout into the brisk wind.   His hearing was damaged from a lifetime of explosions, and a barefoot woman running in the woods was difficult for him to hear without the benefit of his helmet.   “MARATHEL!”  he screamed into the trees that surrounded the ship.  He screamed again, “MARATHEL!”  He heard nothing but the rustle of the leaves of the trees blowing in the wind that was whipping around the ship. Din’s knees buckled and he fell hard to the ground.  Don't make me let you go, Marathel!  Damn you, Marathel, don’t do this!  If you love me as you just said you do, then DON’T LEAVE ME! He wanted to scream his pain from the depths of his soul, but he could not utter a sound. 

She was gone. 

Din dropped his head to his chest, his rasping breath going in and out.  He felt a tiny hand in his.  He looked down to see Grogu, his eyes sad.  Grogu pulled on his hand, pointing to the ship.  “Patu?” he asked. 

 “I can’t, buddy.  I can’t.  I can’t leave here without her.” Din fell to his hip and wept. 

Grogu looked down to his feet and sighed deeper than a little child like him should have been capable of.  Squeezing Din’s thumb, Grogu raised his eyes and pointed at the ship again, saying firmly, “Patu.”  Grogu let go of Din’s thumb and began toddling back up the ramp. Halfway up, Grogu turned and called to Din, “Patu!” 

When the ground beneath him refused to open up and swallow him whole, Din got to his feet, and then turned in a full circle, quietly calling for Marathel. “Marathel ... please, don’t leave me,” he whispered.  Nothing.  No response, no reappearance of the beautiful, sad, pale woman with the long silver hair.  Din’s shoulders slumped, his head fell back to his chest. With a sigh, he went up the ramp, the heels of his boots dragging as if they were too heavy for him to lift.  At the top, he turned to look out over the planet’s landscape once more, smelling the salt air and flowers, trying to breathe in the last of her scent from the air. But her scent was gone. 

She's gone. 

Din slowly stepped into the ship, closing the ramp behind him. 

Marathel remained behind a tree, waiting. Go now, Bounty Hunter, go now, go back to your life as Grogu’s father first and foremost.  Then be the Mandalorian you are meant to be.  Find your happiness, and if you can spare a moment — only a moment, no more than that, I deserve no more than that — for a thought of me, then I will be happy as well.  I promise that when I join the Mothers that Went Before in the night sky, I will watch and protect Grogu. 

Go now, Bounty Hunter.  Leave me behind. 

Marathel heard the far-off sound of the Razor Crest starting up, and she waited, watching the sky.  Shortly, Marathel watched the ship, carrying the only man she knew she would ever love, and the only child she could ever call hers, as it lifted over the treetops and disappeared out of sight. 

I love you. 

My heart breaks to keep you safe. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter->

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: First steps to friendship

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone had a good week. I just want to put this out there as someone who works in the medical field, please be kind to doctors, nurses, technicians, receptions, and cleaning crews.

Just be kind in general. I had a rough week with a very rude patient. It might not seem like much but after a while it takes a toll. So to everyone and anyone who needs to hear this, thank you for all the hard work you do.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: discussions of lunch, trying to avoid isolation, mentions of past trauma (blink and you'll miss it), discussions of being dirty (physically), possible mud (use your imagination). If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER NINE

As we watched Taika and Misty munching away, it made me remember we needed to eat too, “Din, what do you want for lunch? There’s some leftovers from last night’s dinner or I could make us a sandwich and salad …”

“You know…” he cut her off, realizing he needed to make more of an effort with her. 

Sure she was his employee, but he was also the only person she knew out here. Cobb and Fennec were always busy in town and the surrounding areas,  and Fennec had even less time than Cobb, being Boba’s right hand. Then there was Grogu, and as fun and enjoyable he was for a little kid, it wasn’t the same as having someone around her own age to hang out with. 

He nodded to himself, resolving he needed to do better, “You did a really good job today, Ann. Looking after Bessie, milking her, noticing there was something off about her. You could’ve easily brushed it off, or not even bothered to tell me about it. But you did, and because you did, I can tell you there will be a new addition to the ranch. Nerfs have a faster gestation than most quadrupeds. We should have a new addition in a month or two depending on if it’s a bull or calf. Not to mention you fed the nunas and collected the eggs, even though I know it freaks you out a little. I even noticed that you stamped the eggs with the date, and put them away. Cleaned out the pens as best you could … before I got here.” He smirked.

I tilted my head to look at him, resting my head on my arms that were propped on the railing of the corral. I didn’t say much, simply looking at him as I narrowed my eyes at Din, “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me, or if you’re being genuine”

He chuckled, as he glanced over to her, shaking his head. “Genuine, I’m being genuine,” he turned back to look at Taika and Misty, “plus, I owe you for this morning.” 

I smirked, focusing back on the horses, “So … does this mean, I’ll get a pay bump?”

“Ha! No.” He stood stretching, “However, I do believe, your good work today, and for my …”

“Assery?”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Words aren’t words, until you start using them more often”

Din shook his head laughing, “Anyway, I do believe this entitles you to lunch on me. How about we go into town for lunch? I know a good restaurant.”

“Oh, um … yeah, I guess…”

He hadn’t expected that reaction, “Do you not want to?” Din glanced over to her.

A thousand scenarios ran through my mind, my biggest concern was bringing danger to this small town, but … Fennec went through a lot to cover my tracks so I could make it here. I couldn’t keep hiding on the ranch like I was. I needed to stop letting my ex dictate terms. I needed to start living again. 

I closed my eyes, and reminded myself, I wasn’t that same weak girl, he initially married.

 “No. No.” I focused on the landscape before, taking in the beautiful mountains, the crisp air. I was far away from him. “I’m up for going into town. After all, I need to see more of this area, get to know the town and people. As beautiful as this ranch is, I can’t exactly be holed up here forever.”

“No. You can’t” he smiled.

 I smirked, as my eyes glanced down, looking over my dirty outfit, “Maybe I should change? Take a shower at least?” My hand subconsciously went to my forehead and hair, wiping away some of the sweat and dirt.

Din shrugged, “You can if you want to but there’s no need, we’re going to a diner, not some fancy five-star high-end Coruscant restaurant. Plus this is a farming town, we’re all used to being a little dirty.”

“Hmmm … Well, I guess, if you’re going like that” I motioned to his shirt, “then I guess I can go like this” I motioned to my less than stellar outfit.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He looked down, sure there was dirt, hay, dust, some grass strains, and something … he hoped but wasn’t entirely sure was mud. The more he thought about it, the more he changed his opinion, “You know, now that you mention it, maybe a change of shirt wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement, as he tried to flick a nondescript dark matter off his shirt towards me. I squealed, flinching away from him, increasing the distance between us. “Hey …” I held up my finger as I moved further away, “I’ll have you know, I have enough of my own questionable dark matter on me, I don’t need to take on yours, too.” I shouted over to him, when I was far enough away and headed back into the house.  

Din watched as she headed back to the house, slipping off her boots before she went in. 

He stood in the open glancing over to the pens, the horses grazing, and Bessie chewing away as she stood there looking at him, and he couldn’t remember a time he felt this content from cleaning the pens and grooming Taika and Misty. He shook his head, pushing his thoughts aside as he headed into the house to change.

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@littlemisspascal @sprout-fics @liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[secondsineternity]

Pretty Brown Eyes

It’s date night, you’re drunk, and you think that Din Djarin’s big brown eyes would be just too pretty to not say anything about them.

A new lil oneshot about our favorite Mandalorian! Enjoy!!

[soft-persephone]

Scattered Promises 4

Rating:M // MDNI // WC: 4-1k // Warnings: mature themes , sex // masterlist // AN: Here’s Chapter 4!! I almost forgot to post this! I hope you guys enjoy it! This chapter was a such a doozy to write and I’m finally done with it!! Now we can get to the meatier parts of the story!! // Three //

Ready Jazzy?”

Amiyra picked up Sammy and grabbed his little stuffed fish she made for him within the first year they were in each other’s lives. He was obsessed with the stuffed octopus you made him for his second birthday, but someone in the children's care thing was constantly taking his octopus and roughing it up or refusing to give it back.

The situation was disparaging if anyone asked you, but to the Madalorians, children are encouraged to settle their own affairs. According to them, Sammy would have to learn to be more aggressive and start standing up for himself regardless of only being 2 and a half years in age.

“I got everything!” Jazzy smiled, proudly showing off her new dagger.

“Alright, lets go.”

Amiyra grabbed her two large wicker baskets, and maneuvered the straps the best way she could without dropping Sammy.

Helping the morning harvesters was her own way of being involved in the community. If there was anything she learned in her upbringing on her homeworld, it was the importance of community. Learning the language and becoming a better fighter was not enough in itself. By doing her part without being asked and positioning herself as a worker, she would gain their respect.

Descending the steps, she swore as one broke on her way down.

Their new place was not as big as the one they stayed in with Paz and Penny, but with a few rough repairs, and perhaps an entire renovation for the front porch, they'd be set. The wood was aged, but it was still sturdy. Only a few places here and there needed some replacing.

Jazzy scoffed loudly.

Amiyra was about to ask why she was so upset, but upon looking up, she smiled.

The well worn armor of Ben was there.

He might beat her half to death every morning, but she grew a fondness for him. He was easy to talk to, genuine, and reliable. No matter how much time they spent together it didn’t seem like enough.

“Let me carry the baskets.” he mumbled softly.

“There's no need to lower your voice.” She smiled into his helmet, “he can sleep through anything.”

“I'd rather not risk it. He can be quite demanding with his desires for attention.” He picked up a stray loc of her hair and placed it behind her shoulder, “I have something else I'd like to focus on before the sun comes up.”

She didn’t say anything in response, nor did she have to. Before his hand left her face entirely she leaned into his leather covered hand, savoring the warmth that lay beneath them.

“Ahem.” Jazzy frowned. “I have somewhere to be today, and I don’t want to be late.

Amiyra gave Ben an apologetic smile and they made their way to the edge of the village where the training woods were.

“Today is a big day for you Jasmine.” Din got down on one knee in front of her, clasping her shoulders. “There's no doubt in my mind you will be the fiercest warrior during your trial and come back home in no time, but don't underestimate anyone and always watch your back.”

He handed her a shoulder length blade. Not yet a sword and not yet a dagger.

Jasmine’s eyes lit up and she gave him a genuine smile for the first time.

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me adika until it saves your life and brings you back home.”

They walked in peaceful bliss.

Her daughter had an even newer, longer, and more dangerous pointy weapon to hold up her spirits. That, Amiyra would bring herself to come to terms with one day. She was still grappling with the Mandalorian customs of what is an appropriate age to introduce your children to violence.

In the clearing of the village, several other parents were lingering around with their children, saying their final goodbyes.

She sighed.

“Stay strong Jazzy.” She kneeled and placed her forehead on top of hers, “come back home.”

“Come back home, first.” Ben said firmly and nodded down at her.

And with no attitude, no sigh, or smart remark, Jazzy nodded at him back up at him with an equal amount of seriousness.

He put a hand on her shoulder. No pat, no fuss.

If she wasn’t so freaked out by this tradition of sending your child off into some unknown dangerous free for all battle with other children. She might have lingered on how big of a moment this was for them.

Breaking the tender touch Jazzy proudly marched off to the edge of the woods with the other children she’d be facing her trial with. Jasmine was not the biggest or strongest kid of her class, but from what she’s observed she’s surely the fiercest.

Maker, let her come home first.

“She’ll come home first.” Din murmured in her ear, placing his hand on the small of her back. “With you as a mother, I'm sure she gets her fierceness and determination from you.”

“Maker, let's hope so.”

Din nudged her with a hip and took Sammy out of her arms.

“You go ahead with the harvesters. I’ll drop him off at school.”

“See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” she said back softly. Tenderly watching them until they were no more than a speck of dust.

Walking her way with the rest of the basket carriers, she was welcomed with a lot of suggestive stares peaking above their face coverings. They’re eyes all shined with a knowing looks of amusement.

“What's with all the looks?”

“Since when did you and Ben become so close?” Someone asked.

Amiyra sighed, holding back a smile.

Today was going to be a long day.

_______

“What are you doing?” Paz asked Din out of nowhere, considerably more calm than he once was now that his family is back together. The question could be taken as an inconspicuous notion, an everyday occurrence from an acquaintance.

Except nothing about Dins life was inconspicuous or an everyday occurrence.

One could dream, right?

He picked up Grogu and made his way through high, grand corridors. The steely grey blue tinted walls glowed in the sunlight. The flickering reflections from the sun suspended them in an artificial space similar to the one above.

“What I want,” he half joked.

Paz’s bushy brows knitted together over glaring eyes. The dark blue cloth that covered his nose and mouth tightened around his face.

He mainly wore his armor when he was going off world or when he was need in battle, any other time it would only be a power status thing, and he wasn’t interested in anything like that. When he wasn’t needed in battle he’d gladly wear his blues in cloth for a while with a face covering to spend time with his wife and children.

Din looked away and kept his brisk pace.

A joke, but it was not. No one was laughing.

“You're not going to do anything to hurt this girl or her children! I forbid it!” Paz hissed so his voice wouldn’t carry against the walls.

So much for being calmer than usual.

“I’m not hurting anyone.” Din pursed his lips under his helmet. He wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing. . .well. . .that's a lie. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was keeping his private affairs and his kingly affairs separate. To protect him and Grogu as well as Amiyra and her family.

“I am not harming her or her children!” Din spun around and muttered into Paz’s face. “She. . .she comes from royalty,” he took a moment to lower his voioce. Sound carries adn who knows who might be listening in these halls, “and you know what they would make her do once they found out. What I would be forced to do if they found out about the both of us and what we might mean to each other.”

Paz huffed and stepped back.

Din turned away from Paz’s silence.

He would have preferred for him to yell, to start a fight even. Silence meant that he was right, and Din did not want to be right.

“Your, highness.” Bo Katan bowed her head slightly.

Din halfheartedly nodded back before setting Grogu down to go into the room before he did to get settled.

“Your majesty,” she addressed Grogu as he tottled inside.

He babbled in response.

“Fett is here as well as a few other important figures to discuss Axe Woves.”

Din grimaced.

Today was going to be a long day.

______

Today was such a beautiful day.

There was something about this system's sun shining down on you and your feet in ankle high water, collecting the versatile green plant and the stalk it grew on. The greens could either be sweet or bitter, but both were suitable to be added to any dish, stew, or stir fry. The stalk could be patted dry and laid out on a flat surface to be made into baskets or anything else of use that could be made. It was like straw but sturdier, more reliable, and durable.

Despite everything else going on that was making her anxious, the sun was high and the sky was clear. While Ben complained that helping with the harvest was a mindless or tedious task that made him feel useless. That his talents were being wanted away with the hours someone could spend out there.

But it wasn’t that at all.

The harvest was one of the most essential parts of a functioning society. It was being a part of something larger than yourself. In some nations it was about a way of life. The land called out to some people. They wanted nothing more than to grow something, provide something not only to themselves, but also for so many others who may need it. They wanted a simple life dictated by the weather and season on what to grow and when, with no input or demands from anyone or anything else.

They wanted honest work and to be paid for that work.

But aside from all the other grand and larger than life reasonings, it reminded her of home.

Her father only allowed her to work on a farm every now and then because it made the family look more relatable. He claimed it made the people more happy to have them as their rulers. But every now and then the ‘power’ over her life and what she represented became overwhelming, and when she wanted a break, she wanted to work on a farm and pretend to have a more simpler life. . .a life where she could control what happened.

“Adika!”

You were sure it meant child. You’ve heard Ben say call your children that word in rare tender moments.

At first it ruffled your feathers, but you soon learned it was a term of endearment similar to many cultures. It was the same word everyone older, particular women were fond of. It was a word used to refer to newcomers by a collective group or culture to highlight your inexperience amongst them. . . but in a kind way.

You called out a single yell asa response. It was short, clipped, and polite. It was your regular response when mending the harvest.

“Things aren’t moving to fast between you and Ben are they?” Mimi raised an eyebrow over her face covering. Her eyes were inquisitive, but cloudy with what you could only identify as concern.

It didn’t matter what covered your face, alone for your eyes as long as it was covered. Most chose a bandana or strip of cloth that wasn’t too thick or thin.

There was something sacred about eyes and eye contact.

Before she was used to living a life where people were taught to avoid looking her in the eye. They often bowed, and stayed looking at the ground or just past the side or above her head. It was a sign of respect.

But now Amiyra new it was a window into one’s soul. Where the rest of one’s face may be covered, your spirit and the true essence of who you were was laid bare for everyone to see in your eyes..

At first it scared her. She grew up only having gazed into the eyes of her parents and siblings. Her friends and occasional lover of sorts for lack of a better word. Her young flings who held her heart.

But now she is full.

She’s met and is still meeting and getting to know so many wonderful people and she feels connected to them.. she belongs.

She a a part of something. . . In every way of the word.

She isn’t an out of touch monarch juggling her fleeting bits of humanity, but a member of a society.

“No,” Amiyra made sure her eyes glowed with how happy she truly was at the thought of Ben, “he … he almsot fits in with me and my children.” She issued, searching for the right words. “He adores them, and they like having him around.”

“Well if he ever becomes a bother, you know where to find us.” Mimi finally added. Her eyes shifted back to a more regular expression.

A skill she has noticed many times, but has yet learned to master.

She was told many tales of how everyone used to wear the same armor as the King and a select few, but since that is not a requirement anymore of all the citizens of Manda’lor. They have learned new skills of concealment.

While all but your eyes may be covered. Some chose to wrap their heads as well and others maybe even wrapped their hair too, they learned how to let their eyes reveal certain things or not. With a blink, Amiyra court see worry, concern, or joy in someone’s eyes morph into nothing. A contempt void of neutrality she found sometimes bone chilling if not mesmerizing.

She needed to learn that.

“You must be careful with Ben.”

Amiyra’s eyes widened as she looked back at Mimi. A long stretch of silence had feel between them as they focused on harvesting, enjoying the sounds of nature and the splashes of water.

“His intentions are always good of heart. . . But he forgets himself.” she paused in thought. . . He may not always be here when you need him.”

Amiyra new exactly what she was talking about.

Ben was just as fleeting as Din.

Din worked for the King, but Ben… well she wasn’t sure what his deal was.

At first she thought he was an important figure of the village. That he somehow represents them, he goes off, does dangerous and sometimes great things,and he comes back to give everything he has gained back into the village.

She’d seen it too many times to count. They’d done the dance of last good byes and when will I see you again more times than she could count. Each and every one leaving her heart aching..

Ben always came back, Din eventually turned up with more sweet words and re-assurances once they could finally get a moment alone with one another, but when would it stop.

Who was she goin to get to spend the rest of her days with? Which one did her children love more? Who filled that void she so desperately needed?

What was a relaible warmth she oculd fill her home with and what were the cold things left blowing in the wind never to return.

“I.. I don’t know if I can rely on Ben,” Amiyra found herself saying, “But I like it when he’s here. Right now. . thats enough.”

Mimi studies her for a moment before nodding at her. Her eyes shone again with its usual unwavering glow that revealed nothing but what she wanted others to see. A more casual everyday look for friends or aquaintences.

“You have your wits about you.”

That was probably the nicest thing Mimi’s ever said to her. . .

She was making friends!

______

Being home alone was the worst.

She couldn’t remember what it was called.

The layer of skin that was so thin, it was hard to see. It rested between the outermost top layer and the one that held all the fleshy bloody parts of you from spilling out that was on the bottom.

It felt like small little bugs were crawling all over it. It felt like someone had somehow set it on fire. She wanted to rip her top layer of skin off and let the air cool it down. She wanted to scream, to hit something or someone.

Amiyra hadn’t been alone since she had her children, and she feared she might not be able to make it without them, not even for a few days.

Since Jazzy was gone with her child free for all battle for the next week or two, she let Sammy stay with Paz and Penny so he'd have someone to play with, He’s not used to it only beng just them, and the new environment might distract him for the fact his sister isn’t going to be home.

He’d also taken a liking to Paz’s oldest boy.

Thankfully, they got along very well and Ragnar, seemed more than glad to have a little brother to follow his every move and try to do everything he did.. Even if Sammy was too small to understand what exactly was going on or what Ragnar might be doing, they had fun all the same.

They offered for her to stay too, but Amiyra politely declined.

She tried sleeping a little, but only tossed and turned. She couldn't find anything to settle the uproar in her stomach. A nibble of anything just made it worse. Tea of any kind was too much, so she hoped drinking sips of water when she could manage would ease something within her.

The middle of the night had reached its peak, and the sky was moonless. It was time for Amiyra to make her way into the thick corner of the woods where she met Ben every other week’s time. The usual bugs that chirped and buzzed underneath the stars were silent. The wind itself was still. It was as if the Maker himself was wielding his mighty power for their night alone to be truly that in every way. That their union was so special it was rewarded a secret privacy held to none other.

Slipping past the guards at the village’s entrance was tricky, but not undoable.

Mandalorains are very keen and attentive. They are culturally alert and poised for anything to happen at any moment. A stark contrast to her leisurely upbringing.

Amiyra learned how to survive well on her own, but as wary and careful as she was about her surroundings and the places she went, it had nothing on what Mandalorians were capable of.

She’s always being berated for her lax state of awareness by her teachers, peers, and elders.

Luckily for her, the more time she spent sneaking off with Ben, the more she learned “to be aware”...

“Whos there?”

Shit.

She stepped on a twig.

Amiyra remained still. She was hidden in a cluster of large bushes. She quickly ran through a list of scenarios in her mind. If she lays till enough perhaps they'd think she was a small animal, or maybe–

A rustling sound came from the opposite end of the clearing a stretch from where she was and they quickly followed the sound in that direction.

“You’re too loud.” a voice sounds lowly in her ear.

“I had it handled.” Amiyra huffed in a whisper.

“No,” Ben wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest in a firm but gentle embrace, “You didn't.”

‘You’re distracted.’ he murmured further. “It takes time for one’s silent awareness to become an afterthought. It takes time for it to be as natural as breathing or walking.”

“I've mostly fought and done dangerous activities on desert planets. It only takes the slide of feet, quiet breathing, following the opposite side of the wind, and avoiding the sun.

Ben slowly let her go and they walked side by side. Their arms brushing one another. They were walking so closely together that taking a step without almost tripping over each other’s feet was hard to avoid, but they somehow managed.

Their unclasped hands brushed together without a thought. Their pinkies twirling around one another in a familiar dance.

The feeling made her at ease.

When else could they be this close? They couldn’t see one another, but the trade off was more than pleasant.

It was alluring, exciting, tempting, and addictive.

Where else could he lay her down in the grass and climb on top of her without worry? Where else could they breathe in one another’s air?

When else could she run her hands through his hair as she pleased? Taking her time, running her hands forwards,and backwards, in slow circles and patterns as he lay his head on her chest? Until she found the right stroke or touch that left him humming her favorite song for only her ears to hear.

Where else could he lick into her mouth and devour her until her lungs screamed and bribed with a need for air so great? That even once he broke that first painful kiss he stole several more in between each gasp of breath. Leaving her more and more desperate with each one. Which one did she need more? Him or air?

She would never tire of the full weight of his body on hers. The warmth he exuded. The feeling of his heart beat in hers. She clawed his shirt off his back, and he equally swept off the tank she had on. Despite the warm heat of the night and it’s lifeless breeze, they wanted more.

Needed it.

They needed to feel each others skin. Ben needed to kiss every nook and curve, each bump and scar of hers in the dark. When he found the one along her collar he bit down on it after licking it, and she cried out into the night air.

It was his favorite.

“Why do you love that one so much?” She panted.

“If what made that mark had took you, we wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t be able to do this” he kissed down Amirya’s body and forced her legs over his shoulders with such great force and quickness she couldn’t comprehend, “or this.” He licked into her, spreading her open with his tounge.

Lapping into her as if the wet essence of Amiyra was the only thing he needed as if she were the last drink he needed else he died…. As if it could fix him.

He meant every word.

She could tell he meant every word. With any normal man she would have found the time to tease him for it. She would have written it off as something sweet to say in a tender moment, but not Ben.. he was serious. More serious than most.

Ben was as serious as another Mandalorian man you had met and it haunted her.

She still dreamed of Din.

She still thought of the moment they shared, the promises he made to her. The phantom feeling of his hands on her body were growing weaker and weaker. It was a ghost of a memory she wouldn’t let stop haunting her.

Even now as Ben fulfilled every need she had, she couldn’t shake the thought of him.

Even as he licked her clit just the right way and pumped his strong thick fingers into her with abandon. Stroking and curling at just the right angle, filling her whole and completely.

She though of the promises Din had made. How he was filled with such conviction when he said them.

What was he waiting for?

Did he still mean it? Were they strong and solid? Did he hold them tightly to his chest as he attended to whatever business he did as king? Was he simply just tooo busy?

Or was she a long and forgotten memory? Not a ghost or thought, but scattered in the wind.

A dust he let sprinkle through the air once he made it back into his world.

As she came on Bens toug with a cry, she made a silent plea for Din.

She prayed to the maker he’d keep their promises strong enough for Din to taste them. That he wouldn’t let them settle into a dust of regret.

She prayed he’d keep his promise.

[sroop]

guided (i)

"This is my puck, so either we both go together, or you stay behind." It's her way of saying: kriff off.

Author's Note: always wondered about the Mandalorian with an apprentice and wanted to write a bit about what I think Din would try to be as a mentor. This is definitely not the most canon accurate and Grogu isn't mentioned

Summary: Bounty hunting is precarious, even more so when it becomes personal. Din is determined not to let his apprentice learn that the hard way.

next

{}{}{}{}

Reyza is a good listener. Which was inconvenient because Din was a good listener too, and that meant it was mostly just silence between the two of them.

Normally, Din enjoys the quiet. He's used to nothing but the hum of the engines, the rattling of the carbonite system, or the firm whoosh of atmosphere thrumming against the ship. Even the more talkative quarries he brings on board are quickly silenced. So it's not the quiet that unnerves him, just the fact that it's silent when someone living and breathing and certainly not encased in carbonite is within arm's reach.

Plus, Reyza's silence today seems... cool. Din has been privy to companionable silences before, even from Reyza, herself. Today, she's faraway somewhere, and he's not so sure if it was just as simple as an off day for her. He tips his helmet towards her, watching.

"We don't have to go."

"We do. We should."

Din frowns beneath his armor and glances at the navigation system. Only a few hours before they reach Corellia. From what he's gathered about Reyza, she was either born on Corellia, or spent some harrowing years on it. He's not entirely sure if she was anywhere near their destination, Coronet City, or if she had even seen it before; but he was willing to put down a hard bet that she had, judging from the begrudging determination in her voice. He sighs too quietly for the modulator to pick up.

"Run interference from the ship."

That has her snapping to attention, all the distance and distraction of the last few days crashing in the face of the present. Din can't see her face, but he can imagine she's livid.

"What?" she growls.

"Run interference from the ship. Nonnegotiable."

There's a cold pause as Reyza races to find the right words for the Mandalorian. He was treating her like she was a child, as though she hadn't saved his life on multiple occasions or survived on her own as a full-fledged assassin long before he had ever made himself known to her. And the word nonnegotiable ate at her ego and insecurities in a way she was reluctant to admit, even internally. She could take care of herself. She could take care of this bounty, even alone. Reyza ground her jaw.

"This is my puck, so either we both go together, or you stay behind." It's her way of saying: kriff off.

"I'm not staying behind, you don't have the firepower. I'm not taking you with me until you're honest about what's bothering you about this bounty. It's dangerous to be distracted," Din replies. His voice is level and Reyza resents his composure.

But he's right. She's not childish enough to deny that, and certainly not naive enough to believe that she was above the dangers of human emotion under pressure. She glances at him guiltily, feeling a little juvenile.

Maybe it was a good idea to stay on the ship and let Din handle this one himself. She wasn't exactly rearing to see the city again, or the people in it. But she also hated the idea of standing by on a mission so personal to her. Reyza was left a simple choice: confess, or stand by.

The words feel slow and heavy in her chest, crawling their way up her throat and complaining about it the whole way up. It was like vomiting, but worse.

"I wasn't born on Corellia, I know that's what Karga's file on me says. I was born somewhere else, don't know where, and I was abducted to Corellia when I was really small." She huffs through her nose and shrugs. "I was there until I escaped, and that's all. I went to Nevarro, started working for Karga-" she shrugs again, "- and you know what happens next."

Din mulls over the brief story. It contained the absolute minimum amount of information she could have given, but he knew what it was to want to forget.

"Coronet City?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He recalls briefly why he had taken Reyza on as his apprentice in the first place. It wasn't just Karga complaining that the Nevarro guild would have no reliable hunters once he decided to retire. It was the starburst sigil she wore on a silver chain around her neck.

He'd recognized it immediately as the mark of Polaris. In their heyday, before the Empire, they'd been a deadly force of assassins and spies. A network spanning galaxies, infiltrating and plucking fate strings so expertly that it was unclear where their influence started or ended. But somewhere along the way, their name faded and the work of their assassins dwindled and they became more myth than reality. Almost like the Mandalorians.

Except Din was willing to assume that the Mandalorians valued their foundlings and assets a little more dearly than whatever or whoever it was Reyza went through.

"Polaris?" he asked, a pitch quieter.

"Yeah," she answers, a beat slower.

Reyza's knees go to her face and she spends the rest of the flight curled to her right, away from Din and his pesky questions and unfortunate truths. Reyza wonders what this means. Was her answer acceptable enough for him to deem her not a threat to their mission? Was he waiting for more? Was she still stuck a passenger on her own bounty hunt? Leftover irritation scratches at the back of her neck and she bristles again. Stupid Mandalorian and his stupid, self-righteous moral high ground. She turns to glare at him.

"It's my puck," she declares again, though she's not quite sure to what end.

Din chuckles under his helmet. Gods, for someone more competent than most, she could be such a child.

{}{}{}{}

Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear feedback!

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Chapter 37: Where it Began

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Explicit Sexual Content. Talk of Mental Illness.

Words: 10.7k

Summary:  If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

Tatooine is hotter than Din remembers, the automatic cooling system of his suit on overdrive. Twin suns beam down at high noon, the public of Mos Espa flocking to shade. His footsteps mark in the sand and Grogu grows restless off the transit in a satchel across his body. Together they make way in the city center, towards a building of scandal and bustling populous. The option had been displayed to meet at a more reasonable and less horrific time of heat. He could never be so kind to himself as to accept.

His company sits at a back table, soiled boots on polished wood, nursing a cup of Maker knows what. “You’re late,” she says. “I was beginning think you bailed.”

“Fennec,” he greets. “You don’t sound too upset by the prospect.”

“I would have chalked it up to divine intervention.”

He glances behind to the entrance. “The Force?” 

A pair of Twi’leks approach, offering to clean his helmet. Fennec waves them away and orders another drink. Her stomach, she says, makes alcohol more like a juice. She lives to indulge.

“Why did you agree to come?” She asks.

He chooses not to answer, taking internal inventory of the room. Once deciding it safe, he allows the Child to roam free. He runs to the band, cheering for the attention of the Ortolan. “What is this place?”

“The Sanctuary. I thought it fitting.” She tosses a bag of credits. “I’m hiring you on for a job.”

“A job?”

“Call it a favor if it makes you feel better.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since you left me shot for dead a year ago.”

“It’s been that long?”

She shrugs. “And some change. Say yes, it’s easy money.”

“I thought Fett called the shots. He know you’re here?”

“He does.” Feeling Din’s surprise she adds, “Mostly. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He responds, “Not always.”

“In this case it is. Do you remember the Marshal who used Boba’s armor?”

“Course. Cobb Vanth.”

“Are you friendly?”

“I killed a krayt dragon for his people. Planned on leaving the kid in his care if something were to happen so—” his head bobs “—you could say that.”

“How’d you like to pay him a visit?”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing tragic, don’t worry.” She takes a swig, briefly offering the drink to Din. “All I need is for you to talk to him, do some of that convincing you’re so good at.”

“For?”

“There’s a treaty we need signed with Mos Pelgo—Freetown. Unification is important to Fett. All we ask is they recognize Boba as Daimyo and agree to follow a new constitution of laws.”

“Marshal Vanth’s a smart man,” Din says. “He’s fought hard to keep his people free. Won’t give into city say-so’s.”

“Believe me there are far more benefits than cons. Fett is shockingly well versed in politics. The treaty is brilliant.”

“If it’s so great why do you need me?”

“Because we need this signed, you’re our best shot at getting a yes. This is more than giving Boba more power or tribute. He wants to ensure underworld business stays in the underworld.”

“You’re cleaning up Tatooine?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s that worked out?”

“Well, we killed the Mos Espa mayor a couple months ago. Drove out some Pykes. Stopped a spice trade line. Established land agreements between some Tusken clans. And given the people a fair water tax and management system that is beyond me. We’re getting there.”

“I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“Then say you agree to speak to the Marshal. If he’s as decent of a man as you say, there should be no problem.” Din lends no response, crossing his arms. Fennec leans on her elbows. “What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A smile plays on Fennec’s lips, disguised by another drink. “Here I am thinking you aren’t smart,” she says. “If you agree, you would have to be accompanied by a member of the Fett Gotra.”

Foolishly, Din asks, “Who?” An answer given by Fennec’s wryly smile. “No,” he says. “No, forget it.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another choice.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to do a job. Take it as just that.”

He grasps for a new excuse. “She’d never agree.”

“She already has,” Fennec says. “Granted I haven’t asked her yet, but she’s on board.” He gives a look. “If you agree, she will be. I know you want to so let’s skip the back and forth.” He swallows thickness, leg bouncing. Fennec stands, shoving the flask in the calf of her boot. She takes her helmet, unnoticed by Din on the ground, pulling it on. “You’re saying yes,” she tells him. “Come to the palace before nightfall. We’ll officialize details and get you briefed.”

‘Fennec…” His words are lost when she looks, though meaning still perpetrates.

“She’s fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Mandalorian known as Din Djarin is also fine. He isn’t doing particularly great, but he is fine. He’s okay, and that’s enough. Frankly, okay is the best he’s ever been in these past months. Okay is what lets him sleep at night for a full six hours and okay is what reminds him to eat. Okay means he doesn’t need a sip of alcohol at least twice a day, and maybe he should watch his temper.

So yes, he’s okay.

Frankly he thinks okay is the best he’ll be.

At least for a long while.

Nevarro isn’t shitty anymore, he’s as surprised as anyone else. Din isn’t exactly sure how the money came in or from where, but Karga—now deeming himself High Magistrate—saw to Nevarro’s settlement as a trade anchor and hyper lane port of the Hydian Way. The schools were proper, roads paved, water clean. The town bustles, new homes and land being established every day.

Din is the only one to still find it all insufferable.

He stays off world as much as possible. He never planned on returning at all until word came through about Cara. Greef said he reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who eventually got to Din.

Neither she, Moff Gideon, or the New Republic vessel arrived to Coruscant for deliverance. Three and half months after what Din has only referred to as The Incident, they were found. Stagnant in space, exterior hull destroyed, bodies… A vigil was held with candlelight and Din left when Karga asked if he wanted to say any words.

He didn’t.

Cara was his friend. Now she is dead.

Gideon was his enemy. Now he is dead.

That’s all there is.

Din thought himself changed, arguably for the better. Emotion became too difficult to ignore, compassion bit at his ankles, all he wanted to do was give. Now caring is the least of his worries. Nothing matters. In an objective sense, nothing matters. Din is determined to go about his every day knowing this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the Empire, the New Republic, the Jedi, or whateverelse there is. He doesn’t care about Nevarro, or Coruscant, or Mandalore. He doesn’t care about his lost ship, he doesn’t care about the stupid sword stuck to his hip. The only thing he can be bothered to give a damn about is the Child.

Din does his best for Grogu. He gets up everyday, he works, he travels, he lives for Grogu. No one else.

He does an okay job at this too.

The parenting thing is… a learning process on his own. The Child, what with his immense powers and inability of speech, makes for an interesting dynamic. Din still isn’t a talker, less now, but he read an article about the importance of enrichment so he tries. He likes to think Grogu appreciates the effort.

They make the best of their nomad life. The kid learns to behave on public transit, Din learns the quickest way to check his weaponry to not hold up a line. Grogu stops fussing when it’s nap time, Din uses the opportunity to have time alone. Grogu uses his magic to eat a frog for lunch, Din builds a fire to camp for the night.

They’re content.

They’re okay.

Sometimes, and only sometimes in the rarest moments of bliss, Din can pretend everything is good and believe it. When he has enough credits to rent a ship for particularly long or dangerous excursion, he can close himself inside the bedchamber and do nothing. He can take off his helmet without paranoia, he can escape to a galaxy where the Razor Crest still exists. Where he doesn’t have a Darksaber or have to worry about an Empire. Where he doesn’t know of the existence of Jedi, or Inquisitors or—

He can pretend nothing changed. He is still who he was at the beginning of the cycle. He’s made no promises, no oaths, he’s not tied to anything or anyone. He’s totally and utterly free.

Din likes the dark. He doesn’t like much at all these days, but he likes the peace of nonexistence. He likes being able to forget, to live without a dragging burden or guilt or shame. He likes not being able to see two inches in front of his face. He likes being able to feel his face. He likes sleeping with his head on a pillow. He likes waking up without a direct stare of himself from the reflection of his helmet. He likes forgetting the helmet exists.

He likes forgetting that he likes forgetting the helmet exists.

The idea complicates things, so he forgets that too.

He is still a Mandalorian. That’s what he tells himself anyways. The helmet is… a technicality, and he convinces himself he never broke Creed to begin with. The Child saw him yes, but Din had also seen the face of his caretaker as a child. Neither of them burst into flames then, they won’t now. Boba Fett is also a Mandalorian whether he admits to such or not. He is born Mandalorian or… created. That alone gives greater credibility than Din has to the people.

He supposes the exposure to Migs Mayfeld was unwarranted. Although, according to New Republic record, Mayfeld is dead. There’s no reason he can’t have died in Din’s recollection either.

All who’s left is…

Din does a remarkable job of moving on. Truth be told, he never thinks of Lumina once. He forgets all about her, every little aspect. The way he should have after the first time. He doesn’t spend nights caught on what ifs or maybes or would’ve could’ve should’ves. He just, forgets. He’s far happier this way, he is. Life is less dramatic, uneventful overall and… a little boring. He blames the unfamiliarity of calm on peace, a stranger to his life for so long.

He isn’t complaining, all it is is a learning curve.

He hadn’t begun to feel anything close to normal until the third month. The first caught him hollow, irritable, angry. He slept and drank and slept and wandered and got into one too many needless fights.

In the second the headaches stopped. He wasn’t angry, he was tired. He felt guilt about everything, about nothing. But all the nothings he shouldn’t feel guilty about and all the everythings he should. He lived in a hole.

On the dawn of the third he decided to live again.

And living is hard.

Living is the most dreadful part of his day.

But it gets easier, somehow.

Easier when he’s occupied, when he’s with the kid, easier as he stops thinking about her.

Forgetting isn’t easy, until it is.

Though, he isn’t sure he likes it.

Within the Sanctuary on Tatooine, the lights of the fresher refuse to work. But every now and then one will flicker and reflect off a piece of armor.

He thinks it is symbolic after all.

---

Peli Motto’s 3-5 hangar is virtually unchanged. A few spare parts have disappeared, a few more having spawned. A small ship of some client taken where the Razor Crest should be. Pit droids scurry like rats, astromechs follow along with aimless direction. Din prefers the sight in the day, illusions remain uncommon.

He’s selfish to expect what he does and too proud to admit it. Everything has been a cyclical repetition so far, how dare it stop now after so much has happened.

He should be greeted with what he expects. It should all play out exactly the same. It has happened once it should happen again.

It does not.

For a moment, Din considers the possibility that he has finally learned.

But moments pass and he is the same.

Maybe he will always be.

--

“Thank you,” Peli says, leaned against some wall. For the past five hours they’ve worked in relative silence on what Din would classify as a piece of junk. A halfway skeleton of some starfighter from Naboo.

Of course it’s from Naboo.

Din peeks over the defunct astromech port, wrench in hand. “What?”

“Thank you,” she repeats. “She wanted to tell you that.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that girl that was here way back? The one you kept asking about?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“She lives here now.” Grogu is the one to react, his play built of nuts and bolts toppling. “Not here, but Mos Espa.”

“Can you hand over a circulator? Uh… three inch circumference.”

“You know, I like her. Comes in to help every now and then, works hard, doesn’t take payment. Used to ask about you.”

“That’s… kind of her. I think the parts are over there if you could just—”

“Lumina Fett. That’s her name. Remember that refugee story? No family, no nothing? Turns out she found em. Her old man came back here and took over Jabba’s place, runs the joint now. Guy with your reputation I’m sure could just… walk right in. Introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Peli snorts. “Because you’re as obvious as a rancor. You need an excuse to see her.” She holds out a set of shiny shock absorbers. “And I need this delivered to the palace, they’re for her. Two porgs one stone. C’mon, take it.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“I’m always right,” Peli says, smug.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her. I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?” She bumps his side. “And you do. I can tell. If you didn’t you wouldn’t keep lookin at my door like you’re expecting someone to walk through.”

If only the sand could swallow him whole.

“It’s okay, she likes you too.”

---

Boba Fett is not a man of faith, on the contrary he is far from it. He submits to no man, no god. He has not once fallen to his knees in prayer and has never cursed a deity or power greater than he. The matter is all trivial. Faith did not spare his father and there is no god to thank for his test tube creation. Kaminoans deserve no such honor.

He is without.

Life is simpler this way.

There is no fate, no prophecy, no one way life is meant to be. Life only is. Destiny is but an excuse to alleviate misery. All that happens is of natural effect, not a greater plan. No ineffable strategy.

The Force exists, sure. Boba is in no position to deny the fact. What he is in position to deny however, is its power. It’s ironclad grip on the galaxy, on the living. Power lays in the hands of the creations not the creator.

Every problem has a solution. A perfectly logical, reasonable, and achievable solution. All that is required is patience.

A patience running rather thin.

--

“My methods are unorthodox but proven in many studies of my people.” A Rodian speaks to him the floor of his throne room within Jabba’s defunct palace. Changes made in the past months have been both minimal and monumental. 

“How unorthodox are we talking?” Fennec asks. She sits on the arm of his seat, wiping the tip of her rifle, a performative action.

“There is a creature I possess which I have named Cxhenc, after the philosopher. It is not unlike a leech. You see, the Cxhenc will attach itself to the base of the patient’s skull and in doing so release a chemical—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Boba says. “You may go.”

“Buzz kill,” Fennec mutters at his exit.

“You’re serious? Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you want to know what it does? Could be useful in other cases.”

He thinks it over, she does have a point. She usually does. “We’ll call him,” he decides. “Who’s next?”

“Doctor Shuez Bhilba,” the 8D8 droid introduces, arm out. From the palace steps walks a human female. “Doctor Bhilba holds many degrees from the esteemed Academy of Medicine located in Coruscant. Including human neurological operations and advanced psychologics.”

“Coruscant?” Boba whispers.

“You said to cast a wider net,” Fennec responds.

“Cast wide, not tell the whole galaxy.”

“She knows as much as the rest. Daimyo Fett of Tatooine requires a royal physician. It can’t get worse than a parasitic lobotomy.”

Doctor Bhilba bows, reaching the pair. She wears glasses which slide down the bridge of her nose and a lab coat with a foreign emblem. “Lord Fett,” she says. “It is an honor to meet you. I’ve heard many stories since your come to power.”

“Flattery will get you no where with his lordship,” Fennec scoffs. “Whores are for confidence, jesters for stories. Not doctors.”

“My apologies, I mean no offense. I understand your hesitancy what with my tutelage, however I want to assure I hold no connection to the New Republic or any form of galactic government. My application comes in no way to betray, I promise you. I believe my skills will be of tremendous use.”

“How do you mean?” Boba asks.

“You are Boba Fett,” Bhilba says. “You are a clone, a man who has survived the unlivable, beaten the unbeatable. A man who despite all odds and in mere months establishes himself as a force matched only by Jabba the Hutt with one drastic difference. I’ve seen articles, met with locals. You are in the midst of accomplishing something truly good, truly great. Forgive my saying, but I am shocked you haven’t sought professional psychological aide sooner. It shows your resilience and your keen awareness to be unafraid to ask for help.”

“Hold on,” Fennec says. “Lord Fett does not seek psychological aide. He seeks a physician.”

“Which I too am qualified for, however it does not take even a single doctorate to deduce the true reason for your request of applicants. Great physicians can be found on Tatooine or any world. The reason there has been no hire is a lack of trust in psychology. Bacta heals the body not the brain.”

“She’s good,” Boba mumbles.

“Too good,” Fennec responds. “Doctor Bhilba, do you question Lord Fett’s sanity?”

“Certainly not,” she says. “In fact… I would need clearer consultation, but I classify Lord Fett as being entirely sane. Stressed, anxious slightly, and exhausted, but sane. Am I wrong then in thinking there is perhaps another in need?”

“She is good,” Fennec admits. “Your observations impress the Daimyo.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not to say the imaginary patient does indeed exist.”

“Of course not.”

“Should you however come across a patient with… deep psychological distress, how would you treat them?”

“Deep psychological distress?” She repeats. 

“Anxiety, attacks of panic, insomnia, general detachment, paranoia, hallucinations, and being a risk of harm to oneself and others.”

“My,” Doctor Bhilba says. ”And, there is no way for me to meet this… Imaginary patient?”

“Of course not,” Fennec says. “They do not exist.”

“Of course. In any case I would treat them as I would any client. The first few sessions would be spent in simply building trust. Then after assessment I would start medications and general therapy. My goal would be to ensure the patient feel safe above all else. Psychosis can be terrifying, but I’ve treated it many times. There may not always be a cure, but there is always a better.”

“I like you,” Boba says. “I do not like many people.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Should we take you on as the royal physician you will need to relocate permanently,” Fennec says. “And you will be bound to never speak of your work to any being under any circumstance.”

“I understand. I established a very successful practice on my homeworld of Naboo. Leaving would be difficult, but I have an excellent team whom I know will continue to do great things.”

“Naboo?” Boba repeats.

“Yes. I’ve been aide to our queens, common folk, and members of aristocracy since completing my studies.”

“No.”

Doctor Bhilba blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir I—I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Lord Fett has dismissed you,” Fennec says. “Quite kindly might I add. I will not be. Leave.”

Boba slumps against the throne when the doctor is out of sight. “From now on we stick to calls in the Outer Rim.”

“Perhaps we should take a break, just for a short while. She said so herself, the call has been out for some time now, it’s suspicious you’ve found no one.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m mad.”

“You should. Mad kings rarely go down in splendor. Should the people get even an inkling that you are unfit to rule they will revolt. We’ll stop now and revisit later.”

“After last night I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” He sighs. “Gods help us.”

“Lord Fett,” the 8D8 speaks. “There is still one visitor awaiting your audience. Shall I dismiss them?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I’ll see no one else today. Preparations must be made for Freetown.”

“What are the chances I get an exception?” Down the winding steps comes the Mandalorian Din Djarin, beskar shining as bright as a knights. His head bows, fist to his chest.

To note Boba Fett as being a particular fan of Din Djarin may be a gross exaggeration. He does not like the Mandalorian. He does not like his unpainted beskar and how it shifts in the light. Boba does not like his stubbornness or arrogance. For the past few months Boba has been bound to specifically not like Din. It is his duty as caretaker to not like Din, and he does not.

He does however, like the Mandalorian’s dedication. His oath for a Creed Boba could not care for. His gall in ever showing his beskar helm to any of them again. And how absolutely pitiful he looks right now.

That Boba enjoys very much.

“You’re here,” Fennec says. Boba knows her too well now, and so he knows her attempt to mask surprise.

“Not without reason.”

“And…” Boba says. “What would that be?”

The Mandalorian presents open palms, a shock absorber in each. “I have a delivery.”

---

The palace hangar is a large and desolate thing. Fuel canisters litter half empty and half full, the flooring untiled, windows unheard of. What lighting the room has is limited and dimmed, more so casted in shadow than life.

Really it looks more like Peli’s than Peli’s ever did.

A rather unfortunate guarantee in this exact situation.

“You’re just in time. Thanks for coming so last minute.” Comes as he enters, the owner bent over a speeder bike. A girl crouches at the bike, running her hands over the exposed power cell.  She whispers, “Let’s see…” The speeder struggles, wheezing for life. It rumbles on the ground, repulser lifters desperately wanting to ignite. Instead, the light above Din flashes.

“Fuck.” She stands, back muscles stretching under a black shirt. “Whatever. Listen, I did everything you said and I’m telling you the shock absorbers the speeder came with can’t handle the new engine. If I don’t have that double padded K2-R, the second I hit top speeds I’m gonna fly right off this thing.”

For the second time in his life, and the first with discontent, the Mandalorian’s heart flutters.

What. The. Fuck.

“I’m not Peli,” he says, an echo of the past.

The other turns quick, nearly breaking their neck in the process. Suspicions confirmed. They’re more than a girl. They’re the reason Din’s brain malfunctions and now the both of them are staring like they’d just seen a ghost.

Ironic.

She has speeder oil smeared across her cheek, her clothing is worn and stained. Her hair loosely tied back, but too short to stay. Curled bangs escape to the front. Her eyes are wide and bright grey under the light. They sit with overwhelming grief and unending exhaustion.

If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he���s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

That’s the problem with only being okay. Din lies to himself more than anyone else. Because while he can say he’s moved on, life catches up and shows him a mirror. It can bring back every memory he locks away, every feeling he convinced himself didn’t matter and it will only mock his reaction.

Because while Din has forgotten everything and never thinks of Lumina once, he’s also builds exceptions. He’s perfectly fine and okay without her until it rains. He’s okay until he walks through trees. He doesn’t care until he reaches for his knife. Until he gets in bed with all his anger and frustrations. He’s doesn’t think of Lumina once unless he sees a flower. He forgets she exists until he looks at the moon and watches the sunrise and is faced with stars.

Those stupid fucking stars.

Din would give anything to never see one again.

And now there’s one right in front of him. Her. Lumina. His flower. His sun. His star. Looking… utterly terrified.

No one moves. No one speaks.

So Din does the only reasonable thing he can think of. 

He says, “Hi.”

And Lumina responds with the only reasonable thing she can think of. 

“Hi.”

And so they both find that neither of them are very reasonable people and the mutual action does very little to suppress any panic at all. They continue to stare thinking one may simply disappear or the galaxy will self correct and vanish the other itself.

The galaxy does no such thing.

By this point they should have each learned that the galaxy is as kind as a god. That is to say, not at all.

As it turns out Din is still moronic when it comes to planning. The space between their words are longer than he would prefer but he can’t necessarily blame her.

Not this time.

The light above flickers, and neither flinches.

“What brings you?” She asks.

Nothing. Everything.

“I was in the area… Thought I’d pop by. You’re a mechanic now?” His feet feel heavier than normal, trudging. He places the absorbers on the nearest table, their fall sounding like wrenches.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I help Peli in Mos Eisley where I can, take more off days than I do on.” She slides off thick padded gloves. A bandage wraps her right wrist, ending at her knuckles. Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her pants. “Gives me something to do.”

“Do you like it?”

She shrugs. “Beats calculating water tax.” Her weight shifts, sinking an inch deeper. “Where’s your kid?”

“With Peli,” Din answers, ignoring the pang of it all. “I didn’t know if it’d be good for him. Coming down here. He’s good, really good actually, but—”

“I get it. I wouldn’t bring him either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. It’s okay.” A fluttered chime sounds, echoing against the walls. “That’s dinner.” Lumina wipes oil off her face with a red rag, staining the fabric. “Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he says, sudden and eager. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” she repeats laughing, though the smile is never full. “Dinner.”

---

Din can’t help but wonder whether the circumstances of dinner is a direct dictation of Boba, or rather a natural fall of events. The dining hall is large and undecorated, a long table in the center. One chair sits at the head, another to its right, two to its left. Servant droids deliver the banquet from the kitchen, but Lumina—now cleaned from earlier—sets the table. Glassware, plates, spoons, forks. Fennec places the knives when she enters. Passing Lumina she says, “I’ll take care of clean up tonight,” and doesn’t accept argument.

Boba enters last, helmet removed and held against his hip. His skin is cleared from last they’ve seen of another. Scaring relatively gone, tan returned. He pays Din no mind, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Instead, the newest Daimyo hugs Lumina by the side and kisses the top of her head. Their hushed conversation is one Din can’t make out. The bulk comes from Boba, Lumina nodding along. She speaks thrice, the second after she looks at Din, the third a simple confirmation of whatever it is Boba says.

Lumina sits first then Boba. Him at the head, her the single chair. Fennec takes the left closest to. Din is stiff taking place next to her, the empty seat given with no setting.

Food is passed between the three, Lumina taking the smallest of servings, Boba the largest, Fennec in the middle. The scene feels too intimate for Din’s intrusion. Too nuclear.

“Adi,” Boba says. “Have you finished your bike?”

“Not yet.” She cuts the same piece of meat over and over, pushing it around. “I will tonight.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.”

“You go to Freetown in the morning.”

“I know, Boba. I’ll be there. Are the documents ready?”

“The majordomo approved them this afternoon,” Fennec says. “He compliments your skill.”

“Does he still oppose my proposal for an election?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care for his compliments.” Fennec snorts, Boba shoots her a behave look only a father could master. “I don’t,” she reiterates. “The people need representation and fair council.”

“I agree,” Boba says.

“A new mayor must be selected by those they will run, not us.”

“Adi, I said I agree.”

She slows. “You do?”

“Yes. I do. Fennec has read through your proposal, it’s excellent. The initiative will take time to implement, but your strategy is good.”

Fennec nods, mid bite of a fried porg. “Good job,” she says, mouth full.

Lumina says, “Thank you.”

The table falls into silence again, forks and knives scraping plates, wine pouring into Boba and Fennec’s glasses.

Boba clears his throat. “Din Djarin,” he says. No one misses Lumina’s fork dropping, a loud clink clink clink. “Tell me, how goes the life of the Mand’alor? Fulfilling I hope.”

“I am not Mand’alor,” Din says in his chest. “And I do not plan on becoming.”

“Yet you still carry the Darksaber? Seems counter productive.” He pushes his plate aside, dabbing the corner of his mouth. “Have you given the position any thought before dismissal?”

Din does not answer. He thinks it a growing habit, comfort in the unknown. 

“Ad,” Boba says. “I should like the Mand’alor accompany you to Freetown in the morning. It will serve as his first taste of diplomacy. What say you to that?”

She sounds like a child, a quiet, “What?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Boba continues. “Don’t you agree Mand’alor? Your first taste of politics coming from an expert?”

He wishes he could hesitate. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Ad?” She gives no answer, he tries again. “Lumina?”

Her body startles first, then her mind. She sits up impossibly straight. “Yes, yes of course,” she says at once. In her momentary silence, she looks in a daze.

“Lumina,” Fennec says.

She jumps again, standing her chair knocks over. Watching the floor her hands turn to fists. She mumbles, “Excuse me,” and hurries out.

Din’s motion to stand is waved down by Fennec.

“I do hate when you’re right,” Boba says, sipping wine.

“I always am,” she says.

“You may take a plate to the kitchen to eat in privacy,” Boba says to him. “I will have a room prepared for you when you are finished.”

“You said she was fine,” Din tells Fennec.

“You said you were done with her,” she counters. “I guess we both lied.”

“I should talk to her.”

“You will not,” she snorts. “You’ll go to the kitchen and eat your food like a good little Mandalorian. Then you’ll go to bed, get up, go to Freetown, get that treaty signed, and leave. I will talk to Lumina, and you,” she says to Boba, “will reconsider Doctor Bhilba.”

“The answer is no.”

Fennec stands, grabbing a leg of nuna. She takes a bite, juices drip. “Then find your sister.”

---

Lumina resides in the second largest room of the palace. Her walls are circular, the floor a white marble tile. Her door is atypical, a thick curtain on a steel rod, a carried theme to both her closet and fresher. Her bed is larger than necessary and softer than she knows what to do with. The sheets are perfectly steamed to conform to the shape. She thinks it was meant to be Boba’s but bacta does little to heal bones sore with age.

She can’t open her windows, though there are plenty. A desk is littered with paperwork and ink, a small computer terminal, books on books, open, torn, written in. A potted plant, yet to bloom. A map of the known galaxy, pinned to the wall.

She sits in the center of her room on the floor, legs crossed, one bedside lamp dimmed. She stretches out, breathes, and retracts. The motion repeats several times over until the pain of the pull subsides.

Three knocks come at the limestone outside, one right after another. She’s slow to rise, slower to approach. The curtain retreats to the image of the Mandalorian, tall and not so proud.

He says, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” Groggy, like he’d just woken up.

She moves aside, an open invitation to which he accepts.

He ends standing where she sat, turning. “It’s nice.” Pointing to a seven-stringed hallikset in the corner. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t. Boba gave it to me. He says it’s important I have hobbies. I get too caught in my work here, it worries him.” Unsure how to move, Din begins to pace. Looking anywhere feels like an invasion of privacy. “Listen,” Lumina says, sensing the unease. “I want to apologize for earlier. I got overwhelmed, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Fennec talked it over with me, you coming along… and I agree, I—it would be very beneficial for you to come. I can—” she stops short, a deep exhale passing her lips.

Stepping forward is a guttural response from him.

So is her step back.

Lumina takes the moment to recompose, blinking away the oncoming panic. “You’re welcomed to come along if you wish,” she says. A true diplomat in ways, she passes Din in favor of her desk. “I thought it best if you read over the treaty yourself and then posed questions afterwards rather than my explaining it to you. I write better than I speak.” Instead of handing the datapad to Din directly, she places the tablet on the trunk at the edge of her bed between them. “I’ve met with Marshal Vanth twice before, he is kind, mostly agreeable. With luck the deal will be simple. Now, I know taxes and tributes will be an issue but I’ve commodified some numbers and with the elimination of spice our annual capital growth is already going to shrink horribly and we need to make up losses… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Din asks. “You’re standing here talking about economics like any of this is normal and all I can think about is why didn’t you tell me? I deserve an answer.”

She whispers, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I said I—”

“I know what you said, I’m asking why.  What did I do to make you think you couldn’t tell me? That I would see you any less? I already knew so much about you, or I thought I did. I knew how you grew up, I knew your connections, I knew you could get sick and act differently. I knew you weren’t normal. I knew that and I never held any of it against you. Everyone else called you something, everyone else hated you. I didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t,” she replies. “I tried. I tried so many times. Do you think I wanted to betray you? Do you think it was easy for me to lie to you every single day? It was hell. You were so wonderful, even when you were a dick you were a million times better than me. I know that you’re hurt, you have every right to be. But all this anger you’ve had for me for what… four, five months?” She points to herself, jabbing her own chest. “I have had to sit with every day of my life. You always give me shit for leaving but you left! You left! You get to leave, you get to run away and forget. I don’t. So I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to kill Jedi when I was teenager. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I’ve had in years.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything—”

She laughs, palms pressed to her eyes groaning. “Gods just shut up! Are you kidding? Grogu scared the shit out of you and he’s a baby. You called him dangerous. You wanted to send him away because you couldn’t handle it. Where does that leave me?”

He hesitates. “We would’ve figured it out.”

“Din, I didn’t think you were actually here until Boba said something. Do you know how many doctors they’ve brought for me? There is no figuring this out, this is just who I am.”

Din is too quiet for either of their comforts. He takes the tablet from the bunk, gives it a once over glance. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

“I think you need to give yourself more credit. Cause you’re a lot more than you think.”

“Maybe.”

“You used to freak out when you thought someone wasn’t real,” Din says. “Why talk to me?”

She shrugs.

“I missed you. A lot has happened. I wanted someone to talk to. Take your pick. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

He repeats. “Take your pick.”

---

Tatooine is significantly colder at night, moons high in the sky. Lumina and Din exit the palace with relative ease, Gamorrean guards asleep at their post. She wears a cape with a large hood drooped at her neck. They keep a simple distance, sabers on their hips swinging in tandem.

“You once asked if I knew of the Force,” she says. “Do you remember this?”

He does, so he nods. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

Within the helmet he frowns. “It’s…” He searches for the words because in truth he does not know. Not really. The definition given to him by Ahsoka feels too textbook and manufactured. Like it were to be given to hundreds so that no further questions may be asked. “It’s… energy, of life.”

She nods once. “Do you know what that means?”

He does not, and admits such. “No.”

“For as long as sentients have existed,” Lumina says. “The Force has been studied. No one knows what it is, not really.  It’s everything, and nothing, and it’s everywhere, but also no where. All at once, all of the time.”

“Right,” Din responds curt. “How does that work?”

“Think of it like the air. You can’t see it, but you know its there and sometimes you can feel it. The Force is like that, except it never ceases to exist. Not in space or water or dirt… really it is all of that, except it’s never tangible either. It just is. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“There are two sides, like a moon. Light and dark. The dark is cold, lonely. It’s an infection that feels like it can never be cured. It’s being trapped in a frozen lake wishing for anything to pull yourself out with but nothing is ever within reach. So you get angry, and you hurt. My father—” she says with far greater ease than ever before. “He held so much hurt for all I knew him. He passed his hurt to me, encouraged I grow my own. I am in the dark, I always have been. A Jedi would call me a Sith. I’m not given a choice to disagree.”

“And the light?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it’s beautiful.”

“So… Moonlight is good?”

“Yeah,” Lumina whispers. “Moonlight is good.”

--

Lumina takes her lightsaber in her hands, twisting at parts. “This weapon belonged to Ahsoka Tano when she was young. My father trained her before he got sick, and gifted it to me when I came of age. There is a crystal inside which…” She struggles, pulling said crystal out. It’s presented to Din between her thumb and forefinger, a dull red. “Gives the sword its power. We call it kyber. The crystal connects to the Force, we connect to the crystal.”

“Why red?”

“They were blue once, when I got it. My people we… conduct a process called bleeding. This crystal is bled.”

“Ahsoka’s were white.”

“They were,” Lumina confirms. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or yours.”

“That’s reassuring,” Din mutters.

“Could mean nothing. The Darksaber is older than the Republic, maybe there were different methods of building back then. Have you tried using it at all?”

“Very little, nothing to count. It’s heavy.”

Lumina reassembles her saber. “Let me see?”

Vertical, the Darksaber ignites, black blade shining. His elbows drop.

“Are you trying to hold it up?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You focus on its weight, it will only be heavier. Close your eyes… are they closed?”

Truthfully he answers, “Yes.”

“I want you to breathe, slowly like you’re learning. Pay attention to everything else. The temperature, the smell, the sand, the sky. Relax into all of it.”

Din can’t all together describe the sensation. Not with any hint of accuracy anyways. He worries he does it wrong at first, focused too closely on the ‘other’. His feet, his hands, the weight of his helmet. Her. Gradually the oddness settles and all becomes natural. A wind or a flame, a particle of sand in a greater world. Light.

“What do you call this?”

“Meditation. Technically a Jedi practice but… well I find it helpful. How’s the sword feel?”

“Better.”

Sounds crackle again, he sees a red hue flashing from behind his eyelids and visor. Pressure comes from the sword. He pushes back.

“I want you to remember that when you use this sword, you are using energy. It’s your job to direct with intention. Understand that the currents are a part of you. The kyber wants to connect and you should want to allow it. Think of it as liberation, not a hinderance.”

The pressure vanishes, as does the weight.

--

Din asks about her wrist, Lumina too caught up in rubbing the wrapped bone to pursue conversation. She blames the sprain on an accidental fall the day prior.

He isn’t sure why he still lets her lie, but it becomes a comfort to them both.

--

“You’ll like Krrasantan,” Lumina tells him. “Even for a Wookie he’s huge. Scary too, but secretly sensitive. When he found out I used to live with Trandoshans he wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

“Have you heard from any of them since?” Din asks. “The Trandoshans.”

“I’m not allowed to use the comms,” she says, head shaking. “Fennec monitors my calls. I’m can only call her or Boba when they’re not home. She says it’s a security issue, but I know better. I do miss Sully though… Don’t tell BK. His dad and Boba were friends. Went bounty hunting together a lot actually. ”

“Speaking of, I hear you’re officially a Fett.”

Her head ducks. “Who told?”

“Peli.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s true?”

“It is.” She kicks sand, watching the clump blow into the air. “Fennec introduced me as it once before to the old mayor. I had a meeting with him to discuss the spice trade, he said he’d only talk to Fett. Fennec told him I was his kid and since then it stuck. People talk a lot around here, word spreads. I still can’t tell how Boba feels about it.”

“I’d think he’d be welcoming to you claiming his name.”

“Oh he is. You should see how he lights up when he hears Lady Fett get thrown around the palace.” A smile grows on her the same, the first real one he’s seen since arriving. “I think it suits me well. Lumina Fett.  It’s my favorite name I’ve ever had.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He never claims me as his.” Her brightness dims, pace slowing. “He explicitly says he isn’t my father whenever someone says otherwise. Doesn’t explain why either. Fennec says it makes him feel guilty, whatever that means.”

“So… you guys are what exactly?”

“Family,” Lumina says. “We’re family.”

--

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Lumina says, their walk to the palace gate cautious in step. “Marshal Dune.”

“How’d you hear?”

To Din’s knowledge word had only been sent to Nevarro by way of Adelphi Ranger, Capitan Carson Teva. The coming and going of Moff Gideon still unknown to the Core, a ‘nonissue’ so to say.

“Boba has access to New Republic channels, not that they know. Remnants from Jabba’s rule, the tech is old but it works. I like to listen when he’s not looking. It’s harder to stay in the loop now that I don’t live in the Core. Boba offered to send something to her family when I told him but…”

“Alderaanian.” 

“Yeah. Alderaanaian. I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

They come down the steps into the throne room, empty, unlit. “It is, actually,” Lumina says. “It’s entirely my fault. I failed in killing Ghost, in turn she killed Gideon. She killed your friend. That is my fault, and I am sorry.”

“You’re certain it was her?”

“Who else would have done it? If Gideon were to successfully arrive to the New Republic, who knows what he would have said. What they would have made him say. I’ve already ruined the secret of Inquisitors. The New Republic is a beast in disguise. They wouldn’t rest until he said more. He failed his duty to the Empire, proving himself no longer useful. Killing him was a security measure. I would’ve authorized it myself honestly.” 

Din continues to follow Lumina back to her room. He realizes he shouldn’t. Their farewells and goodnights should end now. The night has been long, the morning will be longer.

He does not think himself a man of sound mind.

Lumina pulls back her curtain, leaning in the entryway. “She loved him,” she says, suddenly. “She loved Gideon and she killed him. We grew up together, she spent years looking for me and the moment I turn out to be different, I’m no one.” She takes a breath, leaning her head back. “Gideon was the first person to show her any kind of love, empathy, desire. Whatever you want to call it, that is what he provided her. And she wanted him just the same, and now he is dead, she is missing, I am here. I worry I may have underestimated her.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“Oh I know she will,” Lumina chuckles, soulless. “The question is when. How. That I’m still working out.”

“I would argue it’s not your problem anymore.”

She walks inside, casually imploring a use of the Force to hang her cloak. “I was the first to come back from the dead. I am still the rightful heir, and I’ve yet to abdicate. I should like to dissolve my inheritance before others are reborn as well. When rooms are crowded, navigation becomes trickier. If the downfall of my father’s empire is not my problem, it is no one’s.”

---

Lumina sits at the top of her bed, Din across on the edge of the mattress. With the Force, she closes her curtain door, hooking it’s fabric latch. “They took out my door a couple days ago.” She calls it a ‘safety issue’, and doesn’t elaborate.

She falls onto her back, he looks up. Unnoticed until now, her painted ceiling. A dark galactic blue, hand drawn thin white lines connecting various dots. Nothing is labeled or really makes logical sense. The image isn’t one Din would recognize.

“Finding a hobby meant I had to try everything at least once,” Lumina says.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Descriptive.”

“Shut up. It’s a map.”

“To?”

“No clue. I would see it in my dreams a lot, visions I guess. Could be nothing.”

It’s too obvious he struggles with the words. “Do your visions… usually mean nothing?”

She snorts. “My visions usually don’t happen. Not on their own anyways. I’m more of a historian than a psychic.” She sits up, preemptive to his declaration of confusion. “Psychics see the future, I see the past. I touch an object, I see it’s history. Some things more vivid than others. Sight, touch, smell, sound, everything. It’s why hotel beds make me uncomfortable. I’m good at controlling it, but some things just set me off.”

“Your gloves…” he says, a sudden realization.

“Like you said, dirt talks to me,” she chuckles. “And everything else.”

“The clones, on Nevarro. They’re what made you sick.”

“The last time something that bad happened was when I grabbed my dad’s lightsaber as a kid. I was out for a week straight. When memories are sourced from the dark side I go into shock. On Nevarro it was the clones, in Arkanis it was the school. I can’t handle it, so I drop.”

“Shit,” Din swears. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

She ignores this. “I can access memory too,” she says, like the notion has only just to come to her. “In sentients. I can go inside anyones mind and do whatever I want to their consciousness. With Doctor Pershing I… I let him relive memories of his mother. I used to do it with Grogu all the time, let him remember his life before.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not when the other agrees.” He can tell she isn’t totally there, mind wandering. “ It’s totally painless, I’ve been told euphoric.”

“And when they don’t agree?”

“Unbearable. It’s how I would information out of Rebels, Senators. I just—go in. It’s what I did to Gideon…”

“What?”

“It’s what I did to Gideon,” she says again, growing confidence. “I went inside his mind. I took out every memory he had of me. Everything just—I made it all disappear so he couldn’t turn me in. Din, I—I have an idea. And you can say no but… I think I can help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats. 

“I can feel your emotions. I know you’re not totally comfortable right now, with me. I understand. You’d rather not be here, you’d rather not see me. I’ve done… irreparable damage to you, your friends, your kid. You never wanted to see me again and now you’re here because Boba and Fennec made you think that’s what you want, right? What if… What if I—What if I made you forget me?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can access your memories,” Lumina says. “I can alter your memories. The topic is specific enough, I can go in and make it so you’re totally free from me. You’ll never have to think about me again because I won’t exist. Every single thing, as far back as you want to go, can be gone. Everything. You won’t even remember you showed me your face.”

That gets his attention.

“You’d still remember,” he says.

She rubs her wrist. “That can be remedied.”

“What about everything else? I wouldn’t know any of it?”

“If it didn’t involve me, you would. If it did… you have two options. Total erasure, or your memory just gets spotted. You go to Trask, not Arkanis. You lose your ship, the kid, but I’m not there. I’m not saved. You might feel like you’re forgetting something but you’ll never know what. You can leave all of this behind you. Forever.”

 Before his conscious can command otherwise, the Mandalorian removes his helmet, dropping the beskar onto the marble floor. Were it a simpler material, it would shatter.

In some ways he’d be better off if it did.

Her shock is the same as the first time, if not greater.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says. “I need you to look at me when I say this. I am never letting you do anything to control my mind again. Never. Because out of every single thing you’ve done to me, that is the worst. I thought I was going insane. You made me hate you. You made me say a million things I don’t believe, things I still don’t believe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought—”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You don’t think. If you did you would know better. Why the hell would I be here? Why do you think I’m still here? I know you’re not familiar with free will, but I am capable of making my own choices. This is my choice. You are my choice. You have been for a very long time and you’re the only one who can’t see it.”

“I don’t understand. You said—you said we were done before I did anything to you. You said that. You acted on that. I’ve respected that, I always have. I’m trying to help you and—and you’re mad at me.”

“How can I not be mad?”

“How can you? Every good thing I’ve done has been for you. This is a good thing. This is good. I’m letting you let me go. I need you to let me go so I can let you go. I waited for so long for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to change your mind and come back. You didn’t. You stayed away and I never blamed you. I’m never going to have a good life. I’m never going to escape this. You can. You have. I want to. If you let me go, if you say you’re finished, I can be too. I want to let you go. I want to know you’re doing good. I can if I know that I’m not hurting you anymore. So stop telling me I’m wrong. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m asking.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”  

“Because it is impossible, Lumina,” Din snaps, whispered. “You would have to erase every memory I’ve ever had. You would have to kill me. There is not a point of this galaxy that I can go to be free of you. I see you everywhere I am. Every dream. Every sun. Every star. I see you. I want you. I have spent months trying to do nothing but forget you and I cannot. You have put a hunger in me that I cannot feed in your absence. I starve without you. I’ve broken my Creed for you. I’ve yet to face my people due to my own fear. You have made my life a hell worse than any sin I could commit on my own. But that is a hell I would walk a million times over if it meant having you for just a moment. You have never insulted me more than to say I would want otherwise when I want you. I have always wanted you.”

Lumina says nothing at first, until she says everything.

“Do you still love me?”

He does not respond, bringing their lips together.

---

“You’re so handsome,” Lumina whispers. She cradles the side of his face, he keeps her steady on his lap. It’s all hands and mouth, attempts at closeness. His armor is off, placed delicately on the ground. Her shirt hrown somewhere unknown, so is his. He unbuttons her pants but they’ve yet to be removed. “I wanted to tell you then. I couldn’t believe it. I always had an idea, hard not to. But… Stars you’re beautiful Din.”

He tells her to shut up, mumbled into her neck and in-between kisses. He buries himself there, nose pressed to her shoulder at the start of her scar.

“You are,” she says. “I was right. The galaxy wouldn’t know what to do with itself if it got to see you like this all the time.”

He bites her. “Quit.” His chest is too tight, too full. He’d be better off if she killed him now, save the embarrassment.

“How do you say that? Gar mesh’la?”

Din shoves his hand down the front of Lumina’s pants, two fingers going directly inside. Her gasp is silenced, his mouth swallowing the sound, his tongue pushing inside. His fingers hook in a practiced way, pumping in and out. 

“I said shut up,” he whispers. “Boba walks in I’m dead.”

“Don’t—Do not talk about Boba right—now.”

There’s pride in Din, knowing she’s just as responsive as she was. Knowing he’s the cause.

He pulls out, the sound making his head spin. Selfishly, he takes time to inspect the mess, a long quiet groan. “Go turn off the lights.”

Her left hand raises above their heads, with a twirl of her wrist the power cuts.

“Gods,” Din mutters. He takes a hold of Lumina’s waist, turning to lay her down. He yanks her pants over the swell of her ass. “This whole fucking time…”

“Lights are new,” she tells him, moving up to assist in the removal. “Can’t control it. Better at turning off. Not good at turning anything on worth shit.”

He grabs her hand, placing it over the warm swell between his legs. He squeezes rough over the fabric saying, “You are.”

She squeaks, “Oh.”

“There she is,” Din whispers. He guides her palm, rubbing slow strokes. “There’s my shy girl.” His other hand unbuttons his pants, shoving them down, pulling himself out. “Used to think it was the other way. Only pretended to be all sweet. ’S the other way isn’t it? You just act scary. Don’t know better.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I am scary.”

“Mm yeah…. terrifying.”

“Fuck you.”

He cups her jaw. “I’m trying.” He guides her mouth to his cock, which she accepts graciously. “My pretty girl,” he says, breathless. “Oh my Sarad.”

That gets her, a high whine around Din. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Din pulls her off as soon as he notices, which isn’t for some time in his current state.

“No,” he says. “I take care of you. Me.”

She lets him.

Like there was ever an argument not to.

Din lays her down again, mouth following to kiss. He’s never been one to like the taste of himself, but from her mouth it’s all so sweet. His fingers find their way inside again.

“Have you…” he tries to ask, brushing their noses together.

“No,” she answers. “No one. Tried once. Got drunk. Sad. Punched him. Threw up.”

“How far—”

“He kissed me. That’s it. Hated it. Called me a bitch.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Please,” she moans. Though it could just be so he’d hurry along.

“Hold on baby. Hold on almost.”

“You?” She asks. “Did you?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Tried.”

“Tried?”

“Went to Canto. Moon. She looked like you, wanted… needed someone like you.”

She pulls away, holding his jaw. “What happened?”

“A lot. Accent was wrong,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Called me Mando. Wasn’t you. She got naked, I got pissed, left.”

“You left her naked?” Lumina asks.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pay?”

Now he moves back. “What?”

“Did you pay her? You know… for her services? She got naked, she deserves to be paid.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m very funny.”

“You’re not—” He does laugh though, quiet. “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” she mimics. “Hurry up.”

Din kisses her once. “Brat.”

She laughs. “Can’t change everything.”

They don’t take long, after Din enters. She’s sweet as ever, taking without issue. Things slow to a crawl, pressed to the hilt, they become acutely aware of what exactly it is they’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Din asks, whispered. He moves at a snail’s pace, gentle. Focused more on grinding and getting her comfortable than any real fucking.

If this can be called something as simple as fucking.

He thinks not.

“Yeah… Yeah just, thinking.”

“I know. Me too.” Lumina rubs at his stubble, thumb circling the one spot hair never seems to grow. He turns, kissing her palm. “I missed you,” he whispers. “Feels like I shouldn’t.”

“We’re fucked up,” she tells him. “’S why we work.”

Din thrusts after that, slow and cautious movements soon turning fast, needy. He fucks into her like its his dying day. She takes it all and begs for more.

Lumina releases first, without warning. He feels her tightening, her squirms, hears his name pass from her lips.

“Din.”

He comes after, her sound the key to nirvana. His mind fogs, muscles weaken, filling her. Pulling out, he collapses besides her, panting.

She looks over.

“I still love you,” she says, catching her breath. “That part was never a lie.”

Fuck.

---

The air is sweet, comforting when Lumina wakes. She faces the Mandalorian’s bare back, running her fingers over every scar. She could stare at him for the rest of eternity and at last know peace.

The suns have yet to rise, the room is dark. She is the most herself she has felt in ages.

This is halcyon remembered.

Gods she could die now and find no bitterness in what awaits.

Lumina smiles, she can’t believe she remembers how to do that, leaning her head on him. Whatever this is, it is real. He is real. It is good. It is just, it is right.

Daybreak cannot come soon enough. The stars have been fun but she aches for the suns warmth.

Lumina kisses his shoulder, settling into her pillow. She’ll try to sleep again, fluttering nerves aside. The sooner to sleep the sooner she’ll wake again. He will be here, they will go to the Marshal together and he will see how she’s grown. He will see her maturity, her politics, her good will.

He’ll be so impressed he’ll retrieve the Child from Peli Motto. They’ll all be together again.

She runs her hands through her hair, the shortened length still not familiar. She should clean it up before departure, Fennec would do it for her.

Lumina decides she is being silly, those are plans for later, this is now. She should enjoy right now. And she does.

Until that is, Din begins to stir.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wait for him. She’s been too forward in every regard, the calls will be his for now. She assumes that is the correct choice to make.

So Lumina continues to lay, just as she has been. She does not move, she does not speak. She only watches.

She watches Din’s shoulders move, she watches him sigh. He does not sound particularly pleased, but he never has enjoyed waking in the middle of the night.

He sits up, moving his feet off the bed. Then, he stands. He dresses. Undergarments, pants, top. Piece by piece his armor reattaches, each a subtle click.

He hasn’t looked at her once.

Lumina isn’t smiling, she doesn’t know what to do.

So she does nothing.

Din sits again, the bed caving in. He pulls out his boots from under the bed, shoving them on. He picks up his helmet and rubs at a scuff.

He puts it on.

Hiss. Click.

He leaves.

Lumina sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her exposure. 

Maybe he’s gone to the kitchen, thirsty. He’ll come back, she’s sure of it.

He will.

She’ll wait until he does.

An hour passes, then half the next.

Her room is still dark, her stomach sick. Sunlight may have been too hasty a request. She would settle for the moon and silver hues.

She wants nothing but moonlight.

------

CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

------

Taglist: @lexloon​ @jay-bel​ @xsadderdazeforeverx​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny​ @hello-th3r3​

[xmissrogersx]

Brown Curls | Din Djarin

tags: a lot of Fluff. Grogu’s being adorable like always. Domesticy and family.

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

-Hi baby, are you hungry? -I leaned down to take the kid in my arms, to which he responded by raising his little hands to my face, making me laugh.

-Well, let's see what we can have for breakfast.

I began to improvise a breakfast with the few things that were in the ship's kitchen. I was to tell Din that we had to make a stop in Nevarro to buy more provisions.

-And by the way, where is your father? -I asked my little boy, who only had his attention on the blue cookies he was devouring with fervor.

I went down to the Crest in search of the brown-haired man, to find him in the bathroom in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in hand.

-Din, what are you doing? -I frowned.

-Hi mesh'la —he turned around, to which I had to cover my mouth from my gasp of surprise.

My poor Mandalorian had made a bit of a mess of his beautiful hair, leaving it very short in the front and uneven on the sides.

-I know, I thought I could do it myself. I always trimmed it myself, but I guess I couldn't handle the amount I was going to have to cut…

I crossed my arms and bowed my head, then approached him.

-Let me help you. I know you always did it yourself, but you don't have to do it anymore, you can ask me.

Din smiled, I took the scissors and started to cut the strands of his hair. I snorted under my breath, faking a moan as I removed the long curls I loved so much.

-Mesh'la, it will grow back —he comforted me, as he tightened his arms around my waist, giving me a little bit of a kiss.

-I know... It’s just… I love your hair, Din. Your curls are beautiful. But I know you must get hot looking like that when you put on the that bucket —I finished my lament, eliciting a chuckle from him and earning a pinch on my thigh.

I continued doing the job for 15 minutes. When I finished I took a step back admiring my work of art.

-Ready, ¿what do you think?

He stared at himself in front of the mirror amazed at the result. I bit my lower lip nervous that he wouldn't like it. However, all fear vanished when I saw him smile slightly.

-What do you think? —he asked, sitting me on his lap, to which I frowned in amusement.

-I don't know, I'll have to get used to seeing you with this new look —he pulled me closer to him, our foreheads pressed together.

-How about now? —Our closeness let me contemplate his brown eyes that drove me so crazy since the day he had revealed himself to me.

-Din Djarin, you look stunning, whatever cut you have. You are beautiful. But please, ¿could you grow it a little longer when you're my riduur?

He laughed at my desperate request. In 4 weeks we would go to Sorgan to get married in that beautiful place where a year ago he broke his Creed for me.

I already loved him before I saw his face, but I must say he exceeded all my imagined expectations of what he looked like.

-It's okay, Mesh'la, I promise.

I took his face in my hands and brought our breaths together, melting into one. By the creator, I was addicted to his lips.

I sat hanging from him, to which Din descended his hands, caressing my thighs.

I began to trace a path of small kisses from his jaw down his neck.

-Mesh...Priya...if you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to contain myself, and well you know a certain womp rat is up in the cabin awake.

-You're right...¿how long until we get to Nevarro? -I asked him, resting my hands on his chest.

-About 10 hours —he answered confused by my question.

-Make it 7, and I'll use the handcuffs you use in the bounties —I whispered in his ear, causing him to shiver slightly under me.

-I'll make it 4 —he said seriously, to which I kissed his cheek.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 3}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to understand the dynamic between you and your new captor. But things aren’t always what they appear to be, and maybe that’s for the best. 

Word Count: 7.8K

Warnings: talk of sexual favors, narcotics, reader was drugged previously, withdrawel, symptoms of withdrawel, light violence toward reader (very minimal and not detailed), nightmares, trauma, ptsd triggers, reader is in a survival headspace, readers hands are still bound, semi-nudity, moral dilemmas, morally confused din djarin

A/N: hello, hello! i initially planned to update twice a month, but this chapter flowed so easily once i began to flesh out the scenes i had outlined for this installment. it helps to set the dynamic between the reader and our dear mandalorian. i also am aware that my writing style allows for glimpses of his feelings and what he’s thinking, it’s still strictly set in the ‘reader knows x and acts that way’ and then some passages give way to how he’s experiencing the events as well (though reader isn’t privy to them). i like giving insight to him so he doesn’t seem so flat. please let me know what y’all think!  ♡ 

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

It was early morning, the sun just barely showing signs of peaking over distant mountain ridges. You hadn’t slept much, the chill of the desert and the close, heavy presence of your captor making the task difficult.

The familiar sound of your saber handle had you sitting up quickly, a warning on your tongue as the bright white of the blade formed with the push of a button by a gloved hand.

“Be careful!”

Glowing light cast from the blade illuminated the helmet of the Mandalorian, facing where you had shot up from your resting position. The fabric of your tunic swung as you reached a hand out, not thinking about the sudden movement inciting the man’s instincts. He leaned away from you, his legs pushing him up from his own seated position on a fluid movement, the blade coming in front of him in as a defensive shield. Your face was cautious, your outburst making you worried in the wake of the warning from the night before.

“Please be careful, jatne vod.” You spoke in a softer tone, not wanting the man to accidentally burn himself as he quelled his curiosity surround your weapon. Or wield it at you in defense, you were too weak to put up much of a fight, despite adrenaline that would pump through your system should the threat feel real enough.  While it may not be particularly yours anymore, you wanted it to be cared for and handled with caution. “The crystal is very sensitive.”

“Crystal?” The man’s curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He experimentally twisted the handle in a mimic of how one would a blade to get the feel of the weight and balance. The handle moving from one hand to the other, the humming of the blade reacting to each minute swing and twist. It shouldn’t have but the vision of this strong, capable Mandalorian bounty hunter wielding your weapon so easily stirred something in your chest. You ignored the feeling, willing it to fade away and forcefully snapped your focus back.

“The energy of the crystal is harnessed by the handle, resulting in the blade. I mined the crystal myself, long ago.”

“A kyber crystal. Heard of it before, in passing.”

“Yes, jatne vod. A Kyber crystal, they are very important to jedi culture. Much like beskar to your people. It’s a living crystal, it’s bonded to me. It may not operate for everyone who attempts to.”

You didn’t mention that it meant a great deal that it had operated for him.

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, seeming to have the information he wanted regarding the weapon. His need to understand the weapon temporarily overriding the requisite of you being silent. The press of a button dimmed the blade, powering it down completely. A gloved hand reached up with a small flashlight in its grip and he flicked the beam on to point into the handle. The crystal reflected faceted light onto the front of his helmet, bathing his form in a mesmerizing display. The angle of the light hitting the bottom of his helmet giving you a faint glimpse of the shape of the man’s face. No features had been discernable, the darkness within the helmet keeping them hidden from you.

Your eyes traced the faint outline, searching for any hint of the man beneath the helmet even as your mind reprimanded you that it was an invasion of privacy. This man had sworn a creed, much like yourself, though his was different from yours. While yours forbade earthly attachments, his forbade revealing his face to those he was not bonded to. There was just something about him that you seemed instinctually react to…The reverent air that possessed him as he inspected the weapon, respect seeping into his gentle ministrations as he looked it over and got a feel for the way it moved and glided through the air.

You knew that Mandalorians put great worth on weaponry and armor. It was a part of their culture, of their way of life. For this man to take great time and care to figure out the logistics of your own weapon that was now in his possession, it felt like something. However misplaced it may be. The more sensible part of your brain was trying to argue that it didn’t mean anything, that the man probably collected every weapon from every quarry he’s ever captured. Inspected them, deemed them important enough to integrate into his own personal cache of weapons or store them upon the ship for when he may need them, if ever.

The sun was beginning to cast pastel orange rays that were bleeding into the dark navy of the fading night over the vast expanse of the open sky, painting the desert in a wash of golden light. Eclipsing the man standing before you, his back to the beauty of the day’s new beginnings.

Suddenly the silver helmet morphed into one that was all black, the visor disappearing. The quiet air of the early morning was filled with the sound of deep breaths being helped by a compressor, the figure of the Mandalorian shifting into that of one you’ve spent your entire life running from. A red blade sprang to life as the standing figure twisted the lightsaber and aimed it at you, stepping over you to hold it close to your throat.

The hum of it was loud in your ears, the heat of it setting your skin on fire even if it hadn’t touched you yet. Your name fell from the figure’s mouth, modulator making it low and it settled heavy in the air. It wasn’t the voice of the Mandalorian you had grown to recognize over the past day. A hand was raised and you felt yourself being lifted to hover few feet above the ground, your body hanging limply as the Force was worked against you. Chills rained down your arms and back despite the beads of sweat that were beginning to form along your skin, body freaking out even as your mind was utterly blank with panic.

The hand fell from its raised position, your body collapsing to the ground with a thump. Fear had you rooted in your spot, unable to do anything as the blade began to cut a line into your neck…

You shot up from where you had been laying, hand flying to your neck as a choking sound warbled from your mouth. You took a deep breath, blinking furiously to dispel the image of a dark cloaked figure with a black helmet as the light of day revealed to you that it had all been a dream. A dream of a memory that had morphed into a nightmare. The shade encompassing you had you stilling as you tried to mentally reign yourself in.

You whipped your head around, trying to get a bearing on your surroundings. You were down on the ground, a thick piece of tattered fabric separating your body from the coarse sand. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as you turned to see the Mandalorian and the Ugnaught working together to fit a final piece of siding back into place on the Razor Crest. The sun was setting but you had a feeling it wasn’t the same day as when you had fallen unconscious. The fuzzy feeling of your tongue in your dry mouth and the aching of your muscles were an indication of the time that had passed.

You watched silently, moving to sit more comfortably atop the fabric, as the two made sure the metal panel was securely in place. When the figure of the Mandalorian emerged from the shadows of the ship, you realized he was free of the mud that had covered him the last time you had been conscious, and he had fastened his cuirass back into place despite the large dents that still marred the metal. He was missing his cloak. Your middle dropped from you to disappear into the sand as you realized he had removed it and given it to you in your unconscious state to lay atop. That he had taken the time to clean it of the mud that had caked on it before doing so.

With frantic still bound hands, you brushed as much of the sand that had gathered onto it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how careless you were treating something of his. Halfway through your ministrations, you realized you still had a layer of mud covering your own form, though it was dried and nearly baked into the fabric of your tunic and along your hair. Small bits of it crumpled off to land on the fabric. Your face had been wiped clean, though whoever had done had made sure to stop there.

“He told me of the powers you used to defeat the mudhorn, I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Your head shot up at the voice, suddenly realizing that the Ugnaught had approached you. You hoped he had been the one to wipe your face clean, unsure of how you felt about the Mandalorian taking the time to ensure you had something to lay on so you weren’t on the ground and to clean you. He had schooled his expression to one of slight curiosity, though you couldn’t read much else in his expression.

“Whispers of such powers have faded, but they still linger in the wind and minds of the galaxy.”

You just nodded, bringing your hands to rest atop your bent knees. Your eyes moved to the pod beside you, it was open to reveal the unconscious form of the Child inside. Worry stirred in your heart for him, he was so small and the Force took a lot of energy and concentration to direct, to harness. His moves to save the Mandalorian will have definitely hit him harder than yours had done to you. Memories of a similar figure in species and stature wove through your racing mind, though the one you were thinking of had been alive for millennia. He had been skilled beyond comprehension, his age allowing him the time to become one of the strongest people you had ever encountered. The Child had a long way to go and you’d surely be long dead by the time he was even ready to begin training himself.  

“You must be stronger than the Child, he is still unconscious.”

You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. The fleeting worry that the Mandalorian has recounted the events with the mudhorn grew in your chest and made it hurt as you fought your instincts to incapacitate the figure in front of you. That he had told the Ugnaught what you had shared with him in his native tongue, still so cautious about who you were.

No one could know what you were, what you possessed, you already had such a large target on your back. But this man had been nothing but kind to you in his own way, allowing you to share his farmed water, offer you transportation, and aid with repairing your captor’s ship. Surely he wasn’t a threat in any way, whether personally or by the sharing of information he’s gathered from the interactions of the past few days.

“You may speak with him, if you wish. Though I have not repeated what you told me,” The deep timbre of the Mandalorian’s modulated voice sounded as he approached as well. He pressed something along his left cuff and the pod beside you moved toward the repaired ship and up the ramp. Something stirred in you, quelling the panic and worry that had begun to consume your mind. But it was quashed just as quickly as it had begun to form at the next words to leave his modulator. “Word of what you told me would make it even more of a task to complete the job of returning you.”

You hoped none of the emotions that had washed over you had shown on your features, not wanting to be so easily read. You nodded again, the repeated motion beginning to cause nausea in the pit of your stomach now that you were conscious. You spied the handle of your saber secured in a spot on the Mandalorian’s utility belt. Hidden from anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

“Thank you for the kindness you have shown us while on your planet, sir. It is greatly appreciated. I don’t have anything to offer you in return.” Your attention snapped back to the man directly in front of you. His eyes meeting your own as he looked you over. It seemed as if he had more to say but had settled on holding the words back in favor of addressing your immediate response.

“I am in your service; you are my guests. There is no need to supplement me. I have spoken.”

The ship lifted into the air, and you gripped an arm of your seat tightly, both hands curling around it as you fought the rolling nausea in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was because of withdrawal or nerves at flying again. It had been so long since you’d been aboard a ship, and apparently the last time you hadn’t even been conscious enough to realize you were being transported. But this time you were, and you grounded yourself with that small notion. You were aware of what was happening at this moment, and it was all you could think of to comfort yourself even if you were being taken back to a place you never wanted to return.

Once the ship lurched into hyperspace, the mesmerizing colors wafting around the ship and displaying through the glass of the cockpit, you felt your nerves ease a little. The colors were beautiful, the light of them calming despite what they meant. Though the brightness of them could be felt behind your eyes as your head throbbed.

You climbed down into the hold once the course through hyperspace had evened out, taking in the space. It was small but enough room to allow the Mandalorian his sleeping quarters, space to store a good number of crates secured along the walls of the hull with thick netting and fabric straps with metal clasps, the small room that held the refresher that the ladder up to the cockpit lined, the cabinets that he used to hold his weaponry, and settled into the hull of the ship itself was the chamber he must’ve used to contain his quarries. You inspected the door, a slight confusion settling over you as you took in the control panel. With a start, you realized it was a carbon freezing chamber.

Backing quickly away from the doors that opened into the small chamber, you felt your back collide with something strong and solid, sending faint jolts of discomfort down your sore shoulders. Shifting on your feet with more energy than you thought you possessed, you came face to face with the Mandalorian himself.

You began to shake your head, fear growing hot in your body as you realized that your fate was to be frozen in this moment and roused once you were back in the hands of your cruel mother. No chance to put up a fight, no chance to scramble for freedom once in a place with more opportunities. You felt like a fool, thinking the armored man would allow you to occupy his space as he returned his other quarry, the one he had initially set out to capture. The job he had intended to fulfill when he happened upon you on the same planet. He said you had to be returned unharmed and the best way to do that would be to turn you into carbonate for travel.

But he didn’t activate the doors to open, he didn’t push you into the chamber. He didn’t move at all except to nod his helmet toward the other side of the hold space. There was a crate that had been taken from the netting and placed against the paneling that you knew opened up to reveal a condensed kitchen space. There was a small cooling supply unit and a hot plate. The cabinets around the immediate area housed a caf maker he had been adamant about retrieving from the Jawas and various boxes of nonperishable foods you weren’t too keen on. You preferred freshly prepared food, a product of your upbringing on a planet whose culture was rich with fishing and farming.

Two smaller crates had been set up next to it in a mimicry of a dining table and chairs. You looked to him before moving across the space and settling yourself atop one of the ‘seats’, him doing the same, sitting diagonal to you. His back was to the wall of the hull, while yours was open and exposed as you faced him and the paneling. It was quiet, the space filled with a weird tension you couldn’t explain when he moved to lean forward with something in his hand that you hadn’t noticed in your panic.

The ration pack placed in front of you atop the ‘table’ made you blink, the change of clothes that weren’t your own underneath it even more so. You glanced over to wall of armor that hide away the man who offered them to you. You stared at the pile of items in front of you, taking note that they were for a reason, one that you weren’t daft enough to ignore. When he reached forward again, this time to remove the binders still around your wrists, you stared at the visor, trying to gauge the situation to get a read on what he would prefer. Taking a breath, you stood and moved to face the man, your skin humming in hesitant anticipation like it always did before you were given instructions, no matter how silent.

You didn’t say anything as you stood from your seat and kneeled before him, hands reaching out to rest on his thighs. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you at the idea of touching the cold-looking armor decorating his form, but you would deal with it. You could deal with a lot if it meant you could eat and have clean clothes. You had thought that being taken by him only meant an exchange of who was handling your shackles, and you were correct. It didn’t matter if he claimed to be transporting you back to your home planet and mother, you were under his control in the meantime and you didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to run the risk of turning down his offer to trade and then ending up with nothing in exchange and him taking what he wanted anyway.  

The harsh truth of the situation was that you needed the food. You needed something in your system to combat the waning drugs and the sensations they were leaving in their continued absence. Withdrawal had fully set it in, if your spells of nausea and dizziness were any indication. The sensitivity to light you were developing spoke of it even more so, accompanied by interwoven chills and hot flashes that had nothing to do with the planet’s environment. If you were to make it through, you needed something in your system to help counteract the energy it was taking from your already spent body.

The clothes looked soft, something that sounded like a blessing against your irritated skin. You needed those items. The fact of the matter was that you needed to trade for them with the man before you, nothing came for free. Not in this life, not in yours. Because underneath all that armor and the creed, he was just another man. Steeling yourself you began to reach out for him, to begin with something relatively tame. Hopefully it would be enough for the items…

You didn’t even get to lay your hands completely down on the armored plates over his thighs before there was a sharp sting on your cheek and you felt yourself crumble to the floor from the force of a hit.

You had been so focused on keeping your eyes on his lap that you hadn’t seen the twitch of his hand before it moved swiftly toward you. You didn’t move an inch from where you were on your backside on the floor, submitting completely to the man now standing. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the crinkling of leather giving away his irritation at the situation. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t look dare look at him, not wanting to upset him further. You waited for him to speak, to give you directions.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and harsh, the same one he used when you had heard him talking to Jawas. It held no respect. It reverberated through your entire body, bringing you shame you hadn’t felt in a long time, having shut down feeling bad over the things you’ve had to endure. Shame at things you had to do to survive while being held captive for so long and on different occasions. “Answer me. Why would you think that’s appropriate?”

“Th-the food….and the clothes. Pay-payment, jatne vod.” You wanted to bring a hand up to your stinging cheek, the feeling of a cut underneath your eye bringing tears to your lash line as swelling began. You allowed your hair to shield your face from view, no one had ever struck your face before, and it had taken you off guard. It had hurt.

No one had dared touch your face, to leave marks on it, no matter who the captor had been or who had been watching over you. Your mother had wanted you to maintain the soft skin of your face in order to gain a husband someday, but as you got older the idea seemed to disappear from her mind. It became a silent way to hide the things they did to you. The same went for your captors, they wanted to keep anything they did to you covered. Easily hide the awful things they did to you should you need to be transported, avoiding as much unwanted attention as possible.

“Payment?” The Mandalorian took a step back, feeling his entire body go cold. He took in the way you were trying not to cower, your hands shaking where they held you up from being on the floor completely, your legs splayed out where you landed from the force of his panicked movement. He hadn’t meant to hit you, his mind urging him to push you away before you touched him had turned into a frantic swipe of his hand. You were a quarry, there was no need for touching unless he was fighting you.

You didn’t say anything further. He glanced at the items on the table for a second, his mind reeling at the idea of you having to pay for them when he had obviously placed them there for you to have. To make yourself somewhat comfortable aboard the ship. He may not have the best record of social interaction and had trouble accepting things offered to him without seeing the strings attached, but this? He hadn’t meant for you to take the items as something you had to earn, your puck instructed to bring you in alive and unharmed, he had just been trying to be accommodating to some degree.

You were covered in mud and dirt from the desert and your captivity. Even more so from saving him, taking out that second, raging mudhorn that had quite literally come out of nowhere. He had wiped your face free of mud, but hadn’t dared do anything further. It felt like too much, just what little he had already done. He’s intent on ignoring his betraying mind telling him he wouldn’t have done as much for anyone else.

The talk of the Jawas and the favors they had referred to when discussing wanting to trade his parts back for time with you echoed in his head. They had been talking about the way the guards of the compound had refused to give you anything lest you trade for them, but with no possessions to trade there was only one thing that could mean…

“I-if that’s not what you wanted, then do whatever you think is f-fair in exchange.” You turned to face him, though your eyes didn’t dare rise past his cuirass. You were kneeling once again, though instead of reaching out to him, your hands went up to untie the wrap keeping your tattered tunic closed and loosened the knot there. The fabric fell from your form onto the floor and puddled around you, leaving you in just your underthings. The fading bruises and cuts on your skin from your captivity on full display.

You rested your hands atop your thighs and waited for his instructions. You could feel your skin prickle in the cold air of the ship, your chest displaying the sensation through the fabric. “I h-have an implant, if that interests you, jatne vod.”

“It doesn’t interest me. Put your clothes back on and collect yourself. This isn’t a game.” Disgust at the insinuation dripped from his modulated voice. He looked at the wall just beyond your face, not looking at you but looking over your head. He could see the red line the plate of armor on the back of his hand had made underneath your eye, the trickle of blood that blossomed from the end of it. He hadn’t meant to strike you so hard, he hadn’t even meant to strike you in the first place. “I gave you those things, they’re yours.”

“But-“ You cut yourself off, as if realizing you were arguing with him. He didn’t see having a conversation as arguing, but he guessed you weren’t used to having a simple conversation. He realized that days ago he had snapped at you to remain silent, that he preferred if you didn’t talk. The sentiment carved into your every interaction with him since then as you spoke only when spoken to. Outside of when you had explained the diagnostics of your weapon. You had been missing for so long, no doubt having been captured for most of it. Obeying despite not wanting to instilled in your mind for survival. You remained unmoving, as if waiting for another strike to fall on you. “Apologies.”

He was quiet, taking in the way you sat before him. When he raised his hand to point at the items on the table, he took in the way you began to flinch. He had tried to abort the movement at the realization you were worried he would strike you again. Unfamiliar guilt stuttered through his chest, prompting a heavy sigh to sound through the modulator.

“Eat, then wash off. The refresher is through that door. The soap and towels in there are for you to use, do so. I’ll be overlooking the course.” He walked away from you, leaving you kneeled on the floor. His footsteps could barely be heard as he crossed the space and disappeared up the ladder.

The Mandalorian was overwhelmed with not knowing how to interact with someone who seemed conditioned to wait for commands but could take down an assailant and a raging mudhorn with ease. It made him uncomfortable; you made him uncomfortable. Strength and ability hidden away in favor of submitting; he didn’t understand. Even if it was a survival tactic. He’d just rather fight his way through threats than submit and bid his time. Shaking his head roughly to dispel his thoughts, he reached out for the last rung on the ladder and pulled himself up to the level of the ship that held the cockpit.

The sooner he could return the Child to Nevarro, the sooner he could get you where you needed to be and off his ship.

Your stomach protested the heartiness of the ration pack. It was too heavy, even if all you had taken was two bites before realizing. The waning of the drugs in your system paired with no other food or nutrients made it hard to swallow what you did dare to intake. You didn’t want the Mandalorian to think you were ungrateful, especially after giving you the ration pack. You just stood there, staring at the opened foil of it and frowned.

You had used the refresher, taking your time washing the caked-on mud and sand from the past few days journey. You were donning the rather large, long sleeve shirt and pants that had been given to you as well. You tugged the belt from your dirty clothes and cleaned it quickly to help hold up the waist. A sigh fell unbidden from you and you pushed up the long sleeves and began to handwash the rest of your stuff in the refresher sink, leaving the unfinished pack on the table. You had carefully folded the foil to conceal what you had not been able to eat.

You were about to hang your tunic and cloak on the top of the shower stall door when you heard faint footsteps in the hold. They seemed to pause before they redirected and a knock on the refresher door sounded. Jumping slightly at the loud sound, the fabric in your hand fell to make a wet smack on the tile of the shower floor.

You abandoned in to open the door, the broad figure of armor taking up the entire open space. His visor was turned down to look at you directly, though you hadn’t the faintest clue what expression was truly on his features.

“You didn’t finish your ration pack.”

“I am grateful for your generosity, jatne vod. I…may I speak plainly?”

The visor continued to stare at you, no confirmation or denial leaving the face behind it. You felt your face heat as you were aware of how close he was, that you were in his own clothing, that the steam from your shower was still wafting through the air. Embarrassment made you heat up even more so, hating the way that it affected you so. But you were beginning to realize how pathetic you must have appeared to the man before you and continued to so do the longer you were in his presence.

“It’s… too dense on my stomach. Food wasn’t a priority for me, at the compound. And the…stuff they used to keep me contained may have worked out of my system but it’s still affecting me.”

“They kept you drugged so you wouldn’t fight.”

“Yes, jatne vod.”

“They starved you and kept you drugged.”

“They starved me in order to make food something desirable, something I would trade…companionship for.”

A knot formed in your throat, the words physically hurting you to speak aloud, keeping your head bowed enough to not make eye contact with the visor. Your cheek throbbed where the armor on his hand had sliced you. Your body was sore, your muscles exhausted from the events of the past few days on top of the particularly harsh reality you had been living for however long you had been captive. You must’ve been shaking, or your muscles twitched, or you made a face when stab of pain reverberated through your stomach as it tried to digest what little you had eaten. The flinch didn’t go unnoticed.

“Do you require medical attention?”

“No. I would not want to waste your supplies.” The immediate response flew from you before you even knew the words existed. But you had no way of paying to supplement what he would use. You didn’t even know what would help beyond bacta spray for your cheek.

“Not a waste if you’re injured. You are to be returned intact.”

“…I would appreciate it, if I would be allowed to just settle somewhere and rest for a bit. If that’s amenable, jatne vod.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re my captor, I’m your quarry. What do you wish me to call you? Because I don’t think you’d like the term I’m using in my head.” Your eyes flared in annoyance at the man in front of you as you straightened to your full height and gazed directly into the visor. His own eyes caught the flash of emotion through the visor. You were trying to be respectful, despite the circumstances. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve pummeled them and taken off with your freedom. But he was a Mandalorian, a rather extraordinarily skilled one despite his propensity for aggravated outbursts over mundane things. And you knew when you were outmatched, especially in your prevailing weakened state.

“What were you doing in here for so long?” He peered over your head, toward the damp clothing that was hung up and then to the piece that had been left forgotten on the floor at his appearance.

“Tending to my clothes, I did not want to anger you by being in your own for too long should you need them. Mine should be dry by the time I’m done resting.”

It was silent as he entered the small space, you shifting to plaster yourself against the wall that faced the small mirror above the sink. You could only watch as he gathered the damp clothing in his hands and walked clear out of the refresher. He opened up a panel along the side of the hold space and dumped the clothing in the dark space. You didn’t protest as he did so, nor did you apologize for taking up space with them as you had tried to dry them.

“Once the Child is returned, we will find a stall for a new tunic.”

With that he moved to the concealed door that led to his own, small quarters. He opened it and disappeared inside, the door closing nearly completely behind him. The pod containing the Child had floated into the space along with him. You allowed yourself to relax just a bit, the tension pulling your shoulders taut waned and you sighed in relief. You moved to sit atop the ‘seat’ he had occupied before, with your back leaning against the siding of the space you closed your eyes and hoped your head would stop hurting soon.

You were awoken some time later by the sound of ceramic on metal. You jumped, your hair swinging with the sudden motion and your body protested the tensing of muscles. Your eyes immediately took in the form of the Mandalorian seated across from you in your previous spot. His hand was still curved around the mug he had set atop the ‘table’ in front of you. Steam wafted up from it and the faint smell of something delicious had your mouth watering. Your stomach gurgled in response to the smell, loud enough to be heard in the silence.

“Bone broth, should be easy on your stomach.”  

Eyes raked over the helmet, the dark shape of the visor in the low light of the hold space. He didn’t remove his hand from the mug, his gloved hand curled around it to display just how wide his palm was and how thick his fingers were. Your eyes snapped to the steaming mug and then back to him as he leaned forward slightly, his other arm coming to rest atop the ‘table’. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, the silence getting heavy as you realized he was about to ask for something in exchange for the delicacy that had been placed between you.

“The Child. He’s still unconscious.”

Straightening your back, stifling a groan at the action you took in the way his own shoulders were tensed, the way his legs were firmly planted on the floor of the ship. He was carrying something he wasn’t accustomed to and it was a burden that could be read on him as if he had plainly told you. The Mandalorian was worried about the Child.

“He may be older than both of us, but he is still young for his species. The Force is…a complicated thing to wield and he may have hidden his powers in the time since we were first hunted. He will be okay, his mind is recovering and his body is allowing it to happen in the safety of unconsciousness.”

Your words seem to hold what he was looking for, as his large hand detangles from around the mug to leave it sitting in front of you in a clear display that it is now yours. You try to not greedily reach out for it, your stomach making more noises as the prospect of something that smells so enticing. You bring the mug to your lips slowly, the action of swallowing making you grimace slightly as you realize you may have been out for longer than you initially thought, once again. Your cheek throbbed at the movement though you visibly relaxed as the warm, smooth liquid flowed down your throat to settle in your stomach.

A somewhat comfortable silence hung in the air, until the man across from you reached into the box you hadn’t seen atop the ‘table’ in your distraction of the mug. He pulled out a small tube that looked too much like something that would house a needle.

The clatter of the mug on metal and your uncomfortable shuffling to make yourself smaller had the visor training back on you with a quick movement. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing shallowed as thoughts of him drugging you created a feeling of foolishness to swell in your chest. He didn’t say anything as he held the tube out to you in his wide palm for you to see the label on it.

‘Bacta’ in small, all capital letters spelled out in Basic.

“For your wrists,” He set it down slowly by the mug. “So they don’t scar.”

You had been rubbing unconsciously at your sore wrists, the angry red marring the tan skin around them irritating. You hadn’t noticed you had been doing so, had probably been doing so since your departure from the compound, even around the binders he had placed on you while in the desert. You watched with cautious eyes as he stood and took the box that must hold his medical supplies in it back toward his sleeping quarters. He returned to the ‘table’ and took the tube back in his hand, popping off the protective cap to reveal a squat spray nozzle. He held out his other hand in a silent request.

Hesitantly you held your arms out, palms turned up where the most damage had been caused. Dried, ugly looking scabs decorated your skin. The area around them irritated and painful looking. He hovered his free palm below your outstretched hands and proceeded to spray in small bursts over the circumference of them. Your heartbeat fast and painful in your chest throughout the whole ordeal. He pocketed the now empty tube before leaning back out of your space. You nodded your thanks as you moved to pick the half empty mug back up, your wrists tingling as the medicine began working to heal the damage to your skin. Quiet resumed.

Once you’ve finished the mug, the contents of it sitting comfortably in your stomach, you both move to the cockpit as he announced you would be leaving hyperspace soon.

Settling into the chair behind the pilot’s seat, off to his left, you spied the pod housing the Child resting in the one to both his and your right side. The Child was still unconscious, though his chest was rising and falling evenly. The ship lurched, pulling your attention from the small being toward the open windshield of the ship. A planet taking up the airspace directly in front of it as it exited hyperspace.

Turning, the Mandalorian reached out to grasp the open lip of the pod. He gently shook it, to gauge the figure inside. But it didn’t stir, not so much as a wiggle of adorable ears or the twitch of a small nose. He turned back to face the control panel, taking the handles of the power steering in his grip. The planet grew larger, the view of it expanding as you closed in on it.

Through the atmosphere you could make out the fluorescent reds and oranges that meant it was a volcanic planet. The realization striking panic to simmer low in your abdomen. The bases of most Imperials were hidden away on planets with volcanic environments, harnessing the energy and movement of the lava to create the weapons they had used during times of war. If the lack of response to your earlier question of the Imperials being the ones to contract the Child’s return was anything to go off of, then you were positive they were here on this planet.

Rustling drew your attention, you looked over to see the Child was awake, his head popping up over the lip of the pod as he peered curiously over the top of it. He clambered down from the pod, from the chair the pod was nestled in and walked over toward the side of the pilot seat. You couldn’t see him, but you did see when one of his small green hands reached for the handle of one of the controls. The shiny top of it commanding his attention. The Mandalorian was momentarily focused on a transmission he played as it dinged in.

When the transmission ended, his attention focused on the Child beside him. The small figure had climbed up atop the control panel, small hand gripping at the top of a lever in front of him. The shiny ball of metal atop it his goal. He removed it easily, bringing it to his mouth to chew on.

“It’s not a toy.” A gloved hand grasped the back of the Child’s clothing and lifted him up. A small noise left him as he was moved back to his pod and deposited back into the confines of it. They shared a look, a soft coo sounding before the Child looked over to you with his bright eyes. You smiled at him, wiggled your fingers at him in a motion that pulled a giggle from him in his cute voice.

“Remain on the ship. I’m going to lock it down and set access coding, attempting to mess with the panels or controls will send an alert directly to me.”

You watched as the armored man stood before his storage cabinet and donned what he deemed appropriate. The act of him fastening weapons and adjusting his armor and the underling padding over his clothing seemed an invasion of privacy almost, though he hadn’t told you to leave him be or leave the room. The intimacy of knowing where he had hidden blades and extra munitions seemed to be something you should not be privy to.

You hide away in the cockpit during his absence, spending the time watching the hustle and bustle of the city through the main archway that separated the open expanse from the landing area for ships.

The city was dirty, the streets full of people and trash. The buildings were crumbling in some places, blaster damage and dirt decorating the exterior of most of them. It was seedy and it was exactly the type of environment you had spent most of your life hiding in. You didn’t miss it, having been so young when you first took to a life on the run, forced to. You took in the way people didn’t linger their gazes on anything or anyone else for too long. As if they were afraid of inciting conflict. Too common a thing in places like this.

You watched the goings-on of the main street you could see that wound its way through the center of the small city. Losing track of time, it was growing dark as the day began to bleed into night. The time of twilight taking over the planet and bathing it in blue light. The light pollution from the city shields the stars and surrounding planets from view.

When the Mandalorian returned, you had tracked his path down the main street until he had gotten too close to the ship to do so. He was alone, the pod no longer trailing beside him. But that had been the end of this mission after all. It didn’t matter that he had asked after the Child’s wellbeing as it had laid unconscious for days. His task was predetermined.

His armor was different. The plates were still secured to the same places as his previous set, but this one was all comprised of the same silver metal as his helmet and his right pauldron. Of beskar. The spoils of his mission plainly on display for all to see.

It was beautiful, it was gorgeous. It made him look even stronger and more capable, if that was even possible. You wanted to skim your hands over the smooth expanse of the plates and feel the coolness of the metal underneath them. Even as you realized it was the very embodiment of the Child being no more.

Grief for another of your kind fallen was an old friend, one that was knocking to be let back into your world after such a long absence. It was not welcome. No words were exchanged, the air holding a sense of detachment as he entered the cockpit. He was holding tension in his entire body as he moved past you and settled into the pilot chair. He punched in the coding he had set and began to power up the ship for lift off.

When he reached over to pull the lever to begin take off, he paused. The ball that normally sat atop the lever had been placed on the control panel when he had removed it from the Child’s mouth hours ago upon arrival. He held the small piece of round metal in his gloved hand, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head beneath the helmet. He slowly screwed the piece back onto the lever and he pushed it forward, his hand hovering over it after the fact.

He suddenly pulled the lever back, reached up and hit some switches. He was a flurry of quick, precise movements as he powered the ship back down just as efficiently as he had powered it on, making your heartbeat fast as you watched him do so.

He didn’t reset the access coding.

As he turned his seat around, the door to the cockpit opened. He stood beside you for the briefest of moments, offering you a curt nod that spoke volumes.

“As soon as you see me returning, ready the ship for take-off.”

“May the Force be with you, jatne vod.”

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found.

Twenty Four

Pairing: Kenobi!oc x Din Djarin

Summary: Satine and Obi-wan’s daughter fought in the war against the Empire and lost her faith when she lost Mandalore. Until she found him. A lone Mandalorian searching for a Jedi.

Warnings: TW for torture, severe ptsd, mention of past miscarriage, brief discussion of abortion. No fluff, only angst. Boba time. Missiles. Head injuries, burns, near death

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: it gets worse before it gets better but I made a new moodboard

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Time itself comes to a standstill as we look upon one another but despite the years, despite going to Tatooine to hunt him down... nothing could have prepared me for this.

"You know why I have come," he tells me, his voice the only thing about him I recognise.

"You should be dead," I say, hand wrapped around the hilt of my saber.

"I should be after you left me for dead," he replies and I feel it, the anger, the betrayal that he should have seen coming. "But you never could do it could you?"

"Neither could you," I remind him, and despite every piece of reason in my head screaming otherwise, I feel safe in that security that he could never bring himself to ever truly hurt me, he just stood by as others did. "You don't scare me Boba."

Something in him almost softens, but only for a moment. "It is not fear I want to provoke, not anymore."

His words catch me off guard and leave me almost confused by the change of heart I feel in him, but I ignore it for the sake of self preservation.

"You look older," he says, as if we were meeting under normal circumstances.

"You look like shit," I tell him, trying to bite back the true horror at what I did to him.

"Getting struck down and devoured by a sarlaac does that," he says and gets to business as if we're negotiating in a messy divorce but there is little else that could be used to describe Boba and I. "I want my armour back."

"I want lots of things back, things you took from me," I tell him, Din emerging from cover with his blaster drawn since negotiations have been established. "But life isn't fair, is it?"

I eye the carved wooden weapons he has at his back, weapons I recognise as belonging to the sand people of Tatooine but it is surprisingly not violence he negotiates with.

"I have brought you a peace offering."

"A peace offering?" I repeat and actually laugh, feeling Din's alarm at the sound. "The only peace offering I would accept is Vader's head and unfortunately that is ashes on Endor."

Looking at him now I wonder what he knows if he's lived in isolation on Tatooine because he looks surprised by my revelation. "So you killed the bastard then?"

Now I'm the one in surprise as I scoff "Don't act like you wanted him dead."

"Of course I wanted him dead," he says and takes a step closer, a step that makes Din raise his blaster. "I'm not after you Mandalorian."

"You left me for dead," Din says and I see a look of satisfaction in Boba's eyes that stirs a new type of rage in me.

"Fair is fair," Boba says, ignoring him to speak to me. "I'd call it justice."

"Revenge you mean?"

"One and the same," he says, determined to hit every nerve he knows how. "That's what you said, isn't it princess?"

If this is how he wants to play, I'll play along perfectly.

"Yes." I take a step closer now, looking him dead in the eyes as I tell him. "It was both when I left you for dead."

"I could take revenge," he tells me, but fails to intimidate. "I certainly have enough reason to, but fortunately for you I am a changed man."

I laugh again, the type of unhinged only Boba Fett can make me after he put that madness in my brain and twisted it into what it is now. "Boba Fett? A changed man?"

He isn't amused and looks back towards his ship "I thought you may say that, so here is my peace offering. My armour for yours."

My face falls and I blink at him "What?"

He doesn't repeat himself. "You heard me."

I shake my head "My armour is on-"

"Was on Kalevala," he says and I go cold. "I'm the one who brought you there after Mandalore was destroyed remember? You took my armour from Tatooine, so I returned the favour. Still covered in blood and ashes on board my ship for the taking. You order the Mandalorian to get mine, and Fennec will get yours."

"Fennec?" Din exclaims and I look back at him in confusion until I sense an unfamiliar presence.

"You have a keen ear Mando," a woman says from up on the ridge armed with a rifle, a woman that Din certainly seems to know and I look at him, raising an eyebrow at the panic I feel from him.

"You were dead," he says and my eye goes back to Boba, able to read him in one glance and I should have known he'd never come to face me without an extra gun.

"I believe it is time for introductions," Boba says while I shake my head at him in warning. "Meet Fennec Shand, a sharpshooter I've brought to ensure this transaction goes smoothly."

"Fuck you," I say and order "Din if she moves kill her."

"So it's going to be that way then," Boba says, almost disappointed. "Alright then, your lover pulls that trigger and she'll unload onto that kid she's locked onto."

And there he is, the Boba Fett I know.

"You wouldn't dare," I breathe.

"I think we both know I would," he says but I know the kid is quite safe. "There does not have to be violence."

"Say the word and he's dead," Din says from behind me, both of us knowing the kid is safe behind that shield. 

"This is between her and I Mandalorian," Boba says, he knows his targets, he would know damn well the reputation Din has. "You shoot, Fennec shoots." He looks back at me now. "Your little green friend as quite the bounty on his head."

With those words, all decency is off the table.

"If you think you're going to come here to take my son away-"

"He's a little green to be yours," he says and a chill runs through my bones as he dares to say "But a son for a son seems fair to me."

Din reaches for me as I march forward but holds his position with his blaster trained on Fennec as I slap Boba hard, tears of rage burning in my eyes as I whisper "I hate you."

"I know you do princess," he says, his face may be barely recognisable but his eyes... the same damn eyes. "I'm not here to hurt you."

But I know him better than that.

"I don't believe you," I breathe and the moment my saber is at his neck his finger is on the trigger of his blaster. My match. My perfect adversary. "I will never believe a word you say again."

Still he insists "All I want is my armour."

"Liar," I say, searching his eyes. "You've followed me halfway across the galaxy for one thing only."

He entertains me. "And what's that princess?"

I can't bring myself to say it with Din standing so close but Boba knows. He always knows.

"Revenge," I say, if only to stir something else in his heart that is more bearable for me to feel. "For me."

I'm trembling as he touches my cheek with the barrel of his blaster, but not from fear, anything but fear, and I feel pure horror from Din that I haven't killed him for that simple touch alone.

"I did come for you," he tells me and I don't inch away from him as he leans closer as if nobody else is standing here. "On Tatooine I came for you, but not to harm you."

"Liar," I say again, fighting what I know is the truth. "Why else would you come if not for revenge?"

"I came to help you," he says, the coldness of his blaster on my cheek keeping me still as he asks "Do you really think I'd let you face an Imperial attack alone?"

I feel Din watching with a primal anger I've never felt from him and remind Boba "I wasn't alone and you left him there to die."

"If I didn't kill him he would have killed me," he argues, as if leaving him bleeding out for me to find was only a minor complication. "And I wasn't the one with the shiny beskar."

"No, you aren't," I say, finding a sick pleasure in taking from him the one thing he loves. "Because I have yours and once I put you back in the ground where you belong I'll melt it down and add it to my collection of trophies. Right beside Maul's saber on Kalevala." 

He ignores my threat to tell me "You're the only one who wants violence little one."

"I don't believe you."

"Kill me then," he says, calling my bluff. "We both know you can't do it."

A darkness settles over me, the same darkness that led to me being charged as a war criminal. "You have no idea what I am capable of."

"Then do it. Kill me. Do what you couldn't do on Tatooine." The heat of my saber at his neck does little to scare him as he taunts "Or have you started calling yourself a Jedi again?" My hand grips the hilt of my saber tight knowing one flick of my wrist is all it would take. "I remember when your daddy came to kill mine, but he couldn't do it either."

I blink at him in bewilderment "What?"

"I remember shooting at your father myself," he tells me, words he never has before, and I go cold as his own memories flash before my eyes. Cold rain and shots fired upon my father only to end in the flash of a purple saber and a beskar helmet rolling on coarse ground. "He was no match for a Mandalorian."

"Then how come he lived while yours lost his head," I hiss and he grabs me by my hair, holding me by the scalp with his blaster to my head. "Too soon?"

"Let her go!" Din orders, firing a warning shot only for Fennec to fire one back at Din and I smirk at the look of unbridled rage in Boba's eyes, living for the thrill of hitting him where it hurts. "Let her go or I drop you and Fennec!"

"This is between us," I tell Din, smiling as I taunt "I should have aimed for your neck, let your head roll in the sand just like your donors."

With those words he bares my throat, my hair in his fist as he brings his blaster from my head down to my stomach, knowing just where to hit me, but nothing can ever hurt me more than he already has. "You've become a cruel woman."

"Do you think I'm still that nineteen year old girl who cried and begged for you Boba?" I ask him and laugh again at the pain shooting through him, wanting him to suffer as I have. "You killed her that day on Cloud City. There's nothing left you can do to hurt me now."

"I can kill the kid," he threatens. "Like you killed our son."

"Our son?" I repeat numbly and feel Din's own horror as I tell him. "You mean the bloody tissue that was left on the floor of that cell after Vader tortured it out of me?" Boba's eyes go utterly cold now, finally realising it was not my doing. "It's for the better because I was never going to have any child of yours after what you did to me."

"Kyra," he begins, the emotion in his voice making me wince but I'm past apologies.

"It's too late for remorse Boba," I tell him, having no pity left for him and dig the knife deeper. "Everything you blamed me for is your own doing. Every betrayal you believed, none of it was ever real. It was all Vader screwing with your head like he did mine."

Finally after all these years I find myself absolved of my own guilt and see the horror in his eyes as he realises I never betrayed him and that the death of our love is his blood to bear.

His voice is uneven now "If I knew-"

"You would have what? Struck Vader down?" I ask as I push him off me and he doesn't try to push me back. "You were too weak."

"Says the one who's too weak to strike me down now," he says, but the fight is gone from his voice and filled with a quiet ache before he resorts to the one thing he can still hate me for. "Just like your father was."

I raise an eyebrow "You think I'm weak because I'm a Jedi?"

"I know you are."

I give a nod and turn my back on him, walking back towards Din as I raise my hand to choke the sniper up on the ridge and watch her reach for her throat as Boba finally panics. 

"Stop that!"

"No," I answer before channelling the strength of the force here and throwing her off the ledge into a nearby rockface. Din and Boba both jump back as she groans on the ground and I use the force to pull her rifle to me, handing it to Din as I return to his side. 

"Kyra," Din says quietly as he takes the rifle. "I owe Fennec, she is not our enemy." 

"Well he is," I reply and turn back to Boba. "I don't care what you've become, I don't care if you're sorry, not when I have to live with the consequences of what you did."

Boba looks at Fennec, finally realising just what his betrayal led me to become. "I thought you were above that."

"I was, but not after what Vader did to me," I say and I see the look of disbelief in his eye before his hand goes to his throat and that cold rage burns as I hold it tight. "Do you think I'm not capable of the things he was?"

"Then do it," he says, my fist closing around his throat. "If it's revenge you want take it, I won't stop you."

"Only one of us is leaving this planet alive," I tell him, even if every moral my father instilled in me screams against killing a man who is not fighting.

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" he asks but just as I step forward with my saber in hand I feel it and realise the true enemy that's followed me isn't Boba Fett.

It's the Empire.

Slowly I turn my head back towards Boba, the memory of betrayal haunting me now and my saber hand's shaking as he puts his hands up "I didn't-"

Without warning I throw him to the ground and my saber is at his neck as I curse "You fucking traitor."

He knows there is nothing he could say for me to believe him and instead tells me "It's time to put your armour back on princess, we're in for a fight."

I look up at Din who stands there watching the Imperial ships entering the atmosphere "Kyra the kid-"

"The kid is safe," I promise Din and withdraw my saber and abandon Boba on the ground to go to him. "If it's Gideon we have the advantage you hear me?" 

"How?" he asks me. "It's the two of us against the Empire."

I look back at Boba on the ground and Fennec getting to her feet, if they didn't bring them here then they'll have no hesitation killing them. "No, it's not." I take his helmet in my hands as I tell him "We fight, the child is as safe as he can be up on that stone. Get your weapons, we aren't running."

"This is the way," he says and a shadow of a smile plays at my lips.

"This is the way."

I let him go with a press of my lips to his beskar cheek knowing damn well Boba's watching and march to his ship to get my armour. I navigate the familiar interior quickly to get to the storage compartment and much to my equal surprise and satisfaction find my biometric fingerprint still logged and draw a sharp breath as the compartment opens.

My armour as promised sits there, painted blood red and still coated in the ashes of Mandalore. 

For just a moment I still feel the rubble crushing me, I can still see the bodies of my people turned to dust after the bombing. I can still feel the ash in my lungs as my hand reached out through the rubble, red with radiation burns. I wanted to die and yet I couldn't help but fight for my life as the darkness closed in on me.

I can still feel Boba taking my hand and pulling me out. 

The sound of gunshots pulls me back and I take the painted beskar forged for my body, a lightweight unconventional design perfect for a Jedi. It's all muscle memory as I arm myself with it, the slimline armoured top that wraps around my collarbones leaving my arms bare, the red arm bands in substitute of pauldrons for the sake of mobility, my left bearing the symbol of the Jedi and the right my family's crest. The gauntlets attached to my fingerless red sleeves more lightweight than the typical Mandalorian's, the same with the rest of my armour. Boba brought all of it, not just the beskar but the rest of it I couldn't bear to touch after I'd stripped it from my body and so I make quick work of it, discarding my of Jedi styled clothes in favour of my complete armour since I doubt I'll get another chance to retake it.

Finally I hold the helmet in my hand and for the first time since the purge put it on and ready myself, transferring my saber to my armours utility belt that's still armed with my old blaster and make sure to put the kids ball in one of the pockets.

It feels right as I step out of the ship looking through a visor and raise my blaster to take out the nearby stormtroopers and feel Din's head snaps towards me at the sound of the shots and I can feel it, awe, and then I feel the fear of the stormtroopers as I ignite my saber.

They all come to a halt with their guns raised at me, shaking in their armour as I tilt my head to the side and the moment I raise my hand they're running back to their ship, the landing platform still lowered as they try to retreat and with a single hand, feeling the strength of the force more than I have in years, I bring the ship to a halt as they try to lift off. It's as I tap into the true richness of the force here on Tython I realise indeed the stories are true and I throw the ship into a nearby cliff face with a strength I've never wielded before.

The wreckage hits the ground with injured troopers straining for their weapons and I look back to see Boba and Din both standing there in a state of awe.

"Kill them!" I order and they quickly jump into action, gunning down the troopers on board the wreckage and I move past the bodies to get to the remains of the cockpit, still intact enough for me to make contact with their commander and know in my gut who it is. 

"This is Kyra Kryze," I say, ready to take him out. "You're troopers are dead Gideon."

"That may be, but not even you and your bounty hunters can save the child from me," he says and I hear Din yelling for me.

"Kyra!"

I emerge to see three more ships lowering onto the planet and just as I raise my hand I hear rockets, but not from the ship. I look back to see Boba standing there in his own armour now and watch as his rocket hits one of the ships which crashes down into the other, both burning wreckage now in the sky.

I feel Din's hand on my arm, tasting the bitterness in my mouth as I look at Boba and know he didn't bring the Empire here. 

"See princess, I did tell you," Boba says and I could kill him for the I told you so alone. 

"And like I told you, I'm not weak," I spit at him and then realise that was his intention all along, to rile me up. 

"You never were," he says and frustrated I look away from him back to Din who stands behind me with a gentle hand holding me in place, maker knows the only thing giving me peace right now.

"What's the plan general?" Din asks me, Boba and Fennec listening as I look at the final ship landing, but my gut tells me there are far more where it came from and we need to take them out.

"Kill them, no matter how many waves come we eliminate them," I decide, knowing the child is safe up on that rock. "If we don't Gideon will just send them after us again."

"Gideon?" Boba repeats, having missed that part when he was attacking Din. "Moff Gideon? I thought he was dead."

"So did we but you'd know that if you were actually helping me on Tatooine instead of stabbing someone," I retort and feel Din squeeze my arm to bring my back, knowing I need to be focused right now, and ask him "On Navarro what type of strength did he have?"

"Enough that he almost killed all of us," he answers and tells me "We aren't making it out unscathed."

"Retreatings no good if he can take us out with his ship, we're better to hold defensive positions until an opportunity presents itself," I say as Fennec reloads her rifle, remembering the Hoth situation. "We don't know what type of resources he's got and I'm not risking putting the kid in his sights."

"Call for backup?" Din asks knowing the connections I've got but none that can get here in time.

"We are the backup," Boba says and reminds me "We've faced worse than a few stormtroopers princess."

"This isn't right," I say, my gut screaming it at me. "It's too easy, if Gideon knows you're here he'd be sending more firepower than this."

It would be why Gideon waited so long to attack, Boba Fett would be one of the few people in this galaxy he would fear and rightfully so, which makes no sense he's sending mere ships of troopers against two of the most capable killers in the galaxy.

"Then let's take them out," Boba says as the ship lands and the four of us stand there ready to fight as the landing platform lowers and I tilt my head at the black of their armour.

Death troopers.

And there it is.

"Take cover," I order before they open fire and each and every movement of my saber is muscle memory led by the force, my father having been relentless in this particular training after the Clones wiped out most of the Jedi in order 66. He wasn't going to let me fall to a group of troopers with blasters.

Their armour is resistant enough the blasts reflected back don't kill them and hear their commander order "Kill the Jedi!"

And so I use the force to leap over head just as they roll grenades my way and cut through three troopers from behind as Din, Boba and Fennec fire on them from defensive positions but it's then as I look up to the stone my blood runs cold realising this is just a distraction.

Troopers unlike any I've ever seen descend towards the stone and just as I run forward I'm thrown to the ground by a missile that blows the Razor Crest to ashes. 

My ears ring as I take in the burning wreckage and feel Din pulling me to my feet, covering me from the Death Troopers fire as he pulls me back behind cover, checking me over to make sure I'm alright before quaking "The kid-"

"I've got him, cover me," I tell him and use my jetpack for the first time in years as I take off dodging the heavy fire from the Death Troopers to get to the stone only to begin losing altitude halfway as the broken down fuel runs out and I hit the ground running, reaching the stone at the same moment they do and I'm met with an onslaught from blaster cannons that I fight through only for the force shield to come down.

"No!" I yell out as I'm thrown into one of the pillars with a force I've never felt before by one of the troopers and get to my feet only to be faced with six of them, big hulking forces of metal standing between me and the child who looks at me with fear in his eyes.

They fire upon me, no doubt with programmed orders from Gideon to eliminate me personally. Reflecting the heavy fire I cut through the chest of the one who threw me and cut down the next through the middle only to be grabbed by the throat with a crushing pressure by another and raised up to see the child being taken and kick my feet against the troopers face, severing the hand holding my throat before cutting through its neck along with anothers before driving my saber through the chest of the fifth.

I rebound off the ground as the final trooper lifts off with the child and I swear I can hear Din calling my name, but just as I go to jump from the stone to take down the final trooper I see it far too late, the burning missile locked right onto me, and in the second before it impacts I raise my saber in a pure final instinct and there's a flash of blue.

Then nothing.

~

Din

The moment the missile enters the atmosphere I've abandoned my defensive position to run to her as if I have a chance in hell of making it there, there's flashes of yellow as she cuts through the troopers and I'm screaming her name into an empty void and she looks up the moment before it impacts. There's a flash of blue as the forceshield ignites only for the missile to blow the stone temple to nothing not even a second later.

The explosion causes me to fall back and I'm on my knees as I look up at the smouldering ruins, the world itself coming to a standstill as I grasp my blaster between my fingers, in one single moment my entire world gone.

So many moments I'd accepted my own death and I was never afraid, but that was until her and the child came along and suddenly I had everything to lose.

And now I've lost just that, my child, my riduur, my everything.

That is until I feel Boba Fett pulling me to my feet telling me "She's hard to kill, get up there and I'll follow the bastards."

"Come on," Fennec says pulling me along as if there would even be anything left of her after what that same missile did to the Razor Crest. "He'll follow the trooper, she's a Jedi isn't she?" Numbly I nod as she forces me to walk. "Then there's a chance."

"The kid-"

"He's following the kid," she repeats as we make our way up the mountain. "You can't save him but there's still a chance for her."

I'm sick to my stomach at the thought of what I'll find, her body blown to pieces or nothing at all, but as my weak knees take me up the hill they all but give out at the sight of her red figure face down in the ruins and I run forward, dropping to my knees as I take her in my arms.

"Kyra?" I quake as I hold her limp body, armour blackened from the impact and skin scorched but it's as I pull her helmet off and find blood running from her ears and nose I can't breathe. "Cyar'ika?"

Despite the heat radiating from the burns her body's cold, my thermal imaging unable to get a clear reading with the injuries and I'm cradling her head in my hand as I check her vital signs,  finding a pulse, drawing a shaking breath as I feel it beneath my fingers. She should be ashes, but I've seen the child perform even greater miracles than this.

"Boba's on their tail," Fennec tells me. "He's locked onto the trooper."

"No!" I panic, stammering. "I don't want the child hurt!"

They're both alive, but they won't be for long.

"Abort pursuit, disengage!" Fennec orders. "Do not harm the child."

"Copy, I'll do a loose follow, see where they're headed." There's a pause before he asks "Is she alive?"

"Mando," Fennec says, unable to quite look at us as she asks "Is she alive?" I give a single weak nod and she confirms "She's alive but barely. Burns covering her body from the blast and severe head trauma, unconscious."

I'd never been truly afraid until right now as I hold her limp body in my arms, appearing dead in every way except for the slight pulse beneath my fingers and the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath the beskar but it's not strong enough.

The child is gone, I can't lose her with him.

"I can't do this alone," I tell her in Mando'a. I'd promised that I'd never let the Empire hurt her again and I broke that promise. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I failed you. I failed both of you."

Her red hair is between my fingers, warmth seeping from her skull as I clutch her body to mine, trying to convince myself she's still alive, that she still has a chance.

"They're back," I hear Fett say over the com as I listen for her breath but can barely find it.

"Who?" Fennec asks as she comes over, kneeling down to take a look at her.

"The Empire," he answers, telling her what I already know. "They're back."

"That can't be, the Empire is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic."

"This isn't a spice dream, I can see the Imperial cruiser with my own eyes."

The issue of a few rogue warlords is entirely different to an armed and operational Imperial Cruiser. For a moment I hope that revelation would be enough to wake her up, but she's still out cold in my arms. 

"Fennec she needs help," I say quickly, unable to keep my voice from breaking.

"Boba doesn't have any plans on letting her die," Fennec says and I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse as she speaks into the com. "Get back down here, she needs medical treatment."

"I'm coming down."

"Come on," Fennec says and I lift her up, taking care to keep her head still and Fennec takes her helmet as we descend back down the mountain with only one way off this planet.

Despite the desperation I've heard enough to not trust him, knowing he turned her over to the Empire once before and I'll die before letting it happen again and when we approach his ship and he takes a step towards her I draw my blaster on him from beneath her legs "Touch her and you're dead."

"She isn't dead yet but she will be and if you kill me and try to steal my ship you won't get very far without my biometrics," he says, having anticipated this. "Do you want her to die?"

"She'd rather die before being given to the Empire," I say, knowing she'd never forgive me if I let Gideon get his hands on her. "And I'll die before letting them harm her."

"I didn't dig her out of the damn rubble on Mandalore to watch her die now," he mutters and my blaster hand shakes as he marches forward and puts a hand on her head, I only allow it when I see how his shakes as much as mine. "She needs a bacta tank."

"It's the outer rims," Fennec says. "Where-"

"I know a place," Fett says and speaks to me. "Something tells me neither of us are getting past the outer rims without being arrested by the New Republic. I can take her somewhere she'll be safe."

"Where?"

"Cloud city," he says, the name only vague to me. "Run by one of her rebel friends, Calrissian."

I look down at her knowing we don't have any time for questions but I still can't trust Boba Fett "You try anything-"

"Oh trust me she'll beat you to killing me when she wakes up when she realises where I've taken her," he assures me. "But neither of us are letting her die."

"Mando, if you want her to live you have to trust us," Fennec says and with no choice I head on board the ship, hardly even registering as Boba Fett enters with the beskar spear, all that's left of the Razor Crest.

The landing dock closes and they head into the cockpit without another word, leaving me there in the hold alone with her and it's then the chill truly settles into my bones. 

Only an hour ago we were in the cockpit of the Razorcrest, watching her holding Grogu as she told us the words we'd never heard before her, that she loves us. Words I'd never heard until she came into my life and made me realise I was something that could be loved. The light of my life, the only thing that truly mattered, her and the child, I had my entire future in the palm of my hand and now it's all gone.

I feel the tears in my eyes as I cradle her head and feel the dry blood in her hair, remembering in horror that she has a family outside of the child and I, that I'll have to tell them how she died while I stood helpless. 

"Come on cyar'ika," I plead with her, without her and the child there is nothing left to live for. I don't know how I ever lived without their love, a love that made me feel human for the first time since I was a child, a love I can never live without again. "Wake up, please."

But her body only grows colder, her skin blackened from the blast of the missile, wounds that a bacta tank can heal but I remember too well the head trauma that would have killed me if not for IG-11. My hand rests over her pulse, feeling it only growing weaker, her breathing slowing.

"Stay with me," I whisper, shaking as I hold her body and realise her chest is hardly rising. "Kyra?" The colour is gone from her cheeks, her skin turning a shade of grey and I'm yelling out "How long do we have left!"

Boba Fett comes down, helmetless now and looks upon her with an unreadable face "Less than an hour."

"We don't have that long," I insist. "Is there bacta-"

"The Hutts raided it for medicine and credits while I was in the Sarlacc," he answers and gives what could almost be called an attempt at assurance. "I've seen her in worse shape than this, she's tough, too stubborn to die like this that's for certain."

"Well she is dying!" I snap, slowly losing it with every missed beat of her pulse. "Isn't there anywhere closer?"

"If the Empires back then Cloud City is the only place I know for certain won't be doing business with them," he says and I look down at her. "Calrissian is a good enough man he wouldn't turn her away."

"Can you get a transmission to Leia?" I ask him knowing that she'd want her family to be there if she doesn't make it and he seems surprised by my request.

He scoffs "She's told you about that lot?"

"They're her family," I say and he just shakes his head. "They deserve to be there if she doesn't make it." It's then I remember where I'd heard of Cloud City from, Solo's transmission after we were attacked on Tatooine. "Can you contact Solo on the Millenium Falcon, he should be at Cloud City."

He looks at me more carefully now "You've met Solo and all the rest?"

"I know her family and she'd want them there," I say, unable to understand the questions and having no patience for them. "Can you contact them or not?"

He's silent for a moment in contemplation before saying "It's best I don't or they'll try to shoot me down."

I stare at him now incredulously at how he can be thinking about himself right now "Not if they know she's on board."

"Let's just say Solo and I have some history and they won't believe she let me live long enough to be in this situation," he says and despite my desperation I can't blame them if they know what I do. "We'll be there soon, I don't know what she's told you-"

"She'd told me enough," I say sharply, not caring for conversation right now.

He nods to himself before saying "We both love her Mandalorian, she isn't dying on my watch." He steps forward and I pull her closer to me, not wanting a man who hurt her and is comfortable enough laying hands on her how I just saw to touch her. "She's survived worse than this, if you've spent even a night with her you'd know that." 

The mention of her nightmares has me shaking at the thoughts of just what she's endured and the revelation I learned on that damned planet, that she was pregnant with this man's child and lost it in torture due to his betrayal.

"If you loved her you wouldn't have betrayed her," I say knowing the man he is, that we aren't so dissimilar. Knowing the lives men like him and I lead and just what she is in comparison to all that bloodshed. "If you loved her you would have died before letting the Empire lay one hand on her."

"Vader promised me if I got her to become his apprentice he would spare her," he reveals to me. "The moment she landed on that planet she'd sealed her fate, I'd tried to keep her away but the moment her ship was reported I went there to protect her and struck the deal. Her precious family were about to die and I wasn't going to let her suffer the same fate."

"And so you turned her over for torture with a blaster at her back," I say remembering the words she told me and feel my own blaster beside me on the floor within reach, checking her pulse and finding it even weaker.

"I did," he says and eyes me as he says "It's clear you haven't known her very long so let me enlighten you. I'd been by her side since she was nineteen, I watched her take back Mandalore from the Empire and I watched her lose it because she was too damn stubborn to realise her precious rebellion would spit her right back out the moment they were finished with her." I'm silent now, remembering Chandrila. "And from what I've heard that's exactly what they did, charged her as a war criminal and left her to Moff Gideon on Tatooine."

My head snaps back towards him at the mention of that night "You left me for dead after beating Cobb Vanth within an inch of his life trying to find us."

"You would have done the same if you'd seen me first," he dismisses and goes on. "I've been dealing with the aftermath of her decisions for almost a decade now. She's as tough as they come but she's got a weak heart. She's pretty enough to make any man forget themselves but there's only so many times you can stop her from ruining herself in the name of being a hero. Hell I pulled her out of the ruins of Mandalore after she tried killing herself when she had to live with the consequences of her decisions. She's her own worst enemy and I'm warning you now Mandalorian no man escapes from her unscathed."

The length of their history makes me still and I begin to realise there's a reason she didn't kill him on sight and with her dying in her arms the last thing I want is to doubt where her heart lies. 

"I know her past," I say stiffly, but it's never scared me until now. 

"Do you?" he questions. "Are you aware you've been shacking up with a suicidal sadist who's spent her enter life pretending to be something she's not? Don't let her pretty face fool you, she's a cruel woman who let me spend five years believing she'd rid herself of our child out of pure spite before leaving me for dead."

His words do nothing but make me want to reach for my blaster "Do you love her or hate her, make up your mind." 

"Love and hate, it's all the same to her as you'll come to learn," he says and I look down at her face, unable to see anything but the woman I love. "She'll want to kill me when she eventually wakes up but she won't do it. She can't. The last night together before she left me for dead she spent beating me until she turned to words to try to provoke me into hurting her to fulfil whatever sick satisfaction it gave her before pushing me into bed. She's a twisted woman, always has been. Whatever she's told you I did to her it was nothing she didn't allow, hell you saw it. She has a way of bringing out the worst in a man, forcing it to the surface."

"Why are you telling me this?" I stammer, panicking the weaker her breathing grows while he stands there like she's not dying.

"So you can run before it's too late."

I scoff now, realising what his play is "So you can have her?"

"I've loved her through all of these years, and no matter what we always found our way back to one another," he tells me and stops before heading back to the cockpit. "You seem like a good man, you love her, but she isn't the woman you think she is."

With her dying in my arms his words change nothing. "We'll see."

He's almost amused "You will see."

He leaves us and I look down at her, the woman I love, a woman who in so many ways is still as much of a mystery to me as she was when I first laid eyes on her. Whoever she was, I saw glimpses of her today that left me shocked, glimpses I'd never seen before that leave me wondering how much of the truth this man is telling me.

But it doesn't matter, not now, not when I could lose her. I trust her with my life, with the child's life, and that is more important than anything that he could ever tell me, not when I have my own past I try to forget. Not when our child is gone and I need her with me to take him back.

True desperation takes hold of me as her lips turn a shade of blue and I hold her face, afraid to move her without knowing the extent of her head injury, clinging to the faint beat of her pulse that is the only thing keeping the last shred of my sanity from breaking.

"Wake up," I plead with her, if there is one thing Fett is right about it's that she's too stubborn to die like this at the Empire's hands. "We need to protect Grogu, he needs us." Still she lays unconscious and my voice breaks "I need you."

When I was dying I had her and the child by my side, I would have died in peace having felt her lips on mine knowing there was someone to mourn me, to raise the child. I may be here, but she would not die in peace knowing the child is in danger, knowing he was taken by the Empire as she was when she was just a child. 

As I died the only regret I had was that I had not had more time with her, I would have died a happy man if she opened her eyes to look upon my face when she kissed me and so with shaking hands I lift my helmet now and put it aside to look upon her with my own eyes. If she were to wake now I would have no regrets if only to feel her warm and alive in my arms.

"I love you," I tell her, knowing I might never get to say them again. "I can't- I can't go back to how it was before you and the kid. I can't." I'm choking back a sob as I fight tears, something I didn't realise I was still capable of. "Please, stay with me. Stay with me cyar'ika."

I kiss her cold head, feeling my tears wet her skin as I once felt hers wet mine. I thought I was gone, but she saved me.

I might not be able to wield the force to bring her back from the brink of death, I may be just a man begging the woman he loves to stay with him but that is enough. It has to be.

I'm not letting her die.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Seven point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C     

word count: 4 K   

chapter summary: Din's foster father, always quick with axioms, had this to say about being face-down: don’t forget, your ass is wide-open, kid. 

warnings:  head injury, severe bodily injury, blood, sexual abuse, physical abuse, violence towards women, torture, allusion to rape, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing    

You Were Marked: Masterlist    

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter  

Din awoke to find himself completely disoriented with his head and neck in terrible pain.  His first instinct was to panic, but he took a shallow breath — which was all he seemed to be able to manage — and remembered to follow the steps his buir, his foster father, taught him. 

What can you see?  The quick answer to that was fuck-all but he wasn’t sure if that was because his visor had no power or if it was nighttime. 

What can you hear?  What he could hear were whispered voices.  The voices were shrill and panicky and sounded like women.  Three, perhaps four.  They seemed to be behind him, but close by. 

What can you feel?  This was easy: he felt like hammered shit, and he believed he meant that literally.  To be more specific: he was face-down, on the ground, more than likely under a tree, since it seemed a knobby root was poking his upper thigh.  His foster father, always quick with axioms, had this to say about being face-down: don’t forget, your ass is wide-open, kid.  His head was splitting with pain, and it seemed as if there was a heavy sofa lying on him, pinning him to the ground.  Why the shab a large sofa would be anywhere near where he happened to be made no sense whatsoever, but then very little made sense to Din anymore. 

Din started to lift his arm, to check on his helmet settings, when he felt a hand gently push his arm back down.  “Be still, Bounty Hunter,” quietly said one of the voices. 

“Marathel?” asked Din, confused. 

“No … no.  She is still in the Hold.” 

Din groaned.  Everything must have gone wrong, and he must have fucked up royally.  “Olba?” 

“Yes, it’s me.  No, don’t move, you were hit very hard with the marchwyl.” 

“Is that the big hammer?” 

“Yes.  It dented your helmet, split your skull, and addled your brain.  You’ve been mostly sleeping all day.”   

The only thing to dent beskar is … beskar, thought Din.  That hammer is made of beskar.  How did it get here? “Did you …” 

“No, Bounty Hunter, we did not remove your helmet.  You were very adamant about that during the moments you were awake.  I did reach under your helmet, though, to dress the wound as best I could.” 

“Why can’t I move?” 

“You were fighting us when we were trying to help you. There are three women sitting on you.” 

“Could they … not?”  Olba motioned for her companions to get off Din, and with her help, Din slowly got to a sitting position.  “Thank you for tending to me.”  Din checked his helmet and found that the vision function on his visor was completely knocked out, and it was full dark now.   

“Where is the child, Bounty Hunter?” asked Olba. 

Grogu! Haar’chak! How could I forget?  Din began to struggle up, but Olba held him down. 

“Be still, Bounty Hunter!  Is the child in your flying ship?” 

“How did you know …” 

“Times I have been outside the Hold, I have seen you and the child with Marathel.   She must have been so happy to care for a little one again.” 

“She … she was.”  Din tried to raise the comm.link on his helmet, but it seemed his helmet no longer functioned at all.  “I must … must check on the kid … I need to get Marathel …” Din tried to stand, but he had no sense of balance, and his head was pounding fit to explode.  He fell back down to his hip. 

“You need to rest, Bounty Hunter …” 

“I need to get in there and get Marathel out!” 

“You can’t.  You can’t, Bounty Hunter.” 

Din swallowed, which made his head throb painfully into his jaw. Any tears that might have threatened his eyes remained there by sheer will. “They’re going to kill her, aren’t they?” 

Olba sighed.  “No, not directly.  But she will die from … what they do to her when they make her a Belwhyn.” Olba spit out this last word with disgust. 

Din got up to his knees, but still could not stand.  He looked down at the ground, his fingers tearing at the grass beneath his hands. “I can’t let them do that.”  Olba put her arm around Din’s shaking shoulders. “I can’t let her sacrifice herself, Olba.” 

Everything she has ever done was out of love, thought Olba.  How she must love you and the child.  “Bounty Hunter … do you have healers where you come from?” 

Din sat back on his heels with a groan.  “Doctors, medics, yes.”  

“If … if we can get her out, will you take her with you?”  The other women tittered at this in protest, but Olba shushed them.  “We can get her, you can take her to a healer, and she might survive.  If not … you will take her to somewhere beautiful, so that she may die in peace, with you and the child, away from this hell place.  Will you do that?” 

“You have my word.”  Frith help her, please keep her alive. “But … can you also get that hammer?” 

“The hammer?” 

“It belongs to my people, Olba.  It is made of the same metal as my armor.  It has no place here.” Olba looked at Din, frowning.  “Please, our beskar was stolen from us, we must have it back.” 

One of the other women leaned forward.  “Olba, we cannot!  The Elders would strip us dead!” 

Olba took a deep breath, and said to the woman, “Are we not already dead, Tymfy?  We are Diwhyns.  We are nothing anymore. If they kill me, my only regret is that they would get pleasure from doing so.”  To Din, Olba said, “I will do my best.  Stay here.  If we can get Marathel out, we will bring her to you.  The hammer, too.  Frith help us all.” 

Din nodded weakly. “Thank you.”  His eyes had adjusted to the dark some by this time, and he looked at the older woman.  She had removed her veil, and her hair was dark, curly, threaded through with grey.  Her eyes were dark and filled with a lifetime of sadness.  “Olba, tell me … are you Marathel’s mother?” 

Olba dropped her eyes and shook her head.  “No.  She is ap Bishop, I am ap Captain.”  What does that mean? wondered Din.  “But I was at her birth, and her mother died as Marathel was born.”  Din could just see her tears fall in the darkness.   “I was her mam in all ways that mattered.”  Olba stood.  “You stay here, we will bring her out if we can.  If not … I will close the door.”  The women moved in a small, somber group to the heavy door. 

“How long will it be?” asked Din.  “When will you bring her out?” 

“When they’re done with her.”  The women disappeared inside. 

Din no longer had a sense of time.  Between his head wound and the damage to his helmet, time stretched out and compressed in a completely non-linear way.  His concussion and his apparently addled brain came up with the phrase time has gone wibbly-wobbly, not that he really understood what the ever-loving kriff that meant.  He knew that he slept some — or just passed out, really — as he leaned up against the tree, but he spent most of his waiting-time staring, unblinkingly, at the heavy, ajar door, willing it to open more.   

Din thought briefly, several times, about running to check on Grogu, but he feared that the moment he would leave would be the exact moment the women would reappear.  He felt certain that Grogu was relatively okay.  The kid probably had eaten all the rations, including the secret stash.  He had told Grogu in no uncertain terms to not come out of the ship, but Grogu had never been one to follow directions, except in the case of his beloved Mahr. 

Please stay patient, kid, I’m doing my best here, and we can only wait.  There is no other way. 

He had heard two bursts of activity inside the Hold walls: once to call the young children in from the garden, and once when Diwhyns were called to come to the round building.  Din hoped that the second call meant the end to whatever was happening to Marathel.  Olba refused to elaborate what would happen there, but Din had too much knowledge of how brutal people could be.  He had no idea what a Belwhyn was, but he knew it must be a horrible thing. 

He tried to keep his mind clear and ready for what may come.  Instead, he wondered if he should have made a trip back to the ship just to get some weapons … at least his favorite blaster.   

He wished he’d gone to reassure Grogu, just to see him, and just to get reassurance himself that everything might be okay. 

He wished he’d removed his helmet as Marathel had requested — what honor was there in denying a woman like her, when all she wanted was a simple kindness? Instead, he had volunteered so quickly to have a chance to just … fuck her when he knew, he knew, she was not fully in her own mind and body.  What kind of Creed permitted that? What kind of honorable man did that? 

He wondered why Rodanthe had left Marathel when she did, where she was now, if she knew that Marathel was suffering now, alone.  Damn you, Rodanthe, she begged you for one more day, and you abandoned her.  Did you think I could be a substitute for the love and affection Marathel deserves?  Did you know what Marathel intended to do today? 

He wondered why he didn’t anticipate Marathel’s actions, why he could only stand there like a hu’tuun when osik went sideways, why he didn’t consider that the bounty wasn’t for the damn eggs at all, but for her.   

He cursed himself for getting besotted with her in the first place, for letting his dick get in the way of protecting his asset, for allowing Grogu to run the damn hunt when the kid held on to the woman’s ankle that very first afternoon, begging Din to let them stay at the hut. 

Din’s head began pounding again, and what vision he had was getting wavy around the edges.  He had to get Marathel and get the Crest in the air soon, otherwise he wouldn’t be fit to handle getting the ship into hyperspace. 

Focus, focus, focus.  The door will open, or the door will close.  Until one of those things happens, you just need to be ready. 

He could not stop his mind from wondering, however: what if that door closes? 

The thought nearly brought Din back down prone to the ground.  If that door closes, then … He could not carry on with that line of thinking.  He closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull; he flexed his fingers to keep blood flowing into his hands.  He breathed in, he breathed out, he breathed … 

“Bounty Hunter!” A sharp whisper came from just behind the door.  “Help us!” 

Din leapt to his feet and ran to the door, head injury forgotten, and he pushed open the door just enough to let the four women back through.  Each woman held a corner of a woven blanket, and in the middle of the blanket lay a still female form, wrapped in red shrouds from head to foot.  Din dropped to one knee and gathered the shrouded woman in his arms, knowing just by the woman’s shape and weight that it was Marathel.  “Oh, mesh’la,” breathed Din, but Marathel neither moved nor made a sound.  Din got back to his feet, turned, and ran as fast as he could manage through the woods back to the Crest, leaving the women to follow. 

The four women were nearly as fast and nimble running as Marathel.  Each one came up short, though, as they arrived at the Crest; Din had already set the ramp to lower by the time they caught up with him, and he began running up even before the ramp hit the ground.  The outer hatch opened, spilling light into the clearing, momentarily blinding everyone, and in the middle of the doorway was Grogu, calling out, “Patu! Patu!  Mahr!  Mahr!” 

“Gangway, Grogu!” shouted Din as he carried Marathel into the ship’s narrow side passage.   Olba, braver than the rest, was on his heels; the other three women were reticent to come up the ramp into the strange metal hulk before them, as well as approach the little child who had large ears and happened to be green.  “Where should I put her, Olba?” 

“Somewhere she can have privacy, Bounty Hunter … some dignity.” 

Din slapped the control to open the tiny room he used as sleeping quarters, leaving a bright red handprint on the metal wall, stopping him in his tracks.  He looked down at Marathel in his arms, now visible under the garish bright light.  His initial assumption that she was wrapped in red shrouds had been incorrect; as he shifted her, the pleats of the fabric around her shifted as well, revealing that the shrouds were the same blue of the veils she had been wearing earlier … and were now soaked with blood.  Din couldn’t help it; he gasped at the sight of her and how much she resembled the floating body of his dream.  He moved slightly to his left to allow Olba access into the little room, and one of Marathel’s braids slipped out and hung down towards the floor, leaving tiny drops of blood as it swung back and forth.   

“This will suffice, Bounty Hunter.  Hurry, lay her down here.”  Din squeezed into the room and followed Olba’s instructions, laying Marathel’s limp form on his sleeping pad on the floor.  Marathel made a low whine, the first sign she had made that she still lived.  Din reached to remove the shroud from her face, but Olba stopped him.  “Roll her over; she cannot be on her back.” 

Din began to shift Marathel, and her cries became more intense, her features only slightly obscured by the veil on her face, stuck to her skin with her blood.  He got her over on her stomach, and Olba gently turned Marathel’s face away from Din.  “Scissors,” she said.  Din looked up at Olba; Olba was holding her hand out to the other three veiled women who huddled in the doorway.  One handed a pair of scissors to Olba, who used them to cut the shrouds off Marathel’s back down to her waist.  As Olba peeled back the fabric – now resembling the wings of flesh from Din’s nightmare -- Din could see one reason for all the blood: she had been whipped mercilessly, and her skin, her magnificent flawless skin, was split laterally practically every half-inch from the base of her neck down to her lower back, and probably beyond, but Olba was not willing to expose her Marathel any more in front of the armored man.  Blood slowly seeped from every split, unceasingly, without clotting. 

Din let out a shuddering breath.  “M’mwch ha’laa,” he whispered. 

Olba looked up at Din, surprised by hearing her Oldtalk spoken by the Bounty Hunter.  “You need to step out now; let us do our best by her.”

Din swallowed.  “What can I do to help you?” 

“Gather anything we can use as bandages, any water and toweling that we may have.  We will do what we can as quickly as we can, so that you may leave here, and get her help.  And put the child somewhere; this is something no child should ever see.” 

Din nodded and opened the storage bins in his quarters that he knew had towels.  He didn’t have many — he never had needed many — but he handed them over, as well as his one spare set of sheets.  Then he left the room, in search of anything else that would be useful, including the bin that held a pitiful few bacta sheets, spray, and injections.  He doubted that the women would even have heard of bacta, much less knowing how to use it.  He searched out all spare clean fabric on the ship that would be appropriate for bandages, of which he had precious little — another thing that he was always meaning to do; he should have more in the way of first aid now that he had Grogu. 

As if on cue, Grogu came up to him, holding out a soft blanket from his pram.  Din knelt, and stroked Grogu’s ear with the back of his glove, not wanting to transfer blood to the boy.  Din’s voice stuck in his throat for a moment before he could speak. “No, Grogu, I can’t let you do that … that’s your favorite blanket.  Marathel wouldn’t want you to give up your favorite blanket.  I need you to go back to the cockpit and wait there.  The women need to help her, and I need to help them right now.  Please, buddy, you’ve been so brave, can you be brave a little longer?”  Grogu’s ears drooped, but he nodded, and turned to the ladder, hopping up in two bounds, dragging the blanket.  Din shut the cockpit hatch for good measure.   

He turned back to his sleeping quarters, and left the fabric he could find, along with what water he could spare, next to the open door.  Through the doorway, he could see one bare foot and ankle, the pale skin somehow even more white than he remembered.   

One of the women stepped out, without her veil.  She was a pretty woman, wearing a gown of green, her blond hair streaked with white.  Her light brown eyes were narrow with disdain as she looked up at the much taller man before her.  “I have what you asked for,” she said.  She reached into one of bags the women brought with them and handed the large beskar hammer to Din.   

The hammer was forged in one large piece, and had a long handle, as long as Din’s forearm and hand. The heavy head was flat on one side and pointed on the other.  The flat end was smeared with blood, and there were splashes of blood on the handle.  Din supposed he should be thankful that the Captain’s flunky didn’t use the pointy end to cave his head in. 

“You should know, Bounty Hunter, that hammer was not only used to bash your skull, but to destroy Marathel’s hands.  The under-Captain smashed every one of her fingers, one at a time.   Make sure to return your stolen hammer to your people.” The scorn in the woman’s voice was unmistakable, and she returned to Marathel’s side. 

 Din unclenched his hands from around the handle, which was now marked with his handprints in Marathel’s blood.  He turned robotically and stepped back down the passageway to where he stored his weapons cache, placing the hammer within.  Din looked at his gloves, saturated with blood, and he stripped them off, leaving them on the floor, but blood had soaked through, staining his bare skin.  Over his shoulder, he could hear the women speaking. 

“Did they … did they use the Dilimgau?” 

Din lifted his head.  What the shab is a Dilimgau? 

“They did.  Hold her leg higher ….” 

Why do they have to hold her leg higher?  What are they doing to her? 

“Hold her still … I’m so sorry, my little Godynferth …” Din turned at Olba’s use of Marathel’s pet name for Grogu when he heard Marathel’s ragged scream fill the air, and the four women cried out as well, as if trying to take some of the burden of pain away from Marathel.  He took several steps back at the sound; the scream was even worse than the shriek Marathel uttered when she lost Rodanthe.  This scream was filled with the greatest pain anyone should have to endure and still live, and Din hoped, he wished, he begged whatever holy entity there ever was or ever could be that Marathel somehow survive whatever caused her to scream like that.   He held his breath as the scream continued and finally faded into a low wail before ceasing.  There was a clunk of metal hitting metal, and the women wept for a few moments before Olba spoke again.  “Hurry now, she needs our help, not our tears.”   

Olba’s words spurred Din back to action.  Hurrying to the door — but not looking within — he said, “What else can I get you?” 

A different woman stood up and filled the doorway.  “Come no closer, Bounty Hunter,” she said, her voice filled with hate and spite directed at Din, and he was sure he understood why.   The woman, wearing the same color blue as Marathel, removed her veil and untied her sash.  She had hair of purest white and eyes of pale blue that were red with tears.  “Have you no other fabric, Bounty Hunter?  Blankets?  Anything?” 

“No.  You have …” The woman looked at him with disgust and reproach, turned her back, and appeared to be cutting away whatever she was wearing under her gown.  Din saw a flash of white as she tore the undergarment over her head and off.  “Look in the bin just to your left.  All my spare clothes are in there.  Take whatever will work.”  Din stepped back, leaning against the ladder, letting his head throb for a few moments before he remembered he needed to get the Crest running before he could lift off.  He climbed the ladder and opened the cockpit door.  Grogu was right behind it.  “Gangway, Grogu,” he said listlessly.  He gently pushed Grogu to the side so he could enter the cockpit, and automatically placed the child in the rear seat.  “Stay there.  Don’t leave the cockpit.  Mind me, now.”  Grogu dropped his head to his chest, curled his little arms around his knees, and remained silent.  Din set the switches and levers, priming the engines for a quick takeoff.  One of the propulsion units made a grinding noise, and Din punched the gauge, breaking the cover over the dial.  He felt rage threatening to overtake him, and he gripped the edge of the control panel with his bare fingers until his knuckles turned white.   

Olba’s voice came from below.  “Bounty Hunter?” 

Din jumped from his seat and leapt down from the cockpit, ignoring the ladder.  His bad knee protested the rough landing, but he ignored it.  All four women stood before him, without veils or sashes, and two of them had ripped the bottom foot or so from the hems of their gowns.  All four had bloodstained hands and clothing, and all four looked as hopeless as he felt. The hatred in three of the women’s eyes was unmistakable in its vehemence, and he knew that it was directed at him, and that as far as the women were concerned, he was to blame for Marathel’s plight, even obliquely.  “Marathel …?” 

Olba took a breath.   She had no hatred in her eyes, only that certain weariness that comes with continuous suffering and sadness. “She lives, for now.  She has ia’chau leaves on her wounds, but they are not working very well.  She … will not stop bleeding.  Still, keep the leaves soaking in water and replace them as they fall apart.  If nothing else, it will slow the blood flow.” 

“I will.  I know of her … condition.” 

“You must know beautiful places, coming from somewhere else.”  Olba was openly weeping now.  “You promised me.  Tell her I loved her as my own.” 

“I will, Olba, and … thank you.” 

“Go now.  We must get back before we are discovered missing.” 

Three of the four women turned to leave, save for the one in blue, who was glaring at Din in fury.  She bared her teeth and snarled, “Her blood is on your hands.  Our blood, too, for we are good as dead, bringing you the hammer you demanded.”    The woman in blue spit with startling accuracy on Din’s right boot, throwing a bloodied rag-wrapped object at his feet, making a heavy thump against the metal floor.   The women then left the ship, their bare feet sliding on the steep ramp.  Din raised the ramp and shut the hull door.  He took a deep breath and cast a quick look at whatever the woman in blue had thrown at him, then at the open door where Marathel lay motionless.  Her bare feet, facing downward, were in view.  Not now, you hu’tuun.  Get flying.  Din quickly ascended the ladder and hoped the women were clear, because he was taking off right the shab now. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Hearts shifted

A/N: Hello lovelies,

Did everyone watch the three new episodes for Bad Batch? I was anxious, tears welled up, happy, frustrated. In short, my emotions were all over the place. But I can't wait to see the next episode.

Anyway, have a lovely weekend.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: physical closeness, grooming horses, scents, brush discussions, Din being adorable. If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,016 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE CRESTWORLD

Chapter Eight

She’d been so focused on Din’s instructions and her own actions, she hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten; at least, not until she turned her head to look at him and then their eyes locked. Suddenly, the world stilled as her eyes slowly took in his features, felt the brush of his breath against her cheek, the woodsy, leather, gun oil scent that filled her nostrils. Her body realized and became all too aware of how close he was - - how his shirt and the warmth from his body brushed against her back, how the heat of his hand seeped into her own as he guided her. 

 In that moment there was nothing but a rushing hum in my ears, as the blood pushed through my veins without restraint, as my heart started thumping in my chest. 

All thoughts, questions, everything just stopped as I looked deep into his warm, kind and chestnut coloured eyes. 

I tried to remember the last time someone looked at me with such kindness and warmth, the fact that nothing came straight to my mind caused my heart to lurch. 

Time seemed to have lost all meaning in that moment, it was only when Misty shifted and knocked her leash against the barn breaking the weird tension between us, that I finally looked elsewhere.

I cleared my throat, shifting away from him a little, hoping he didn’t think I found him uncomfortable. In reality, it wasn’t him that made me uncomfortable, it was that weird feeling in my heart that sent a tingling sensation down my arms to my hands. 

“I think I got it.” I stated as I found my strength once again, now that I wasn’t looking at him or sensing his warmth. 

Din cleared his throat, nodding as he rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to invade her personal space, or to be so close that he could practically smell the soft, spicy, citrusy, balsamic scent coming off her, it was so different from anything Camilla had ever worn before. Was it her shampoo or was that her body wash? Maybe it was her lotion? Either way, he found himself leaning a little to smell it once again. He dug his nails into his palm, getting him to fight back to reality. He closed his eyes, letting the pain in his hands snap him out of whatever that was, he shifted away from her. He opened his eyes focusing on Misty, grounding himself as he tried to understand what just happened. Why did he just … he shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand.

“Good. Once you finish currying Misty, then we move on to brushing her coat.”

“Are there different brushes for each stage?”

Din shifted his head, “Yes and no. There are different types of horse brush, for example a body brush, great for removing dust, dried sweat from fine coats. Great for improving circulation and evenly distributing natural oils within the coat. Then there’s a dandy brush, used for bushing off mud, dander and grease, ideal for heavy or coarse coats. It’s too harsh for fine coated horses, such as thoroughbreds, and usually used during winter months when coats are thicker. There’s a flick brush, designed to flex and flick away debris, they’re best used after an initial groom, like we are.” He reached over and passed the flick brush to Ann, “There’s two types of flick brushes, one for fine coats and one for coarse coats. I also have a water brush, which is pretty self explanatory, a finishing brush which you use in the final step in the grooming process, used to polish and create an ultra shine. Then you have your grooming mitt, which is a soft fluffy mitt that can be used instead of a finishing brush. Finally, you have what’s called a curry comb, which cleans your brushes, keeps them lasting longer, and keeps them clean causing them to work better. Anyway, for the flick brush, you want to use short flicking motions to brush off the dirt we dislodged. Brush the area we just went over, and remember to avoid the head, mane, tail and lower legs. So begin at the neck and work your way around, following the direction of the hair growth.”

I nodded taking in everything he said, I glanced over my shoulder seeing him turn to walk away, “Where are you going?” The question was out of my mouth before I could even stop it, not sure why I was even caring where he went. It wasn’t any of my business. 

“I’m gonna check on Bessie, you mentioned earlier, you thought she was in pain, so I’m gonna go see if she’s alright.” He nodded, tipping his head towards me before heading off to look for Bessie. 

It was a while before Din came back, he looked at Misty, eyeing the work I did.

“Great job, now onto the next step.” He directed me to bring over Taika and start the process over with him. By the time we finished lunch had already come and gone, it was almost two in the afternoon. I glanced at my watch and realized he must be just as hungry as I am. 

He didn’t know why but just watching her as she rested against the corral while Taika and Misty were grazing, made him realize what Cobb mentioned when he brought her to the ranch. What was it again, ‘You know Ann’s not all that bad, she seems sweet. Easy on the eyes, and has a very enjoyable laugh.’ He couldn’t deny it, she wasn’t all that bad, and yeah she was easy on the eyes. He didn’t find her drop dead gorgeous, but she was quite pretty and very capable. Despite never having worked on a farm before she was very reliable, willing to learn and was always asking questions. In fact, he hadn’t had to wake her up or remind her to have dinner ready for Grogu once. She just sort of fell into place. Kind of like she belonged.

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[galaxyedging]

Din Djarin x unnamed OFC

Warnings: Lots of angst. Swearing. Smut. Season 2 spoilers.

Updated the format of this from A03. Din and his partner deal with the fallout from the season 2 finale.

Only Time Will Tell

She lay flat on her stomach. Even the hard metal ridges of the storage crate digging in her flesh and the bite of the rifle braced against her shoulder couldn't distract her from her task. Din and the others had made their way to the ship's bridge. He had asked her to stay behind to secure the lower decks, as well as the hanger, as a precaution.

"Just to watch our backs, ok? The Mandalorian had asked. She knew him well enough to understand what he was really asking. He wanted her to watch her back. To stay safe. To allow him to the reckless thing. To be there to be the cavalry. Or if things went completely south, the second wave. He was a practical man, she didn't know that was born from his Creed and training or if he was always like that, even as a child. There was also something more underneath that. He wanted her safe because he couldn't stand any more loss. Her sight was trained on the door opposite the X-Wing. It had arrived when she'd been clearing the floor above. Finding it empty she had found a perch in place to take out it's occupants if she needed to. Comms were down so now she just had to wait.

Her thoughts drifted to Din, her rifle sight shifted slightly to the right as her shoulders tensed. Din was strong and capable, she had so much faith in him. Between his upbringing as a Mandalorian, learning all the skills that he needed to be warrior and the relentless, determined man that he was, she had no doubt he would rescue Grogu. Her fear lay in the fact that he would do anything to keep Grogu safe. She didn't trust Bo Katan, Moff Gideon had already offered them deals to get what he wanted. Underneath the near impenetrable armour Din was vulnerable. Haunted by the lost of his parents. Why had he been allowed to survive when they were slaughtered? Indebted to the Mandalorians for saving him. Of all the lost children in the galaxy, how was it that he became a Foundling? What made him anymore deserving of the Clans protection? Despite all his good deeds and the kindness he tried to hide under his cool demeanour, he didn't think his life was worth much at all. She knew he would trade it for Grogu's in a second.

As the door slide open her rifle was instantly in place. The first thing she noticed about the robe clad figure, was how gracefully he moved. His movements were steady, controlled, poised. Almost ethereal. The second thing she noticed turned her blood cold. "Grogu." she breathed, finger trembling on the trigger of her rifle. "The Mandalorian is safe." The figure called to her. "The little one would like to say goodbye."

It had been weeks since Grogu's hand gripped her finger but she could still feel his touch on her skin. The hooded figure, the Jedi, had explained what was going on before giving her a message from Grogu. "Please stay with him. He needs you." All she had done was nod, tears pricking her eyes. Like a lot of things with Din, her answered went unspoken. Like now, the tension between them was thick. Din had barely spoken to her since the kid left. He avoided her. Even when he lay in the bed they had begun to share, he lay turned away from her. All that she got from him was the faintest tease of his body heat. She had given him space. Cared for him from a distance. Leaving him meals in the cockpit. Making repairs and calibration to the new ship. At first she thought it was part of his grief, maybe her still being there reminded him that someone was missing. Or maybe it was guilt from breaking his Creed again. He still hadn't spoken about that, she had to hear it from Cara. After the first week, he moved to his own bed, citing a bad back from the previous bounty as his excuse. Now he was more cold and distant to her than he had been even when they were strangers. It was torture, the man that she loved, that had once confessed his love for her in the only way he knew how. "I will protect you.", "You're part of my clan.", "Always mine." When he had recorded his message to Moff Gideon her hair stood on end. Even with the helmet she knew he was looking at her "...means more to me than you will ever know." She knew he thought that about her too. He would whisper it in her ear in the dark. Baskar armour shed and long forgotten, when the only thing his skin remembered was the touch of hers.

Din had even began to leave her behind on jobs. One time he arrived back, stumbling up the ramp, hands pushing off the walls to keep himself upright. Dropping the tools in her hands she ran to him, hands instantly on him, searching for any wounds. He had shrugged out of her grasp, pushing passed her to get med kit. "Din..?" She had called after him. "Am fine." he gritted out. Catching up to him, she took the cauterizer, that he was fumbling with, out of his hands. "Shit, Din this has gone far enough. You're hurt. Why won't you let me help you?!" she snapped hands threading into her own hair in frustration. "Because I don't understand why you're still fucking here!" She may not have been a Mandalorian but she was still trained to fight from a young age. She had been knocked down more times that she could count and still scrambled to her feet to continue her training. As she grew she got used to the blows. As she became more skilled they became less frequent but the ones that did land were the more ruthless ones the, the ones perpetrated with force, the ones meant to maim her, kill her. None of those blows hurt as much as his words. She didn't reply. She couldn't reply. Later than day she packed her things and left quietly.

They had been in port when she had left the ship. She was pretty and had a pocket full of credits so it was easy to get a ride to a nearby planet. For the outer rim, it was nice. The weather was pleasant. The village she found was safe and in need of a mechanic so she decided to stick around. In the daytime she kept busy. She filled her time with work, reading, music and all the things she didn't have time for before. She even started gardening. It was something she always wanted to do. Her mother had had a beautiful garden full of the most exquisite flowers. Just the smell of sweet blooms took her back to a simpler time. Kneeling in the dirt she pulled out a clump of weeds that had invaded one of her boarders that she had carefully cultivated over the last few months. As she turned to throw it in a pile behind her she noticed a man walking towards her house. It wasn't unusual. She often had the locals send customers her way. There was something about this man that unnerved her though. Taking in her appearance she raked her eyes over him. He was plainly dressed in dark trousers and a matching long sleeved tunic. His brown hair fell in curls around his ears and across his forehead. His features were angled and strong. His jaw was peppered stubble, it was slightly longer above his plush lips. He was disarmingly handsome, except for his eyes. The colour of his iris was a stunning rich brown but it was overpowered by the bloodshot redness of his sclera. They way his eyes were trained on her unsettled her.

The man crossed her yard towards her. Reaching into the wicker basket that held her gardening tools her fingers found a small blaster she kept close in case of any old adversaries dropping by. Surreptitiously, she slipped the weapon into the pocket of the apron she wore as she rose to greet him. The next moment overwhelmed her. She would later replay it over and over, never pinpointed exactly how it unfolded. Never picking up what tipped her off first. His build? The broad shoulders and narrow waist. The way he walked? His gait, slightly different without the constrictions of the Beskar but still unmistakable. Or the look in his eyes? Although she had never seen them before there was a look of love that that she'd always imagined to be there. His affection was clear despite the tears glazing them. As he reached her he dropped to his knees. Wrapping his arms round her waist he began to sob into her stomach. She hadn't felt this drained since she had left him on the ship. Her emotions were so strong it was as if her brain rejected them all to prevent them from overwhelming her. She stood there empty. Even the hand that found it's way into his hair was done on reflex rather than a gesture of comfort. He had completely broken her. Her heart, her spirit, she even thought she was losing her mind. The way he had been so cold to her, she wondered if their whole relationship had be one of convenience. That he had just kept her around to help with the kid and while she was there she may as well warm his bed too. When Grogu left, he had no further need for her. Rather than confess, he drove her away.

After a while he spoke against her soft flesh. "I am so sorry." he managed to get out between sobs. His voice was rough and earnest. In a way it made her feel better, it was reassuring, he wouldn't have sort her out to apologise if their relationship wasn't real. In the same breathe it destroyed her further. Without acknowledging him she pushed his arms away, turned on her heels and walked inside the house.

If his feelings for her were real, why had he treated her that way? Did he think it was justified? When she thought there was nothing between them it was easier. Her mother used to say "You can't miss what you've never had." Now that she thought they had had something real, she was torn. If there was something, there was it worth saving? Could they save it? Her thought weighed on her physically as well as emotionally, she dropped to a chair at the kitchen table. He followed her, hesitating at the door before entering the small kitchen. Pulling up a chair, he sat in front of her. "I know I can't take back what I did. Am not asking for forgiveness. I just..." he sighed "...I don't know. I just missed you so damn much." He blinked tears away from his eyes as her reached out to caress her cheek. She withdrew for a moment, knowing that if she let him touch her her resolve would crumble. She would fall into his touch, into him. She resisted for a moment longer before doing just that. His strong fingers curled slightly behind her jaw, his palm pressed to her cheek. She could smell his familiar scent. It wasn't something she could put into words but it was undeniably his. The shirt of his she had mistakenly packed when she left gave her great comfort the first few weeks she was there, until his scent had faded. Leaning forward he lightly brushed his nose against hers. Silently asking if he was ok to be that close. Giving her time to stop him before his lips met hers. When he did finally press his lips to hers, her willpower snapped. She was on her feet, leaning into the kiss and straddling his lap in seconds.

Sitting on his thighs she undid his trousers, his hips rose just enough to pull them down. Once his length was freed his hands bunched her tunic around her waist. Pulling her underwear to the side, she slid down onto him. As she rode him, harsh and sharp, she questioned why. Had she forgiven him? Maybe she just needed to feel something for a moment that wasn't confusing? Something pure. No matter what the reason behind her and Din having sex, the need for a connection, the need for release, the need to feel something good in this messed up universe. It always ended in pure ecstasy. Opening her eyes, she got to look at his ecstasy on his face for the first time. His eyes were screwed shut, highlighting the laughter lines at the edge of them. His full pink lips were pouted and slightly parted. His head was thrown back, curls falling away from his face. She thought about what it would be like to sink her teeth into the exposed column of his neck. The thought alone forced her orgasm on to her. His moans joined hers as she clenched around him. Up until then he had been passive, allowing her to take her pleasure. The hands that had rested on her waist tightened. His hips rose with brutal force to bury himself inside her. At the moment he filled her completely he would drag her back up only to thrust back inside her again. His head pressed into her shoulder as he came inside her. The feeling of his warm release and the sound of him moaning her name made her come again. The two of them clung to each other breathing heavily.

"I love you." He breathed into the crock of her neck.

Suddenly, the touch of his skin against hers felt too much. His cock softening inside her felt like an intrusion. Pulling herself off him she moved to sink, bracing her hands against the cold porcelain. His was immediately at her back, the touch of his hand on her lower back burning her.

"I understand if you don't feel the same. I just needed you to know. Even if you can never forgive me, even if you hate me, I'll still care, I'll still be here if you need me." Staring out of the window, she couldn't even bring herself to turn to look at him. He hesitantly removed his hand and headed to the door. "I'll be in town for a few days, my ship is on the eastern edge of the port."

At that point she was happy to let him go. Between the emotional whiplash and the back to back orgasms, she was drained. There was no energy left in her to even sort out the most basic aspects of her feelings. Not to mention the fact that most of her feelings intertwined at some level. Anger and lust bled into each other. Love and hate could be a hair breadth away.

As he crossed the threshold, the word slipped from her lips before she could think about it. "Why?". Turning back to her, his shoulders slumped and he avoided her gaze. He took a steadying breath before he spoke. "I spoke to Bo Katan about the Jedi, she explained how they use their connection to the force. How they can move things. Sense things. Even control people. B-before I met Grogu. I wasn't always a good man. You saw the people I used to work with. Kriff, even when I did meet him I was wasn't a good man. He was a helpless child and I was was going to turn him over to someone, who wanted to do Maker knows what to him, just to complete my job. I thought that it was the fact that he was just an innocent child that made me go back for him. Now I..." his hand racked over his face. "..I wonder if he used his powers on me." His confession rattled her. Obviously she hadn't know Din back then but the comments Mayfield and the others had made during that job had made her wonder what had changed in him. The man that she knew seemed so different to the one they described. Even the thought of him leaving Grogu with his client didn't seem right. "I worried that if you stayed whatever he did to me would fade and you would see someone you didn't like. I would rather you hate me for one action that for who I was....so I pushed you away. Am sorry." Din's words hollowed her out even further.

Closing the door in his face, she retreated to her bedroom. Stopped in the fresher to clean herself up and wash away their release from between her thighs, before crawling into bed and crying herself to sleep. The next couple of days passed in a blur of long conversations with herself. Tears, anger, fitful sleeping. She had let the village know that she would be taking time off. People had still left some not urgent equipment for her to fix, on a table she had set up just inside her garden wall. Plus the local store had called to say they left some of the plants that couldn't sell just outside her gate. Her whole garden had been filled that way. She would take the withered, dried plants and nurse them back to life.

As she headed out the gate to retrieve her plants she found him there. Baskar armour and helmet in place. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. It only took her moving an inch closer to wake him. Getting to his feet his cleared his throat before offering to help her carry the plants in, helmet tilted towards the ground as he did so. It only took the slightest of smiles paired with a nod for his helmet to snap back up her face and for his shoulders to straighten. He swiftly picked up the crates, she lead the way as he carried them in, gently settling them beside where she sat. With a tip of her head she gestured for him to sit next her. As he knelt she handed him a trowel. For a little while they worked in silence. He mimicked her movements in the small patch of ground in front of him.

Finally, she broke the silence. "I understand what you did. It doesn't mean I like it, in fact I hate that you didn't think you could just talk to me about it." she punctuated the word 'hate' by stabbing her trowel into the soil. "I understand the urge to push me away and how you felt about yourself. I don't know if I can forgive it but I understand." He sat silently taking in her words as she continued. "I don't know a thing about the Jedi's powers. I don't know if your fear is founded or not. I do know that the man that I know you to be, is good. You wouldn't be here if you didn't care. You said you weren't a good man before Grogu. I don't believe that. I know you were different. I was different before I met you. Love, romantic or otherwise, can change you." He stopped his work to turn to her, listening intently. "Before you, I was guarded. I wasn't necessarily a bad person but I didn't go out of my way to do good or to help others. Relationships, attachments, they were messy, I avoided them. I just made the choices that worked out best for me. It was the easiest option, the best way for me to survive. Years of living like that, it can change you, make you cold. Then you can meet someone, who despite being permanently vulnerable was willing to expose himself even further to do the right thing. Just by being a Mandalorian, a warrior of legend, you have a target on your back by any asshole that wants to prove themselves. Not to mention the fact that your whole religion, your oath can be taken away just by someone getting close enough to remove this." One of her hands reached out to cup the side of his helmet.

Din's left hand covered it as his right hand brought her other hand to the other side of his helmet. Gently holding her hands in place he removed it. Her breath stuttered in her chest as saw his face again. "I don't know if I'll even get used to that."

"Would you want to? Get used to it? Me?" he asked, his soft brown eyes suddenly hopeful.

In all honesty she still didn't know. It had taken a lot for her to open up to him and she wasn't sure if she could move passed the feeling of betrayal. Not wanting to press any further he turned his attention back to flower bed. "Will they be ok?" he asked gently touching the leaves of the plants with his gloved hand.

"Some can be saved. Some will grow back stronger. Some just never recover, they wither and die. Only time will tell." Her words hung in the air as she dug a hole. Once she was satisfied that it was deep enough she turned to him. "It doesn't mean we can't do our best to try and fix it." Taking his hand she guided him in unpotting the plant and placing it into the ground. There hands moved over each other as they pressed the soil down over the plant's roots. Once it was secure, her hand rested on the ground next to the newly rehomed plant with his over it. Only time will tell.

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[daddydindjarin]

The Nymph from @djarinsbeskar’s Here, There Be Monsters: The Minotaur

I am absolutely obsessed with this story (and everything that you write, let’s be honest), and I cannot wait to read more!

Note: this is my interpretation of the Nymph, and not a reflection of anyone else’s views or interpretations of her!

16 hours in Procreate