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ak-vintage · 10 months ago

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Quarry - Chapter 16

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, Mandalorian culture lore dump, religious issues, Din speaks Mando'a, brief sexual fantasies (this one is mostly clean, y'all)

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

“Is it just me, or has that port doubled in size since we were here last?”

The question came from your favorite copilot’s chair, breaking the pensive silence that had descended over the cockpit as Din maneuvered the Razor Crest through the Nevarran atmosphere. He glanced over his shoulder in acknowledgement only to see you staring out the viewport with a little frown gathering between your brows. Nestled snug and safe in your lap, Grogu offered him a toothy smile, which Din returned, unseen behind his helmet.

“Think you’re right. Karga’s been busy,” he replied, taking in the sprawling landing zones, the increased foot traffic, the dozen or so other ships docked below. “Is there anything you want to pick up while we’re here?”

After the disastrous hunt for the Weequay smuggler Kevok Teklolq, only one bounty from the selection Karga had assigned to him had remained. The three of you had taken an extra day on the shores of Maramere to recover – you and Din from your wounds obtained in the fight, Grogu from his overextension of the Force to heal your ruined shoulder. In that time, the bounty hunter had taken the liberty of recovering evidence of Teklolq’s death from the dense forest where he had been slain, namely by separating his scaly head from his body and wrapping it in a scrap of tarp you found for him in the ship’s storage. You had nearly retched when he returned with it slung over his shoulder only to tuck it safely into the chiller for preservation.

“Please tell me the next one is someone you can bring in alive,” you had begged, looking ashen, to which Din had offered you a gentle press of his forehead against yours and agreed.

Thankfully, the final bounty had been simple – a Corellian merchant accused of tax evasion who had surrendered almost immediately upon discovering who exactly was pursuing him. The hunt was nearly over before it began, leaving Din feeling a bit underwhelmed and questioning whether the effort had been worth it.

He had fucked you against the doors to his weapons cabinet after, needing an outlet for all of the pent-up energy of the hunt that now had nowhere to go. He didn’t think you minded. You had walked unsteadily for the rest of that afternoon, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, a secret smile on your lips whenever he looked your way.

Now, with all five tracking fobs dormant in his pocket, four carbonite slabs hanging on the cargo hold rack, and one severed head on ice, every excuse the Mandalorian could conjure that might have kept the three of you safe and insulated in the little bubble you had created in the depths of hyperspace had run dry.

It was time to hand over the quarries. And it was finally time to take Grogu to Tython.

From your perch in the copilot’s chair, you seemed to mull over his question, humming quietly to yourself. “No, I don’t think so,” you said, considering. “You know what I would like, though? A hot meal. Like, something cooked with fresh ingredients and then served immediately, not heated up in a ration pack.”

Din chuckled, the sound staticky and rasping through his vocal modulator. He couldn’t blame you. The Razor Crest’s supply of fresh food had run out almost two weeks ago, and all the best self-heating rations had been well picked over by all three of her passengers, leaving only the least appealing options and the ones that were intended to be eaten cold, only barely a step up from the dreaded nutrition bars you could hardly stomach.

“I think we can make that happen,” he agreed.

You offered him a relieved smile in thanks. “How long do you think we’ll stay?”

The bounty hunter cocked his helmet in a gesture reminiscent of a shrug. “It will be at least a week’s journey from here to Tython, and we’ll be traveling into the Deep Core, which means we won’t be able to stop to do a supply run. The further we go into the interior, the more attention the Razor Crest attracts.”

“Maybe we could stay a couple of days then? Get a room at an inn, stock up on food and medical supplies? I wouldn’t say no to a real bed for once, and it’s been ages since Grogu got to spend any time outside. Might be good for him, if we’re going to be in hyperspace for more than a week.”

Din smirked, glancing back at you. “A real bed, hmm?”

You grinned wryly, a flush burning high on your cheeks, eyes flashing teasingly. “Yeah, you know. For sleep.” You drew your plush lower lip between your teeth. “Really, really good sleep.”

A low noise, unbidden, rose in his chest, and he gritted his jaw against reply that wanted to spill forth, one that definitely was not suited to the innocent, bat-wing ears of the boy cradled in your lap. Settling for a…heavily censored version, he growled, “Trouble.”

Your grin widened, blooming into a delighted smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes, and the sight made the bounty hunter’s chest tighten with affection. “Oh, you live for trouble, Din Djarin,” you teased good-naturedly.

He thought you might be right.

---

As you entered the polished, echoing lobby of the Nevarro Municipal Center, your worn, brown satchel strung across your body and Grogu cheerfully strapped to your back, it felt impossible to keep yourself from comparing the experience to the last time you had entered these halls. Had it really only been a handful of weeks ago that Din had led you here, binder cuffs chafing your wrists, your jumpsuit ragged and stained, a pit in your stomach the size of a sarlacc’s den as you contemplated a future back on Chardaan? It felt as though a lifetime had passed since then.

You were an entirely different person now, both outside and in. Clean and well-fed, with a job that had given you more engaging and unique experiences than you had ever had confined to the sterile spheres of the shipyards, a life filled with purpose, satisfaction, and love.

Maker. Love.

It had completely consumed you. You were overflowing with it, your heart pressing, fighting against the barrier of your ribcage, threatening to spill out and overtake you in its joy. The boy peaking up over your shoulder from his perch in his carrier, cooing and babbling in your ear, pressing his warm little body to yours. The hulking man in beskar, bandolier straining across his broad chest, blaster at his hip, wide palm at the base of your spine, guiding you through the entryway with a touch far gentler than his intimidating appearance would imply. You loved them both, in a way that was both liberating and terrifying. But still, their soft, solid presence as you made your way across the marble floor toward the oversized reception desk eased your nerves at being back in this place. They made you calm and confident, and that, in turn, made the memories of arriving here a slave feel more distant, less heavy.

“Here to see Greef Karga,” Din snapped, interjecting before the familiar bronze protocol droid currently manning the reception desk could greet you.

The TC unit drew back in something like surprise at the bounty hunter’s gruff, informal tone. “My apologies, sir, but the High Magistrate’s calendar is fully booked for the balance of the afternoon.” Glancing down at the datapad mounted to the desk, it continued, “I would be happy to make you an appointment for the end of the week if you would like – ”

The droid cut itself off abruptly, looking back up at Din as though having a sudden realization. Its mechanical neck and shoulders whirred as it quickly scanned the bounty hunter from head to toe then did the same to you.

“Oh. It’s you.” If it were possible for a droid to sound contemptuous, this one did. You bit back a smile, pressing your lips together to hold back a snicker. Apparently the two of you had made an impression during your last visit.

“It’s me.”

You lost the battle with your laughter at Din’s utterly deadpan response. A choked giggle escaped your throat, echoing through the cavernous, marble-paved entryway, and with embarrassment flaring in your cheeks, you forced yourself to turn away for fear that more would follow.

Cool and posh as ever, the protocol droid continued, “I don’t imagine you are interested in making an appointment?”

“That’s right.”

The TC once more glanced from Din to you and then back again. “…One moment, sir.” Tapping through several layers of command menus on the desk’s datapad, you watched as it brought the built-in comm link crackling to life. “Pardon me, High Magistrate, if I may interrupt.”

A moment of silence passed, tense between the droid’s displeasure and Din’s complete impassiveness, and then Karga’s voice, deep and commanding and clearly aggravated, floated through the open channel. “What is it?”

“You have visitors here to see you, sir. That…rather insistent Mandalorian fellow and two companions.”

On the other end of the comm link, the older man’s attitude seemed to soften almost immediately. A booming chuckle made its way across the connection, and Karga readily replied, “Send them up, 48.”

You were certain that if it had been capable, the protocol droid would have sighed. “Yes, High Magistrate.” As the comm link fell silent, the TC unit redirected its attention back to the three of you. “Would you like an escort, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary. I remember the way.”

And without another word, Din steered you away from the reception desk and down the hall.

“Thank you!” you called over your shoulder, more laughter leaking its way into your voice as your bounty hunter swiftly and confidently swept you around the corner. Glancing up at his expressionless visor, you added, “Are you always that rude to droids?”

Din shrugged, one pauldron gleaming in the golden afternoon light that streamed through the tall windows lining the empty hallway. “Not all of them. Just the ones that get in my way. Which is most of them,” he confessed. “That one in particular is…pompous.”

You snorted and shook your head. “You’re not wrong.”

“What’s so funny?” You could feel his fingers slip from their rather neutral position against your lower back, wrapping around your waist and squeezing teasingly. You swore you could feel your heart stutter in your chest at the unexpected contact. Was Din being…playful? The long-suffering, stoic, beskar-clad warrior…flirting? Dank farrik, as if you could love him more.

“Nothing!” you insisted, the poorly concealed grin tugging at the corners of your lips belying your words. “You’re just cute when you’re grumpy.”

Din very pointedly did not dignify that assertion with a response.

A handful of turns and a brief flight of stairs later, and Karga’s glass-walled office appeared before you. You tried not to feel too disappointed when the bounty hunter’s hand dropped from its hold on the dip of your waist, though you thought you might have failed at that when you felt Grogu offer you a gentle, consolatory pat on the shoulder from his carrier. The gesture had your mouth curling up again almost immediately, and you reached behind you leave a fond scritch behind one of the little guy’s massive ears.

As you had come to expect, Greef Karga’s welcome was warm and enthusiastic when Din shouldered open the double doors. “Ah! Mando!” he exclaimed, rising from his seat in his oversized desk chair, thick arms wide as though to embrace you from afar. “Welcome back!”

The bounty hunter inclined his helmet at the magistrate and crossed the stretch of the office floor in a handful of long strides. “It’s good to be back,” he replied, more earnest than you had expected. Glancing down at one of the chairs settled across from Karga’s desk, you watched as he realized that his guild agent was not alone in the room. With a note of pleasant surprise, he added, “Marshal Dune.”

The chair spun around, allowing you to see its occupant for the first time, and you felt yourself hesitate in the doorway as a striking woman with jet-black hair, blue-painted pauldrons, and a tiny Rebellion tattoo on her cheek rose to her feet. Offering Din a half-smile, she clasped his forearm in greeting – like a fellow warrior. “It’s been too long. Always nice to see you in one piece,” she said, her voice low and warm. Her dark eyes met yours then, and she cocked her head in your direction. “New friend?” she asked with interest.

The Mandalorian seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying, “Relatively new.”

You took that as your cue to step forward. Closing the distance between you, you extended your hand for the woman to shake, offering her your name.

“Cara Dune,” she replied, the grip of her gloved hand firm and unwavering around yours. You noticed she had a strip of grooved armor molded to the backs of her knuckles, and a jolt of intimidation shot through you at the sight. This woman had brass knuckles built into her uniform – painted blue to match her pauldrons.

“We were in a bit of a hurry the last time we were in the area,” Din continued, oblivious to your unease. “Didn’t exactly have the chance to stop by and say hello.”

The woman – Marshal Dune – grinned wryly at that. “Of course. When aren’t you jetting off on some new quest?”

Karga chuckled low in his chest. “I assume you’re here on business, Mando?” he prompted.

At that, the bounty hunter reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and drew out an overflowing handful of dormant tracking fobs, laying them out in a jumbled pile on the magistrate’s desk. “The five remaining bounties – present and accounted for. Your crew is unloading them now.”

The older man quirked a pointed eyebrow at the sight. “All in carbonite this time, hm?” The marshal glanced, bemused, between Karga to the Mandalorian, clearly not understanding the implication, and you pressed your lips together to smother an embarrassed grin.

For his part, Din appeared nonplussed. “All but one,” he agreed readily.

“Mando…” Karga groaned, drawing the name out with something like exasperation.

“The fifth one is dead. I have proof of the kill. It’s on ice.”

Cara Dune snorted, crossing her bare, muscular arms over her chest. “Charming.”

Karga rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. “Very well.” Extending a hand toward Din, he beckoned him forward, encouraging him around to the other side of the desk. “Come, let’s get your compensation squared away, and you can tell me all about your plans now that you’ve run my supply of bounties dry.”

You thought the guild agent might have glanced at you with interest as he spoke, but you couldn’t swear to it.

“So,” Cara said pointedly, a single eyebrow raised.

Now, she definitely was looking at you.

“How did you meet our favorite tin can?” she asked with a smirk.

You opened your mouth to reply but then hesitated, uncertain of her reaction if you were to tell her the truth. Would it make her suspicious of you? Would it make her angry with Din? She was the marshal, after all. But the two seemed to be friends, and you recalled weeks ago, when you had been attempting to determine where you would go after he had freed you, that he had offered to put you in contact with the marshal on Nevarro – that she was a friend and that she would help you find a safe place to live. He wouldn’t have offered that if he didn’t trust her.

“I…was a quarry,” you admitted haltingly.

You realized then that you desperately wanted this woman, who Din clearly respected and saw as an equal, to like you, and you cursed the weakness in your voice, your hesitance.

Cara, however, seemed completely unbothered. “Damn,” she laughed. “He really is getting soft in his old age. Once with the kid, that was an anomaly. But twice? You must have really left an impression.”

You felt your cheeks warm at her ribbing tone, heavy with implication. Attempting to brush it off, you simply replied, “Mando is…kinder than he looks.”

At that, the other woman’s smile softened, becoming more genuine and less needling. “Oh, I know it. Chivalrous to a fault. He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’s a good man.” With a fond brusqueness, she reached out and chuffed Grogu on top of his downy head, eliciting a giggle from the boy. “He takes care of his people.”

Something in your chest warmed and softened, and you offered her a small, genuine smile in return. “Yeah, he does.”

“You two planning to stick around for a while?”

You nodded. “A couple days, I think. Mando’s promised me a hot meal before we start another stretch in hyperspace.” Grogu cooed in agreement, making the characteristic smacking noises with his mouth that you had come to understand indicated hunger.

“I hear that,” Cara scoffed with laughter. “Space food gets old pretty quick. You know, I’m about to clock out for the night. Why don’t I take you to Ninda’s? It’s a newer place, just opened a month or two ago, but they make the best smapp pot pies I’ve ever had in the Outer Rim, and it’s not overcrowded, so maybe the big guy will actually let his guard down for once and enjoy himself.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose – ”

She shook her head, waving away your protest. “Not at all. I’d appreciate the company. And you two can fill me in on what’s been going on outside Nevarro space.”

There was something almost longing about the way she said it, as though a part of her was mourning her tether to the planet, to her position. “Have you been here long?” you asked, intrigued.

“Almost two years now.” Leaning back on the desk behind her, she braced her palms against the edge of it, crossing one leg over the other casually. “It’s stable. Relatively safe. Karga’s a fair leader, and the work is good. But staying in one place this long… Guess I’m still getting used to it.”

You nodded your understanding, revealing, “I’m the opposite. I was only ever in one place my entire life. Until…very recently.”

“Which do you prefer? Now that you’ve done both,” she asked.

“Hm.” You propped your own hip against the desk, mulling it over. You had never really considered it before. You appreciated the worldliness that being a part of Din’s crew had gifted you. You enjoyed getting to experience other planets, other species, other cultures. Your day spent in the bazaar on Trevi IV forever would be one of your most treasured memories – the wonder and the joy of getting to immerse yourself in a new place was something that you would carry with you for the rest of your life.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that perhaps it wasn’t the new planets or the new cultures that you found most rewarding. Perhaps it was the fact that you had gotten to have those experiences side-by-side with Din.

“Truthfully,” you admitted, “I think I could be happy anywhere. As long as – ”

“As long as you’re with him?” Cara interjected, a smile on her face. “That’s what I thought.”

You looked away, suddenly deeply interested in the pattern of scuffs on the toe of your boot, the other woman’s immediate perception more than you could bear. “Is it that obvious?”

She shrugged. “Maybe not to everyone. But I know what it looks like when he’s found someone he wants to protect.”

Your eyes met hers again, and you felt an understanding settle between the two of you. Whatever it was she could discern of your relationship with Din from the outside, it was clear she approved of it, and your relief at that was almost tangible.

Before you could respond, however, the bounty hunter in question approached, tucking several weighty bags of credits into his belt as he did.

“Karga has offered to put us up for the night,” he said, brushing his leather-clad knuckles against your elbow as though to get your attention. You flushed at the casual touch, feeling Cara’s sharp gaze following his every move. “I’d like to go pick up the keys to the room, but then we can get dinner. What are you in the mood for, cyare?”

You felt yourself melt just that little bit more at the consideration, knowing that all of your softness for him was written all over your face as you replied, “Actually, Marshal Dune has offered to take us to…Nina’s?” You glanced over to her for confirmation.

“Ninda’s,” she corrected. Her grin was smug, her arms folded across her chest once again as she assessed the two of you.

“Ninda’s.”

The Mandalorian seemed to consider the offer for a moment before nodding once. “That’s very generous, Marshal. All right, if that’s what you want to do, we’ll go there.”

Grogu released a squeal of happiness directly into your ear at that moment, and you winced even as you joined the others in laughing in response. With any luck, this evening wouldn’t prove to be too awkward.

---

“Your girl’s a sweetheart.”

Din Djarin pulled his gaze from where it had naturally settled – watching you as you ambled along behind Grogu several yards from where he and Cara Dune still sat. Dinner at the cantina the marshal had recommended had been a pleasant affair (he was looking forward to enjoying his pot pie in the anonymity of their room at the inn later), but the kid had started to get restless as the adults at the table seemed perfectly content to continue catching up well into the evening. You had taken pity on him, in tune with his needs as you were, and had offered to take him out onto the open-air patio to explore. Din, of course, hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from following your every move from the moment you stood up from the table, and Dune had, of course, noticed.

Refocusing his attention, the bounty hunter took in the amused look flashing in her dark eyes. She leaned heavily against the back of her chair, her second mug of ale cupped casually in her hand as she assessed him.

“She is,” he agreed easily. It was completely unsurprising to him that Dune had taken a liking to you. You were easy to like – sweet, kind, shockingly intelligent. He had known that the two of you would get along. Running into Dune at Karga’s office had simply saved him a trip to the law enforcement office to introduce you.

“So how long has this been going on?”

Din weighed his words for a beat before responding. “It’s…new. Very new.”

It had only been a handful of days since Maramere, though already being with you felt as natural as breathing. He wasn’t certain whether that was because he had been carrying a torch for you for so many months, or if it was simply a testament to your compatibility, but either way, in just a few short days, you had managed to bind yourself irreversibly to his heart, like you had always been there.

As though she had been reading his mind, the marshal replied, “Hm. Could have fooled me. The way you two are together, it’s…easy. Doesn’t feel new.”

The bounty hunter grinned behind his helmet, certain the expression could be heard in his voice. “I know.”

“So is she it for you?” Dune nudged his shoulder with hers, knocking against his pauldron as she downed the rest of her ale. “Finally gonna settle down, take your kid and your girl, find a piece of land someplace and just…live?”

At that, the Mandalorian felt himself hesitate, and in that silent moment, he could see the possibilities stretched out before him as clearly as if he were standing there now. A little house at sunset, cast in warm, golden light, modest in size but more than enough for his clan of three. You on the front porch, reclined in a wicker chair, your hair loose and long around your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the sun. Grogu giggling on your lap.

His Mudhorn signet on a pendant around your neck. Your belly soft and round with his ad.

Din banished the vision as soon as it had appeared, shoving the acute sense of longing that squeezed his ribcage deep inside himself. “…I want to,” he rasped, his voice tight. “But I can’t. Not yet.”

The marshal arched a brow at that. “What’s stopping you?”

“I need to get Grogu to a Jedi.”

“Okay, sure.” She waved her empty mug dismissively, clearly unimpressed with the response. “So you find a Jedi, you take the kid to them, then what?”

Then what?

The bounty hunter had been asking himself that question endlessly over the last few days. It had been a question before, of course, but after what had transpired on the shores of Maramere, the consequences of that question had grown even heavier, even more complex. There was a time when he had assumed that once Grogu was no longer in the picture, you would leave the Razor Crest – that you would ask him to drop you off at some shipbuilding hub like Corellia or Eriadu, somewhere that you could put your considerable skillset to good use now that there wasn’t a tiny green toddler in need of a babysitter. Then, he had determined that he would simply go back to bounty hunting. Perhaps Karga would be kind enough to put him in touch with one of his colleagues at the Guild, someone in need of hunters of his caliber who might actually have a sufficient stream of work for him.

It would be a lonely existence, going from caring for two other beings to being on his own once more, and Din didn’t relish the thought, but he would survive. He had done so for years before Grogu came into his life; he could do it again.

Now, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that when Grogu was gone, you would remain. He knew you well enough to know that you would not willingly choose to be separated from him now, not after the things that you had confessed to him, bare and impossibly close in the cramped quarters of his bunk. And he certainly did not want you to leave.

But the warm bubble of newfound intimacy had burst the moment the Crest had landed on Nevarro, and as much as he cursed himself for it, he could not seem to quiet the doubts hovering ever-present at the back of his mind.

Eventually, he replied, “Then…I don’t know.”

Unfortunately, such an ambiguous answer was unacceptable to Cara Dune. Decisive, quick-to-action, fiery Cara Dune. Rolling her eyes at him, she sat up straighter in her chair, slamming her mug onto the table in a gesture that had several other cantina patrons glancing her way in concern. “Do you love her?” she demanded.

Din sighed, steeling himself for the unpleasant conversation now looming on the horizon. “Yes.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I’m not getting into this now,” he said stiffly, his jaw tight.

Dune groaned dramatically and leaned toward him. “Din. Look at me.”

The bounty hunter startled at the use of his name, and he obeyed on instinct, meeting her flinty eyes through his visor. Although she had learned his name during their run-in with Moff Gideon over a year ago, she had never used it before now, choosing to continue calling him “Mando.”

“Do you remember Sorgan?” she asked.

Din frowned, cocking his head in confusion. “Of course, I do.” The swamp planet where they had met. How could he forget? And what was she getting at?

“Do you remember Omera?”

Dank farrik. Omera.

The Mandalorian felt an uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach at the mention of her name, and he fought the urge to stand up out of his seat right then and walk out the door. But before he could think of anything cutting to say in response, Dune plowed on.

“Omera cared for you, and you cared for her,” she said severely, maintaining unforgiving eye contact as she spoke. “And when you had to leave, when you had to take Grogu away to protect her village, it hurt you. I gave you a hard time about it then, but I saw how it affected you. You wanted that life. You wanted that safe, quiet, stable life with your little boy and someone who loved you. And you couldn’t have it then, but you could have it now.”

Maker, Din hated how right she was. It had been so long since they had spent any real time together; he had almost forgotten that charming quality of hers. Cara had always had a talent for cutting right to the heart of a situation, for breaking down barriers and seeing things as they were even when others attempted to brush them under the proverbial rug. This time, it had a wave of defensiveness rolling through him, setting his teeth on edge and sending a flash of heat up the back of his neck.

“What’s your point?” he spat, seething.

“My point is, that girl?” The ex-Shock Trooper jammed her thumb in your direction with a sharp gesture. Thankfully, you didn’t notice, as you were still fully occupied with Grogu, watching as he plucked weeds from between the flagstones on the patio and held them up for you to see. “That girl would follow you anywhere. To the end of the galaxy and back. So if you have any doubts, if you think that this isn’t going to work out, you need to tell her now. She doesn’t deserve to be strung along while you figure out what you want.”

The Mandalorian was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. Hackles now officially raised, he said, “I’m not stringing her along. It’s not that, not…exactly.”

Dune inclined her head at him, spreading her hands wide in front of her as if to silently say, “Go on.”

Kriffing hells. She was going to make him say it. Thankful for the impassivity of his helmet, Din felt a flush rising in his cheeks as he admitted, “In my Tribe…there is no precedent for marrying outside of the culture.”

It sounded absurd now that he said it out loud, for so many reasons, not the least of which being that it was certifiably insane behavior to be thinking so seriously about marriage this early into…whatever your relationship was. You had only been together for a handful of days, all of them in the relative insulation of hyperspace. If you knew what he was thinking, if you knew the permanence of the way he saw your future together, you would be well within your rights to run as far away as you could manage.

Dune, however, seemed completely unperturbed by this revelation. Instead, she focused on another portion of his confession entirely. “Wait, seriously? No Mandalorian has ever married someone who isn’t Mandalorian before? That can’t be right.”

“In other Tribes, I’m sure they have. But my covert, my people, they follow the old Ways. If she were willing to convert, to take the Creed and become Mandalorian herself, no one would protest it.”

The marshal quirked an eyebrow. “And if she didn’t?”

“I don’t know.” Din looked down at the table in front of him, studying the grain of the wood, the glistening, wet rings left behind by the abandoned mugs of ale. “Like I said, there’s no precedent for it. I would need to seek the guidance of the naur’alor.”

“The armorer? The one we ran into down in the sewers after your covert was sacked?”

He nodded once. “Yes. I have no idea where she is now.”

“Well, you’ve got to be the most skilled bounty hunter in the Outer Rim at this point,” Dune said wryly. “Sounds like if anyone could track her down, it would be you.” The Mandalorian shrugged at that, not agreeing exactly but not protesting the assertion, either. “Well. I’ll leave it alone for now. But can I offer you a piece of advice, from one warrior to another?”

Letting out a long sigh, he finally met her gaze once again. “If I say no, will you do it anyway?”

“Probably.”

“Then go ahead.”

Din watched as her hard face softened somewhat, warmed in the long shadows of the setting Nevarran sun streaming through the open archway onto the patio. “People like you and me, we don’t often get to experience the…soft parts of life. The good parts. All we ever get to see is the pain. The blood and the cruelty. The never-ending fight to survive.” Pensive, she ran the tips of her fingers over the blue armored brass knuckles molded across the backs of her gloves. “If this girl can give you peace, I think you need to do whatever you have to do to hang onto that. I hope your armorer gives you her blessing, I really do. But if she doesn’t…” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to think about what life would look like if you decided you didn’t give a shit about what anyone else says. You said it yourself. There’s more than one way to be Mandalorian.”

He swallowed thickly, the rush of fondness he felt for her friendship diluted somewhat by the sheer panic such an idea induced. Go against the naur’alor? Defy the Creed? His voice was gruff with emotion as he admitted, “I…don’t know any other way.”

“Maybe not. But you could learn.”

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, Din looked away, casting about desperately for a new topic of conversation, anything to direct that discerning gaze away from him and all of the uncharacteristic vulnerability she had managed to pull from the depths of him this evening. Eventually, after a moment or two of charged silence, he settled on spinning the tables back on her.

“What about you?” he asked. “Have you found those…soft parts, here on Nevarro? That peace?”

The marshal scoffed good-naturedly, seemingly willing to allow the redirection. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest with a grin. “Still searching, I’m afraid. Now that you mention it, though, I do have one more question for you.”

“Hm?”

“That girl of yours, she have a sister?”

A startled laugh burst from Din’s chest, crackling and warping through his vocoder. Out on the patio, you glanced over your shoulder at the sound, sending both him and Cara a blinding smile. Fuck. Honestly, he could understand the sentiment. You really were stunning.

---

Grogu only lasted another half an hour wandering around outside Ninda’s Cantina before he began whining to be picked up and held. Wide, dark eyes bleary in the setting sun, Din watched as you expertly nestled the boy against your breast, murmuring softly to him as you ran your fingertips over his downy white hair. Pillowing his little head against you, he looked ready to pass out at any moment.

The bounty hunter took that as his cue to take his leave of Marshal Dune for the evening in favor of escorting you back to the inn for the night. Karga had used his political privileges to get the three of you a room at the most popular establishment in town. Din had, of course, offered to pay for the room himself, but Karga refused to have any of it. He could still feel the flush that had crept up under his cowl at the waggling eyebrows the older man had given him when he revealed that the room boasted a massive, single bed.

He hoped the revelation wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, but given that you had been sleeping spooned against him in the too-small quarters of his bunk for the last several days anyway, he assumed you would be in favor of the arrangement.

As he held the door open for you and bid you to enter first, his assumption proved correct almost immediately.

“Din!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm hushed so as not to disturb the snoozing child in your arms. You took in the room with round, almost starstruck eyes – the polished, dark wood floor, the lush area rugs, the eclectic, tasteful art on the walls, and the truly giant bed that surely would have taken up half of the cargo hold on the Razor Crest piled high with thick down comforters and more fluffy pillows than he could count. Soft, incandescent orbs hovered near the ceiling in the center of the room, casting the entire space in warm light, and in the middle of a plush seating area, a basket of fruit and a glass pitcher of some kind of beverage, dripping with condensation, had been left on a low coffee table.

“This is so nice! Have you been here before?”

Din shook his head. “No, never.”

“I hope we didn’t put Karga out too much staying here for a couple days.”

Removing his satchel, he dropped it into one of the overstuffed armchairs then reached for yours to do the same. “Don’t worry about him. Karga might be the richest man in the parsec these days. He can afford a two-day room fee.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “I suppose you’re right.” Wandering into the attached refresher, you flicked on the light only to gasp delightedly, “Din! They have a bathtub!” You peaked your head around the doorframe then, a wicked smile on your face. “It’s big enough for two.”

The image of you luxuriating in an oversized tub, your long hair piled on top of your head, only your shoulders and kneecaps visible above the bubbles flashed through his mind then. Settling in behind you, cradling you back against his chest, the soft globes of your ass cupping the length of his cock as he played with your soapy tits. Running fervid kisses down the length of your neck, gripping your waist, pulling open your thighs, seeking the heat between your legs with his fingers as you moaned into his ear –

Kriffing hells. He needed to get ahold of himself. The two of you were not alone. Grogu was still very much in the room, and although he was dozing now, Din could not count on that lasting long enough to do everything he knew he would want to do to you in that tub. Or in that massive, glorious bed. For a brief moment, the Mandalorian cursed the lack of privacy.

But then, dropping his gaze from your teasing grin, he took in the image of the child he had cared for for so long, his wrinkly little face serene in your arms, so tiny and helpless and yet also not. Grogu possessed powers Din could never comprehend, could never hope to foster. And Maker forbid that those powers grow into something that Grogu couldn’t control. The bounty hunter would be severely ill-equipped to intervene in that eventuality. Finding a Jedi to help him, to train him and protect him, was the best he could offer given the circumstances; he knew it to be true, to the core of his being.

So why did it feel like preparing to sever a part of himself, to contemplate letting him go?

Realizing you were waiting on a response, Din offered you a wan smile behind his helmet, hoping you could sense it in his voice. “Tempting, cyar’ika. Very tempting.”

You, however, were too perceptive for your own good. Eyebrows drawing together in concern, you observed, “You’re thinking about Tython.”

The Mandalorian sighed, hesitating for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes.”

“We don’t have to take him, you know. We could just…keep him.”

He wished you wouldn’t say that. He knew you meant well, that you were simply trying to cheer him up, but you knew as well as he did why this was the only way forward. To imply that he had another choice was less than helpful. “You know I can’t do that,” he retorted, impatience and annoyance filtering into his voice.

You blinked back at him, eyes wide as it dawned on you that perhaps now wasn’t the time to make light of the situation. Offering him an apologetic smile, you exited the ‘fresher and came to stand next to him at the foot of the bed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The three of you stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant hum of the Nevarran nightlife on the street outside waking with the oncoming dusk. Stomach sour, Din took one of your hands in his in the quiet, running the leathery pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles. He shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You brought his hand to your mouth and dropped a kiss to the back of his glove. All is forgiven, it seemed to say.

“Well, if we’ve only got two more nights,” you began, “let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

The bounty hunter felt his eyebrows raise, and he met your gaze with his. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

A secret smile quirked the corners of your lips, and then you were passing Grogu off to him, slipping his empty carrier off your body, and toeing off your boots.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” you said. “Why don’t you get comfy while I get everything set up?”

“Get…comfy?”

Waving toward the bed, which took up the majority of the room, you chuckled to yourself. “Yes! Take off your armor and get in the bed. Take Grogu with you. Now, where is the holoprojector in here?”

As Din kicked off his boots and began removing his beskar piece by piece, he watched as you scanned the room, looking along the floor, the ceiling, and even in the dark wooden wardrobe along the far wall. Eventually, you uncovered a control panel tucked discretely into a piece of decor designed to look like a bookend and made a triumphant noise.

“Ah, there it is!” A few experimental button presses later, and a small holoprojector dropped down from the ceiling, just a few feet from the end of the bed. “Now, let’s see what they’ve got in their database…” You thumbed through the welcome screen, pulling up an interface with seemingly countless holovid options organized by planet of origin, genre, and original broadcast language. You scanned through a few but didn’t seem to see anything that caught your eye immediately. Clearly overwhelmed by the available choices, eventually you asked, “Do you have any favorite holovids from when you were a kid?”

By this time, the bounty hunter, clad in only his flight suit and his helmet, had settled himself in the bed, propped up against the thickly upholstered headboard with a mound of pillows behind his back. In his lap, Grogu had begun to stir, and he watched you work with interest, his ears quirked up, eyes wide.

“I don’t think so…” Din trailed off, considering. In the Fighting Corps on Concordia, holovids were rare commodities, traded between the older children on encrypted datapads in exchange for better duty shifts or coveted snacks from the cafeteria. The commanders had believed that such forms of entertainment were frivolous and unnecessary, and in what little leisure time their foundlings were granted, they had been encouraged to spend time reading cultural and military histories, or at the very least Mandalorian folklore. And before Concordia… Well. His memories of his birth parents were few and far between. When he thought of them, all he could see was the day the Separatists attacked.

Except…

“Wait.”

You looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Knights of the Old Republic.” The name left his lips before it had even fully formed in his memory. “I remember watching Knights of the Old Republic. With my parents on Aq Vetina.”

And he did remember it. Soft linen pajamas, a woolen blanket, his body warm with the soft presence of his mother on his right, his father on his left. The faint blue tinge of the holoprojector in their living room, blaster fire and lightsabers flashing across the viewer. He had been so small then, no more than 7 or 8 years old.

He hadn’t thought about that in…decades.

Your expression softened at his response, a fond smile on your lips. “I’ve heard of that. It’s an old, animated serial, right?”

Din flushed and brought up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Not old. But maybe…before your time.”

“Of course,” you soothed, smirking. Refocusing on the control panel before you, you continued, “Well, it looks like we’re in luck. They have all eight seasons in their database. Do you have a preference where we start?”

“Start at the beginning.”

You nodded once and selected the pilot episode, tagged with an original air date of nearly 40 years ago, and the holoprojector flared to life in the space a few feet from the bottom of the bed. Dimming the lights, you quickly stripped off your deep blue boilersuit and crawled in bed next to him, settling yourself against the extravagant pillows in nothing but your breast band and a pair of matching black undershorts. Grogu cooed at you happily, reaching out a tiny, three-clawed hand to fondle a lock of hair that had fallen from your braid.

And so, the three of you spent the evening huddled up in bed together as episode after episode of Knights of the Old Republic streamed in the background, and if Din blinked back a few tears as he watched you slowly nod off next to him, Grogu nestled between his body and yours, he supposed he could be forgiven for that. This was his family, his aliit, his clan of three, and no matter what happened on Tython, no one could take that from him.

---

If you're following along, you know where this is headed. Brace yourselves for a collision with canon events. Also, the KOTOR reference was a little treat for my husband, who proofreads every chapter for me before I post. I hope it brought my fellow gamers some joy. :)

Translations:

ad - child (son or daughter) naur’alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer. aliit - clan, identity, family

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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blackkatmagic · 4 months ago

Note

If you’re still taking prompts, perhaps a round for the ladies? Sugi and Padme Amidala, with a fake relationship perhaps?

(These ficlets are awesome—thank you so much!)

(I'm so glad you're enjoying them! And ty for saying so. ❤️)

“There you are, my love,” a low voice says, half a second before Sugi can drive her knee up into whatever balls the bastard hanging onto her has left.

There's a moment of startled incomprehension on two parts before the offered out clicks, and Sugi wrenches herself out of the bastard’s grip, retreating six long steps towards—

Well. That’s a surprise.

The very obvious senator, dressed in all her finery and with at least four armed women and two armed clones as her escort, gives Sugi a sly smile that makes her pretty face even prettier, offering her hand. “I was wondering where you were,” she says. “The gala starts soon, and you're out in the streets picking fights?”

Definitely a way out, Sugi thinks with relief, because the bastard isn't about to press his luck when multiple potential opponents are eyeing him like he’s lunch. He was happy enough to go for Sugi when she was alone, but he’s a coward at heart, and Sugi is striking him from all potential lists of business partners in the future, even if Embo is with her.

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me, sweetheart,” she purrs, with all the charm she can put into the words as she tugs the senator close to her side, leaning in. She’s small, Human, with a wiry strength in the arm that Sugi slides her fingers up. Holding her pretty brown gaze, Sugi raises her hand to her lips, smiling temptingly, and says, “You don’t mind my wandering, do you, dearest?”

“I should put a bell on you,” the woman says, amused, and tips her head at her escort. “Teckla, do we still have time to get her dressed before the gala?”

The handmaiden at her left hesitates, just for a moment, and turns her head to sweep the street, then asks quietly enough that someone without Zabrak hearing would probably miss it, “My lady, are you not going to wait for…?”

The senator’s mouth thins, and she lifts her chin deliberately. “I'm through waiting for Anakin to improve himself,” she says steadily. “And we need someone familiar with the area to help us anyway.”

Sugi can't help but raise an eyebrow, even as she tugs the woman into motion and away from the bastard smuggler. “And you're expecting me to help you?” she asks mildly. “I'm not the type to go around playing at being a politician’s hired gun, lady.”

Perfectly unperturbed, the woman raises a brow. “My name is Padmé,” she says. “And I don’t need someone to play hired gun. I need someone to play my wife.��

For more than the time it takes to escape one handsy shithead, Sugi assumes, if they're talking about galas. “And what would be in it for me?”

“My undying loyalty,” Padmé says, perfectly droll. When Sugi laughs, startled, she smiles a little, and says quietly, “The senator hosting the gala is expecting me to bring a partner, and I need cover for…personal business.”

Sugi cocks her head, interested. If she’s in this part of town, she’s either contacting shady people or picking up shady things, and that’s intriguing, given her buttoned-up appearance. “Blackmail?” she asks, amused. “Or a heist?”

Padmé casts her a startled look, and Sugi snorts. “I'm a bounty hunter, sweetheart,” she says, and raises Padmé’s hand to her lips again, holding her pretty gaze. “And one without a current contract, if you need a little assistance in whatever you're planning.”

Padmé hesitates for a moment, slanting a look at another handmaiden. Without hesitation, the handmaiden answers, “General Skywalker made it clear he doesn’t approve of this, my lady.”

From her tone, that didn’t win him any points at all with the ladies here. The opposite, if anything, Sugi is willing to bet.

Padmé’s nostrils flare just slightly, and she tips her head. “I find I'm still very uninterested in being told what to do,” she says, mild except for the razor edge beneath the pretty words. “Especially by a…former partner.”

Oh, Sugi thinks, amused. This is going to be interesting. And dramatic, potentially. She always enjoys getting her paws into that sort of situation.

“I'm very good at making people forget all about their exes,” she purrs, sliding her fingers over Padmé’s palm. When Padmé’s breath catches, she smirks. “And I don’t make a half-bad thief, if that’s what you need.”

Padmé swallows, watching her, and there’s heat in her eyes, something bright and fascinated in a way that’s highly promising. “I think we can add an appropriate clause to the contract,” she says, carefully steady, and turns down the next street, pulling Sugi right along with her.

#my writing #kat answers #trope drabbles #sugi #padme amidala #star wars #padmesugi

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mist-touchedxiv · 9 months ago

Text

Rating: 18+

Name: Loksen Tyrwesfv

Race: Viera | Veena

Patron Deity: Oschon

Hometown: Skatay Range | Kópavogur

Age: 75+

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 198 lb

Hair: Black with unusual natural blue streaks

Eyes: Aether blue

Gender: Male (he/him)

Orientation: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Adventurer

Job: SAM/ARC

Favorite Color: Blue

Smoking: Yes, occasionally. Prefers using a kiseru. Blends own tobacco, typically with vanilla. The smell of smoked tobacco can help dull his already potent Vieran sense of smell if he feels overwhelmed

Drinking: Yes. Loves Vieran aquavit and Mjød, but hasn't encountered either in years. Due to spending time in Hingashi enjoys sake and often carries a flask, which he has been known to use as a weapon

Diet: Omnivore

Hobbies: Whittling, archery, drinking and eating, traveling, fishing, mahjong, reading Vieran poetry, camping

Personality: Reserved, almost aloof. Intense. Helpful. Honorable. His noble heart and wanderlust belies a quiet guilt.

Distinguishing Features: Viera male. Lotta blue. Speaks Eorzean with a noticeable but pleasant accent akin to Finnish. Faded scars across his back and torso. Brand on the back of neck to identify him as a Garlean prisoner, usually covered by hair.

Löksen was a typical Wood-warder many years ago, until the day the Garlean empire attacked Dalmasca. During a periodic visit to his home village, hearing disturbing rumors that Garlemald had set eyes on Dalmasca. Having proven to be a great archer, the leaders urged him and a small group of other Wood-warders to make a trip to Dalmasca to convince the Viera living in the city to come home.

Ultimately, they failed. Having scarcely arrived in the foreign city, it was overrun by Garlean forces and the other men were killed in the ensuing battles and Löksen taken prisoner for several years. During his imprisonment at a Garlean labor camp, Löksen was a target of fascination and sometimes ridicule as a rare male of an already elusive people. His Wood-warder background prepared him for the harsh conditions of the camp and helped him survive. His time in the camp also introduced him to a variety of people and cultures that he never would have encountered otherwise. Imprisoned Sharlayan scholars taught him the Eorzean language, an old Hingan woman taught him the way of the samurai, a pair of Lalafell smugglers regaled him with stories of Ul'dah, among others.

Eventually, the camp was inadvertently liberated by Bahamut's rampage and during the chaos, Löksen fought and killed the Garlean officer who had served as a tormentor and overseer and took their gunblade as a trophy that he carries with him.

Now he wanders Etheirys partly as an adventurer inspired by the stories of his fellow inmates about the diverse lands they came from, but also to try to escape a sense of guilt for failing his people in Dalmasca and trying to seek solace.

RP Hooks

Hey there, mun here. I'm pretty flexible on how to start interactions. I'm completely open to discussing things or just go with the flow, provided you start of course.

I designed Loksen to essentially be a support character. He's not a WoL, he's not blessed with Echo. Honestly, my goal with him is to bring texture and enhance YOUR story. I suppose I'm more focused on being a character than a protag, I guess.

He's got his own little stories, but I'm here to make friends and try my hand at a creative outlet that I haven't done in several years.

Anyways, here's some possibilities!

Yojimbo: A wandering warrior of no small skill. Something need doing? Body? Guarded. Bounties? Hunted. Monsters? Slain. Need a courier because you can't deliver through regular services? He's got legs.

Animal-lover: He will pet the animals.

Tarzan Boy: You can take the Wood-warder out of the woods, but you can't take the warder out... of... the... Well, Loksen prefers to be out in nature when he gets the chance and he can be a bit wild. Maybe you encounter him out in the Shroud climbing amongst the trees and foraging for food.

"Where'd You Get That?!": As a samurai, Loksen carries an extremely unusual blade: the gunblade of a Primus Ordinarius of exquisite craftsmanship. Sure to draw the attention of any Garleans affiliated character. It has been modified to be suited for fighting in the manner of the legendary Hingashi warrior tradition.

About the RPer

Cishet • M • 30+ • North America Central Time Zone • Weird, but well-meaning

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swan-of-sunrise · 7 months ago

Text

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Forty-Six)

Summary: Din worries about (Y/N) and her inexplicable illness but when he returns to Nevarro from a hunt, he's met with a stunning surprise.

Pairing: Din Djarin X F!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! I promised you guys fluff in this chapter, so fluff you shall receive! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Six The Surprise (Previous Chapter)

From the moment they first met, Din Djarin knew that Captain (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was a strong, intelligent and courageous woman. She could out-fly seasoned pilots without breaking a sweat, draw her blaster quicker than any hot-shot gunslinger in the Outer Rim and strategize the most complex battle plans with nothing more than a few words of intel and her immense determination. In all the time he’d known her, she’d survived cuts, burns, sprains, breaks, concussions and blaster wounds and had come out on the other side of all of them tougher and stronger than before, and that wasn’t even accounting for the injuries she’d sustained as a smuggler for both herself and for the Rebel Alliance. Needless to say, Din knew that his wife could take care of herself on and off the battlefield, which was why her current bout of illness was worrying him so much.

At first, Din chalked (Y/N)’s cramping, headaches and fatigue up to anxiety; in between helping him capture bounties for the New Republic, the captain had been hard at work preparing her brand-new seamstress shop for its grand opening, setting up the shop’s inviting interior by hand and training a handful of assistants to work the various machines. She was thrilled to finally make her dream of practicing her mother’s trade a reality, but it was clear that she was also nervous about the new venture. It wasn’t until her near-constant nausea and vomiting began that Din started growing concerned for his wife’s dwindling health; he’d all but begged her to visit Nevarro’s health clinic for a check-up, his mounting worry even trumping his deep-rooted mistrust of droids.

Unfortunately, the captain’s scheduled appointment clashed with Din’s mission to apprehend an escaped Imperial informant and just as he prepared to inform Captain Teva that he was unable to accept the mission, (Y/N) insisted that he still go after the bounty and that she’d be fine going to the health clinic by herself. Din, less than pleased with the arrangement but unwilling to add to her stress by arguing, kissed his wife and son goodbye and left for Manpha; he used all of his well-honed bounty hunting skills to track down and capture the Imp in less than twenty-four hours, dropping him off on Adelphi for Captain Teva to legally apprehend on behalf of the New Republic and speeding through the Hydian Way back home to Nevarro.

“Welcome to Nevarro, independent trade anchor and Outer Rim Hyperlane port. Please state the purpose of your-”

“Jarsa, I know you know that I live here. You don’t have to ask me to state the purpose of my visit every kriffing time I return home.”

Din could practically hear the docking bay manager’s exasperated eye-roll before she stiffly replied, “And as I’ve already told you, Mando, if you have a complaint about our regulations then you’ll have to take it up with Magistrate Karga. State the purpose of your visit, please.”

After muttering a string of curses under his breath, Din heaved a sigh and replied through gritted teeth, “Returning to my place of residence. Happy?”

“You may now initiate landing sequences. Have a pleasant day.”

Din grumbled a biting insult in Mando’a as he expertly landed the N-1 Starfighter down onto their assigned spot and jumped down from the cockpit the moment the starship’s engines shut off; he strode through the crowded docking bay with purpose and once he reached the city gate, he spared a glance at the nearby designated speeder docking lot. After spotting their blue and silver land speeder docked at the end of the nearest aisle, he all but jogged through the city gate and hurried down the crowded streets, finally skidding to a stop in front of his wife’s half-finished seamstress shop.

Leafy branches of purple and white flowers framed the shop’s doorway and the large window displayed two empty dress forms, both waiting to be fitted in the seamstress’s finest creations, and above the window hung a sign written in Aurebesh: House of (Y/L/N). Through the window, Din could see a couple of shop assistants organizing a rack of fabric bolts and he felt himself begin to relax when (Y/N) walked into view; the captain was directing another assistant as he balanced on a ladder and installed a hologram projector above a vacant niche, her authoritative posture and the way she practically glowed with excitement warming Din’s heart and making him smile for the first time in days. She was dressed in one of her original designs, a lavender jumpsuit and flowing silver-colored embroidered cloak that synched at her waist, and her hair was pulled into a simple style inspired by her Naboo heritage; she looks a lot healthier than she did when I left, he thought with an inward sigh of relief, maybe she was right and it was only a simple stomach bug.

“Mando!” Din turned to see Greef Karga striding down the cobblestone street towards him while his protocol droid teetered close behind. “Back already? That might’ve been your fastest hunt yet!”

“(Y/N) hasn’t been feeling very well lately, so I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be alone with Grogu and the shop for too long,” Din explained before nodding towards the shop in question. “Have things been quiet around here today?”

The High Magistrate chuckled. “It has, but I did receive a few reports of your little guy getting up to some mischief by chasing Kowakian monkey-lizards in the main courtyard; other than causing a little ruckus and delaying the cantina’s food shipment by a few minutes, there was absolutely no harm done.” Din bit back a wince at that; since (Y/N) had fallen ill, Grogu’s behavior had been more unpredictable than usual and while they believed that he was only concerned for her health, his antics weren’t exactly alleviating any of their stress. “However, I was hoping that you and your lovely wife could explain to him that that sort of behavior’s really meant more for the city’s playground and not its busy streets.”

“Of course.”

“Good! Now, I have some business to attend to down at the docking bay, something about a disgruntled dock manager…” In that moment, Din was grateful that his expression was hidden away behind his beskar helmet. “Be sure to give Captain (Y/L/N) my best!”

“I will,” Din watched the High Magistrate and his protocol droid stroll down the street and when they turned the corner, he heaved a weary sigh and turned to enter House of (Y/L/N). A pleasant jingle sounded throughout the shop the moment he stepped through the threshold, causing everyone to look away from their tasks and towards the doorway; Din’s eyes were trained on the captain as her features were brightened by a happy smile and he was only barely listening as she dismissed her apprentices for the day, too distracted by her shining (Y/E/C) eyes and the way her jumpsuit hugged her curves beneath the sheer silver cloak.

“I think we’ll go ahead and call it a day. Thank you for all your hard work today, and have a wonderful rest of your afternoon!” (Y/N) called after the apprentices, locking the front door and rolling the privacy shade down over the window before launching herself into Din’s waiting arms with an elated laugh. “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow! How’d the hunt go? Any injuries? How’s Captain Teva these days?”

Din chuckled, gently set her back down on her feet but holding her close to him. “Puhoi daab, ner cyar’ika alor’ad. The hunt was successful, Teva sends his regards and I’m not injured, but I’m more concerned about you right now.” He pulled back and removed his helmet, setting it down on one of the workbenches before holding his wife at arm’s length and examining her for any lingering signs of illness. “How did your appointment go?”

“The med droids said that it was just my body responding to stress; they suggested I eat some ginger root, drink plenty of fluids and get some rest.” Din breathed a sigh of relief but when he opened his mouth to interject, (Y/N)’s finger moved to rest on his lips to stop him and she gave him a knowing smile. “I bought some ginger root at the market after my appointment, I already drank two bottles of water today and we can go home, just as soon as I put some things away and lock up.” She lightly tapped the end of his nose with her finger as her eyes twinkled with affection. “Ner atin beroya.”

Shaking his head in playful exasperation, Din leaned down and gave his wife another kiss before letting her go and watching her fasten cloth coverings over displays filled with bolts of material; he took a seat at the nearby workbench, knowing better than to get in the captain’s way while she worked in her element, and he glanced inquiringly around the shop. “Where’s Grogu?”

“Asleep in the backroom; that little womp rat spent the morning chasing Kowakian monkey-lizards in the courtyard, and then he scarfed down an entire pack of roasted Kajaka Root before passing out!” When Din snorted in amusement, (Y/N) turned around with her hands on her hips and shot him a pointed look, all while fighting back a smile of her own. “Din, we can’t just let our son terrorize the citizens and local wildlife of Nevarro; we have to try and discipline him.”

He tugged his leather gloves off and nodded. “You’re right, alor’ad. I promised Karga that we’d talk to him and try to reign him in a little, but I don’t know how effective we’ll be; Grogu’s older than the both of us, after all.”

While (Y/N) breezed past with a tray filled with spools of colorful thread, she briefly paused to press a chaste kiss onto his temple and crossed the shop to place it in an open cabinet. “If we put our minds to it, we can do pretty much anything…even if it means finding a way to convince a fifty-plus year old Force-wielding child to behave himself. It’ll be a slice of uj’alayi, you’ll see!” She stacked another two trays of beads and embellishments in the cabinet before calling out, “R5, could you come here and lock these cabinets for me, please?” The astromech droid rolled out from the backroom and stopped in front of the data port near the captain, using his scomp link to close and lock all of the shop’s cabinets. “Thank you, R5.”

The astromech released a string of beeps and whistles as he rolled away, and Din watched the droid leave with the barest of smiles on his face. “You know, I think R5 likes it here.”

“A seasoned Rebellion veteran like R5 deserves a peaceful retirement,” (Y/N) replied, a mischievous gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, a mostly peaceful retirement; he does have to put up with a grumpy Mandalorian on a regular basis.”

“Mir’sheb. You really must be feeling better if you’ve got the energy to tease your poor husband.” Din chuckled as his wife rolled her eyes and moved an empty dress form into the closest corner.

Glancing around the workbench he was leaning on, he picked up the captain’s well-worn holo-pad and swiped through her newest design sketches, marveling at the artistry and imagination present in every little detail. “Oh, those are some new designs for an upcoming line of maternity wear.”

Din swiped away from a panel of blouses and trousers to see a panel filled with day dresses and nightgowns, and he smiled up at (Y/N) when she moved to lean against the workbench. “They’re pretty, alor’ad. Some of your best work yet.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” When he turned his attention back to the holo-pad, the captain’s fingers gently carded through his messy curls as she continued. “I still need to tweak the silhouettes and figure out which fabrics to use for certain designs. Luckily, I’ll be able to test them all out on myself before I decide which ones to produce for the shop.”

“Yeah, that’s-wait, what?” Din’s head snapped up and everything around him seemed to fade away as his widened eyes met (Y/N)’s; he was barely aware of setting the holo-pad down and turning in his seat to face her, his mind only able to focus on the soft hands cradling his face and the tears beginning to well up in his wife’s eyes. “…When you said you’d be able to test them out on yourself, did you mean…?”

(Y/N) nodded and smiled widely through her tears of joy. “I’m pregnant, Din. We’re gonna have another child.”

An overjoyed grin spread across Din’s face and with a laugh of delighted disbelief, he jumped to his feet and enveloped (Y/N) in a tight embrace that she was quick to return; the captain giggled when he suddenly lifted her off her feet and spun her in a circle, her sheer silver cloak fluttering around their legs and twinkling under the shop’s bright lights. When he set her down on her feet, she took him by surprise when her lips quickly met his in a passionate kiss; one of his hands held her cheek while the other slid down to rest on the curve of her waist, and he couldn’t contain his blissful moan as her fingers tangled into his hair. It was when Din noticed the captain’s knees weakening that he pulled away, chuckling at her noise of protest but making it up to her by pressing feather-light kisses along her cheekbone and forehead. “So that’s why you’ve been so nauseated and exhausted lately, isn’t it? How far along are you?”

“Five weeks,” (Y/N) replied, still a little breathless as she allowed him to brush and kiss her errant tears away. “The med droids prescribed me some prenatal vitamins and after taking them with a cup of ginger root tea, I’m feeling much, much better.” She kissed his palm and gazed up at him, her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkling with elation. “Are you happy, sweetheart?”

Din nodded vigorously, giving his wife a tender smile as his thumb delicately caressed the soft skin of her cheek. “I-I’m…Alor’ad, this is one of the happiest moments of my whole life. Ni kyr’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika riduur.”

“Ni kyr’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika riduur,” (Y/N) whispered back before standing on her tiptoes and capturing his lips in another passion-filled kiss. After several blissful moments, she pulled away and laughed a little to herself when Din chased after her lips. “And that’s just the sort of behavior that got us in this situation in the first place…”

“You said that you’re five weeks along? You know, I seem to recall an incident five weeks ago when you pulled me into the backroom and-” His wife hastily silenced him with a kiss and he chuckled against her lips as he readily kissed her back, leaning back after several heartbeats and moving his arms to hold her around the waist. “Are you happy, ner cyar’ika alor’ad?”

“I couldn’t be any happier, sweetheart.” Reaching down, (Y/N) took one of Din’s hands and moved it to rest on her abdomen; it was unchanged, free of any indication that the manifestation of their loving bond was growing within, but just knowing that their baby was there made Din’s heart burst with pure and unadulterated joy. “You should know that I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Grogu’s known about his little brother or sister for quite some time.”

For a split-second, Din’s brows furrowed in confusion but realization quickly dawned on him. “Through the Force…wait, is that even how the Force works?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I have no idea, but it explains why he’s been so excitable lately; the poor little guy’s been trying to tell us about the baby for weeks and we had no way of understanding him.”

As if he’d been secretly listening in on their conversation, Grogu’s floating pram drifted into the shop from the backroom and with a coo of happiness, he leapt into the air and landed in Din’s waiting arm; the child nuzzled his wrinkled green face against Din’s cowl before clinging onto (Y/N)’s jumpsuit, babbling excitedly as he stretched his clawed hand down towards her abdomen. “You excited to have a little brother or sister, kid?” Din and (Y/N) both burst into laughter at their son’s withering side-eye, and Din gave one of the child’s large ears an affectionate rub. “Yeah, I know, that’s a pretty dumb question to ask you. But now that we finally know what you’ve been trying to tell us, you’ve gotta behave yourself in public, okay? No more chasing the city’s vermin in the courtyard and stressing your mother out.”

Grogu responded by blowing a loud raspberry and somersaulting back into his pram, only to pull a small package of blue cookies out from under his blankets and begin munching on one. “Well, no one can say that you didn’t try,” The captain quipped, fighting a losing battle against the grin that was spreading across her face as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “After all, everyone knows that a bounty hunter’s negotiation skills are inferior to those of a smuggler.”

“Is that so?” Din smirked at their familiar rapport, wrapping his arms back around her waist and straightening his posture so that (Y/N)’s weight rested against his and their gazes were nearly leveled. “Any chance I can change your mind with a bubble bath and a package of Chandrilan chocolate?”

(Y/N) arched a playful brow at that. “You really think that bribery will work on me?”

“Of course, everyone knows that smugglers can’t resist a good bribe.”

“Mir’sheb!” Din chuckled at his wife’s exaggerated gasp of outrage, which was soon followed by a grin. “You’re lucky that I love you so much, Din Djarin.”

“Yes, I am. Right now, I’d wager that I’m the luckiest man in the galaxy,” He answered honestly and her eyes shone with tenderness as she held his face between her hands. “You and Grogu and this baby are my life, ner cyar’ika alor’ad, and I swear on all the stars I’ll never leave your side.” Tears filled the captain’s eyes and after pressing a sweet kiss onto his lips, she nuzzled her face into his cowl and tightened her hold around him; smiling to himself, Din briefly closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head, savoring the feeling of holding his wife close and the sounds of his son’s content coos from his pram. “Ready to go home now?”

(Y/N) pulled away and her smile nearly took Din’s breath away. “I’d love nothing more.”

After slipping his helmet and gloves back on, Din followed (Y/N), Grogu and R5-D4 out of the shop and waited for (Y/N) to finish locking up before offering her his hand, which she readily accepted. As he walked hand-in-hand with his wife and watched in amusement as their dutiful astromech kept blocking Grogu’s attempts to steer his pram towards the city’s many food stalls, he sent a silent word of thanks to the Maker that after a lifetime of pain and loneliness, the universe finally saw fit to bless him with an aliit of his own and the promise of their clan’s suum ca’nara on the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mando’a Translations:

Puhoi daab, ner cyar’ika alor’ad-Slow down, my darling captain Ner atin beroya-My stubborn bounty hunter Alor’ad-Captain Uj’alayi-Uj Cake Mir-sheb-Smart-ass Ni kyr’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika riduur-I love you, my darling wife/husband Aliit-Family Suum ca’nara-The state of blissful rest and peace

A/N: I told you there'd be fluff! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created two Spotify playlists, one filled with of all my favorite music from the world of Star Wars and the other compiled with all the songs I listen to for inspiration while writing this series, so if you’re interested in checking them out the links are down below!

Star Wars Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KuSKJhVOPPvxdJ9YHeo4M?si=2977ff31bf0c4bdd

Din Djarin/TCoB Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5HIv4pIIgtzRW3Nyv5x7ry?si=15e457550bd94966

Chapter Forty-Seven Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95 @welcometothepedroverse @sarahjkl82-blog @elinedjarin @ccomandercody @crowleysqueenofhell @goldielocks2004 @wondergal2001 @groovyqueer @impala1967666 @fluffy-canada-pancakes @icee228 @siimiasoi @uncle-eggy @amyg1509

#taking care of business #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #grogu #the child #baby yoda #greef karga #nevarro #naboo #star wars

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eriexplosion · 1 year ago

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Bad Batch Season 3 Episode Title Predictions

Okay, so I've poked at the trailer enough that I think I can do a series of predictions that is likely to topple like a house of cards immediately but hey what else is this month of waiting for? Here is my very rough outline of what I'd love to see in season 3 based on nothing but the trailer and Vibes.

Episodes 1-3, "Confined" "Paths Unknown" & "Shadows of Tantiss"

These three seem pretty obvious, we'll likely catch up with Omega and Crosshair first in Confined, which is likely where we'll see these clips from the trailer:

As well as probably the (SAD AS HELL) discussion between Omega and Crosshair shown in the Celebrations trailer. Mix their scenes in with catching up on Hunter, Wrecker, & Echo - I'm actually really attached to the idea that Echo is searching for Tech, having not given up on him. This also parallels to Omega talking to Crosshair, about not giving up - I think that's going to be a theme this season. Can't run away, can't give up. But if Echo is searching for Tech then it might just be Hunter and Wrecker right now, likely giving us a few of their action shots together.

I do think that Omega and Crosshair's escape attempt is going to be relatively early in the season - either at the end of Paths Unknown or the very beginning of Shadows of Tantiss. I went into it more in this post and paired up a few shots of Tantiss' defense systems as well as the crashed ship with Omega and Crosshair. From the look of it, they likely don't make it off planet due to the damage and crash land and have to try to escape and, in the process, are split up and lose each other. Possibly they are able to contact the batch, who are on the way to try and get them when things go wrong.

My guess is that by the end of this three parter we'll have Crosshair reunited with the batch, or about to be, Omega on her own trying to evade Hemlock and his men, and somewhere along the line our reveal that Tech is alive because at this point I can't see them not aiming at a comeback with how hard they're trying to keep his 'death' on all our minds.

Episode 4 - "A Different Approach"

If Crosshair didn't meet up with the batch by the end of the previous three, then probably he does it here, I just get the sense that he's been gone for so long that we need to get him zipped up with the others early in the season, especially since we'll have several reunions to get to by the end of the series.

With Omega still separated but hopefully out of Tantiss at this point, they have to adjust how they plan to find her. She's now a moving target, because she's on the run still and likely unable to contact them. Echo will meet back up with them here, I think, maybe with info on wherever Tech is (my prediction: still on Eriadu in some fashion, either held with the good old pirates & smugglers or possibly by Tarkin himself, but I'm hoping the pirates & smugglers) and Rex will likely come too. I do think that they have their exchange about losing brothers here but rather than being about Tech, as the trailer implied, it's about Nemec or Fireball (or both) who possibly died getting the information. I just feel like those two are not long for this world, unfortunately.

We'll also follow Omega here, now completely alone for the first time. Previously she always had the batch, then she at the very least had Crosshair. Now she has neither and she has to try and figure out what to do. The title does dual work here, both the batch and Omega have to find a different approach in order to try and reunite.

Episode 5 - "The Return"

I feel like this is going to be a mostly Omega centered episode. Where is she returning to is the question, I still think that this refers to a place rather than a person returning. Pet theory - Cid put out several bounties on her to try and get her tracked down and rescued and she gets a blast from the past when she's grabbed by Bane a second time and taken to Ord Mantell. She of course is Not trusting Grandma Crimes anymore, but Cid is trying to redeem herself and fix what she broke.

While this is going on, the parallel return is the batch getting to Eriadu in order to set up the two parter.

Episode 6 & 7 - "Infiltration" & "Extraction

With the batch set up, they're ready to go get Tech from wherever he's been stuck! These two are likely more action oriented, with a little bit of Difficulty between Crosshair and the others after so long apart, but they find their footing well enough and begin to work together in order to get Tech out. They're 5/6ths of the way to a full family, they just have one more to get a hold of!

Episode 8 - "Bad Territory"

Getting fully into Pet Theories here but I think that this shot from the trailer

is Batuu - going mostly from the distinctive looking spires here. Another possible Omega focused episode, Cid is taking her to Batuu to cash in a favor. Not one owed to her - one owed to Omega, by Roland Durand. (LISTEN HERE'S HOW INFESTED BEING RELEVANT CAN STILL WIN-)

Anyway the focus here is on Roland trying to link her up with the batch. This might be a good place for Fennec to make her reappearance too, working from the Batch's end.

Episode 9 - "The Harbinger"

I'll be real I have no idea, my ideas started getting thin right about here, but I will say the title sounds like a great place for Ventress and the Teth monastery to make their appearance (I'm assuming they'll be together) but how they would actually play into the plot if they appeared here is unclear. I do think that we'll finally get everyone together though or at least be on our way to it, in order to bring us to our next two parter.

Episode 10 & 11 - "Identity Crisis" & "Point of No Return

The team is back together and all is not well, because everyone is still suffering a severe case of the Issues. No one can agree on what to do, where to go, with the identity crisis being the batch unsure of how to move forward together. Omega of course gets immediately stressed out by it all because it seems like she finally got her family back together only for it to immediately start falling apart. Wrecker is probably right there with her. Tech & Phee have their moment together, Echo still thinks they need to fight and I think that Crosshair is going to tend towards that too. Hunter at least absolutely wants to retire to Pabu right now immediately, but as the show has been trying to demonstrate, avoiding things won't be an option because-

Point of No Return is the dreaded invasion of Pabu. The Empire followed them here in order to retrieve Omega, and they barely escape, evacuating as many of Pabu's residents as possible. Shep doesn't make it out and is imprisoned.

Episode 12 - "Juggernaut"

This is where like a full quarter of the trailer comes from because they can show us several exterior tank shots without showing who's in the damn tank. I think the point of this one will be to get Shep back, since it does look like him that Wrecker is carrying. We know that Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker at a minimum will go in, but I think likely Omega and Echo are there (likely together thus being why we don't see much of Echo in the trailer) and Tech might be with Phee.

Episodes 13-15 - "Into the Breach" "Flash Strike" "The Calvary Has Arrived"

Grouping these three together because I have no idea what happens here except that we're likely going to be mounting an attack to take down Hemlock and, hopefully, free all of the clones that he's been experimenting on. The time for hiding is over, they have to take a stand against the Empire. Not because they're soldiers, but because they're a family, and the other clones are still their brothers.

For the first time, we don't leave our own behind can get followed and they're going in.

The Calvary Has Arrived is not a title I can see going dark to be quite honest, it's more of a full circle moment, it's the Batch becoming who they're meant to be, a family that fights for each other and for the other clones, I will cling to the idea of a happy ending (hopefully one that sets up a continuation that might focus more on Rex and his clone rebellion) until it's ripped from my cold dead hands thank you very much. I think that after the family has spent two seasons absolutely torn apart, becoming increasingly fractured, the best ending is one that has them finally united, all six of them, for the first time.

Like Omega said. They're more than soldiers. They're a family.

#the bad batch #the bad batch speculation #VERY SPECULATIVE

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skellymom · 7 months ago

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"Vagabonds" Chapter 15 "Get In Losers"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

To read Chapter 14 "In Confidence":

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/757579231979077632/vagabonds-chapter-14-in-confidence?source=share

Word Count: 2.7K (sorry, tried to keep it under 1.5, but failed this time)

Background: A message from Cid which gives Hunter has some character growth. The crew of the Marauder and Beldame sit down for a meal and a fun card game. Basically some fun fluff in-between all the action and angst...but the memory of Crosshair won't be forgotten! And...Tech has an important message for Hunter!!!

*The card game CUTTHROAT is a combination of Gin Rummy, Poker, and Uno with differing/ever changing House Rules depending on where you play it. It's meant to be a high stakes betting game that is played ruthlessly and obnoxiously. Cheating is not against the rules, either. A favorite of Arc Troopers, Bounty Hunters, and card game casinos but the Nomaadi have their own version, usually less fatal (people have been shot dead during hands played by Bounty Hunters-think old Western card games) and a LOT more fun!

*Hammer, Datapad, Cutting Torch! is TBB equivalent to Rock/Paper/Scissors...as paper and scissors don't seem to exist in this universe...

Warning: Star Wars Canon Violence, earth swears, bodily functions (boys being silly), hints at horniness/sexual innuendo/humor.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Recap:

Sil put his hands up to his face in shame. Echo could barely make out the next muffled statement from Sil.

“I’m happy that man is dead.”

Wrecker, who had been sitting nearby playing on a datapad, and unable to NOT hear what was being said turned to Echo with an extremely horrified expression.

Echo met Wrecker’s expression with a mournful one.

Sil broke into loud sobs and let the tears overtake him.

“Does he need a hug?” Wrecker whispered.

Echo shook his head. “I don't’ think he wants ANYONE to touch him right now.”

Wrecker nodded. “I’ll...uh...go make a fresh pot of caf. Ok?”

“Good idea.” Echo replied. “Going to be a very long night.”

"Get In Losers"

Awhile later Mad and Hunter Emerged from the back of the Marauder and made their way to the front of the ship.

An incoming communication alerted Tech, and he sprung up from the game of Balaans he was playing to sit in the cockpit.

“Hunter, Cid is attempting to contact us.”

Hunter stopped with a mistrustful look on his face.

“Should we even answer it?” Echo asked. “Empire has probably taken over Ord Mantell.”

Everyone eyed each other, waiting for Hunter to make the final decision.

“Tech, if we answer the comm how long before our coordinates can be traced?”

“Approximately 60 seconds. Anything over that we have a high probability of detection.”

“Hunky, you DON’T have to do this!” Mad was worrisome.

“I do. Let the comm through.” Hunter was determined.

A blue hologram projection of Cid appeared in the middle of the Marauder’s cockpit. She looked PISSED.

“BANDANA!” Cid shrieked. “Where have you boys been! Need you to do another job for me.”

“We’re DONE working for you, Cid.” Hunter seethed.

Then Cid noticed Mad standing with the Batch. “I should’ve known.” Cid crossed her arms. “The love birds flew the coop... after ALL I've done for you!”

Cid’s eyes betrayed her. For a second, they flitted offscreen...as if SOMEONE was urging her to keep them talking to give up their position.

“That’s a load of Bantha Shit, Cid!” Hunter was about to give the signal to end the comm.

But Cid wasn’t done. She had ONE more petty thing to say:

“And WHERE is my expensive settee from The Oasis that’s been missin’ since you two were up there???”

Hunter sneered “WE FUCKED IT TO DEATH AND BURNED WHAT WAS LEFT!” Then signaled to Tech to immediately cut the comm.

The LAST expression ANYONE saw from Cid was a look of wide-eyed disgust. Then the hologram disappeared.

“Transmission terminated before detection.” Tech remarked.

Everyone else was silent for a few seconds...then erupted into laughter.

Hunter leaned down to face Omega. “Sorry you had to hear that, Kid. Was uncouth of me.”

“I’m not sure EXACTLY what you said...but I think you got the desired reaction.” She grinned.

“OHHHH! I NEED DETAILS!!!” Wrecker slapped Hunter on the shoulder.

Hunter blushed deeply and glanced up at Mad.

She had that devil-may care smirk on her face.

Echo chimed in at Hunter “No wonder the Empire found us!” Then turned to everyone else on the ship. “They sent a HUMPING BEACON!”

Hunter covered Omega’s ears.

It didn’t matter as Tech was recording EVERYTHING. She’d see it sooner or later.

Everyone was slap happy having escaped a terrifying situation...and for some crew members possible death...

“Coming and going” Love Force signed with a silly face.

“Breaking and entering” Sil added with a deadpan expression.

“Get in loser...we’re busting stuff up!” Omega chirped, staring RIGHT at Hunter with a snarky smile.

Wrecker slid off his chair and laid on the floor in a laughing fit. Tiggy jumped up and down on him in glee.

Hunter sighed...” Trying to keep her innocent here!”

“Good lucky, Hunky. Ain’t gonna happen with this bunch.” Mad ran her fingers through his hair.

After the laughter EVENTUALLY died down, Mad made an announcement. “Whoever’s hungry come downstairs to the ‘Dame’s galley. I’ll whip up something good.”

She made her way to the bottom entrance of the Marauder.

Hunter took his hands off Omega’s ears “I had such high hopes for you...” shaking his head at her, then winked.

Omega beamed back, then hugged him. He squeezed her back, then got up. “I’d say keep out of trouble...but that isn’t gong happen, is it?” Glancing at her, Sil, and Love.

Everyone nodded innocently “No”.

“Well...can’t say I blame you. Remember four brothers who were troublesome kids, too.” Hunter glanced around the cockpit, then followed Mad.

A feeling of melancholy hit Hunter in the heart...while he meant himself, Wrecker, Tech, and for right now Echo...even though Echo joined their squad later in adulthood...

...he couldn’t help but think of Crosshair. His most favorite troublesome brother. They got into so many fun shenanigans while on Kamino thanks to Crosshair. He was SUCH an instigator...

Where was he? What was he doing right now?

Mad noticed the faraway look on Hunter’s face.

“What’s bothering you, Hunky?” She stroked his jaw gently.

Hunter popped back into the present. “Just a memory...nothing...”

Mad stared empathetically into Hunter’s eyes. She could relate. So many memories...so many FEELINGS.

“Proud of you telling Cid off like that.”

Hunter beamed. “Felt REALLY good.” Then feigned a badass expression. “Fuck her.”

“OH MY! Angry Hunter is sooo HOT!!!”

He chuckled. “Alright...let me climb the ladder FIRST. Then I can help you down.”

“Whatever you say HOT STUFF.”

The ‘Dames small galley pantry was almost empty.

Everyone had filed down from the Marauder into the Beldame, looking for a meal.

Wrecker apologized “I ate a LOT of what was in there...sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Wrecker.” Mad poked him in the belly playfully. “A ship this size can store more than that dinky pantry. Love, show them what I mean.”

Love floated towards the back of the ship, past the cabin bunks and Mad’s stateroom. From what the Batchers could see were only engine compartments and miscellaneous mechanical panels.

They bumped several of the panels with their fist and an entry door slid open. Lights flickered then snapped on, illuminating a hidden larder of food, weapons, and other miscellaneous items. Mad stepped in followed by The Batchers.

“Extraordinary!” Tech exclaimed.

Tiggy ran past him and yanked a bag of grain meal off the shelf, shaking it furiously.

“Drop it!” He ordered. She immediately dropped the bag, with a hole now in it, white grain powder coating her snout.

“You are SO dumb.” Echo looked down at Tiggy.

“She is technically a very normal puppy. Full of energy and mischief.” Tech corrected Echo.

“My bad. You are SO normally troublesome.” Echo teased.

“Wow.” Hunter glanced around. “Must sustain you for months.”

“Depends on how many people are on board. Believe it or not, the amount of people staying on this ship currently is NOTHING close to how many people we’ve crammed in these spaces to smuggle them out of danger. And fed them for weeks.” Mad explained.

Sil added from the doorway. “There’s another secret pantry flanking the other side of the ship, too. But that one isn’t as full. It’s mostly for hiding people. Occasionally animals, too”

Then there is the top crawlspace above us. Love signed. Another hiding space for people and supplies up there.

Wrecker, Echo, Tech, and Hunter stared back at Mad incredulously.

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit. This ship belonged to my Uncle Taavi before I owned it. He designed and built the Dread Beldame himself. He was quite the smuggler back in the day. Now, he just builds stuff for fun and money. The ‘Dame was a gift from him when I had Love. We needed a home...and he gave us one.”

Mad smiled. Then wiped a tear just forming from her eye.

Mom? Love signed. Are you ok?

“Yeah. Just hit me right in the feels. I’m not sad. Just miss that scruffy nerfhearder. Anyhow, l need help restocking the galley pantry and fridge. Then we’ll throw together some grub.”

You didn’t have to tell everyone twice. They set to work IMMEDIATELY.

Dinner consisted of a hearty stew and fresh baked bread, made from ripped grain meal package. Mad had help cooking and baking from Hunter and Sil. Wrecker put together dessert: nondairy whipped topping and cookies on the verge of going stale. Omega got together plates, napkins, and cups. Love found something to drink for the kids. And something to drink for the rest of the adults who could imbibe in alcohol.

Echo brought down the rest of the caf from the Marauder. Then poured a mug for Mad.

Tech, while setting the table, henpecked Echo for pouring such a large mug. “She shouldn’t ingest too much caffeine.”

“Oh, I’m sure those Jedi eggs will be just fine!” Echo rolled his eyes.

He handed Mad the mug. “Thank you Echo.”

Echo omitted to Tech how much sugar and creamer he loaded into the mug. Tech would have a cow.

Mad threw back a mouthful of caf while stirring the stew. Then grimaced and spit the caf back into the mug. “This taste...gah...HORRIBLE! Like...soil!!!”

“Oh, NOW I'm OFFENDED!” Echo scowled. “Fixed that cafe EXACTLY like how I drink it.” Echo addressed the caf drinkers in the room “Was your caf horrible.”

“No.” Wrecker, Tech, and Sil answered in unison.

“Let me have that.” Hunter took a sip from Mad’s mug. “If you mean horrible by ALL the sugar and creamer Echo put in it. I agree. But the coffee portion is just fine...”

“Ohh...Mr. It’s Not Coffee Unless It’s Black...” Echo teased.

“Right. It’s not coffee. Just sugar sludge.” Hunter teased back.

“Time to eat, children!” Mad turned the burner off on the galley stove. Then handed the mug to Wrecker, who downed it like a liquor shot. “I appreciate the thought, Echo. My tastebuds are just crap tonight.”

Everyone dug into the food like they had never eaten before.

The meal was decimated. Everyone sat around in a food coma. Tiggy passed out under the table. The kids had other ideas.

“We need to break out the cards!” Sil suggested.

Love nodded and floated away towards a storage locker.

“Music too!” Omega blurted out.

Tech perked up “I have a collection of antique recordings...”

“NO!” Echo cut him off. “NO MORE of your antique folk songs. Maker, you had them on REPEAT since Ord Mantell!!!”

“WHY? They are entertaining AND educational.” Tech attempted to explain.

“Can we PLEASE have a break from something...educational?” Hunter threw in his opinion.

“How EXACTLY do you suggest we decide on WHO picks the music selection.” Tech groused openly.

“Hammer, Datapad, Cutting Torch!” Wrecker blurted out. “READY!”

“I’m NOT getting involved.” Hunter leaned back to watch the shenanigans.

“One, two...” Wrecker started

“Wait! This is completely arbitrary. Echo...YOU CANNOT USE YOUR SCOMP...it is UNFAIR!” Tech tried to stop the process but couldn’t catch himself from mimicking his brothers and sister’s hand signals.

“THREE!!!” Wrecker bellowed.

Three hands and a scomp slammed onto the table.

“I WIN!!!” Omega yelled with glee.

“Ugh...WHY are we resorting to childish games of chance to make decisions???” Tech rolled his eyes. “Because...” Echo bumped him “It’s fun!”

“Hand it over!” Omega wriggled her fingers at Tech’s datapad.

Tech sighed and handed it over. Omega scrolled through playlists to find “her music.”

Mad leaned into Hunter and laughed “You guys REALLY are siblings...”

“Heh, this beats the OTHER childish game we used to do...were MUCH younger then...” Hunter trailed off.

“Should I ask?” Mad was curious.

“I DEFINITELY wanna know!” Sil leaned in.

Tech perked up “As young cadets we would urinate off the platforms of Kamino into the ocean to see who could eliminate the furthest.”

EVERYONE around the table gave Tech a dead eyed stare...except for Hunter who chuckled, and Wrecker...

“I could pee the FURTHEST!” He preened proudly. “Crosshair was the MOST ACCURATE if we threw something in the water for target practice!!!”

Good ole’ Crossy, Hunter thought. He was SUCH a HOOLIGAN!

Omega’s hand shot up in embarrassment. “I. Uh...wasn't involved AT ALL!”

Echo eyed his brothers strangely “Yeah, glad I missed THAT one, too.”

“As I recall Hunter and I were neck and neck as far as distance.” Tech reminisced.

“Uh...huh...that’s NOT weird...” Echo quirked an eyebrow at them.

“Was all fun and games until we did it on a windy day. Really spoiled it.” Hunter joked.

Sil couldn’t hold back “It TOOK a windy day for you guys to figure that out???” Then burst out laughing.

Mad snorted with glee.

Love returned to the table and tossed two decks of cards onto the table. Tonight we play CUTTHROAT!

“OH! Haven’t played this since my Academy days!” Echo excitedly blurted.

“What’s Cutthroat?” Wrecker asked. Tech leaned in to listen curiously.

Mad interrupted “If you play this on the Beldame, there are Special House Rules. We are a betting House, and we add new rules ALL the time. Keeps the game fresh and everyone ready to play like a...”

“CUTTHROAT!!!” Sil yelled with a crazed expression.

Love pumped their fist in the air.

“OHHH YEAHHH!!!” Wrecker shouted excitedly. They had gotten HIS attention.

“Sounds Intriguing. I’m in.” Tech excitedly pulled out the cards from the box and started to shuffle them.

Omega put on her tunes and turned up the datapad’s volume to max, which wasn’t much with all the talking and noise.

“Omega, hand that to me. I’ll plug it into our speaker system.” Mad offered.

The brothers stopped stunned.

Mad smirked. “Hey, we LOVE our music...and Uncle Taavi installed them all over the ship BEFORE he gave it to us.”

She got up, set the datapad into a docking station and jacked into the Beldame’s sound system. Upbeat pop/club music emanated through the ship with a crisp bass beat.

“NICE!” Wrecker and Echo jammed to the beat.

Tech bobbed his head and tapped his feet while taking instructions from Sil on dealing cards. Omega and Love were teamed up with love hovering behind to oversee and instruct her on gameplay.

“You guys in?” Sil asked Hunter and Mad.

Hunter nodded “I’ll pass this time. Think someone is getting sleepy.”

“I’m not sleepy...just...don’t want to do anything that requires TOO much thinking.” Mad mumbled.

“Suit yourself. Gonna be a WILD game. These guys are CRAZY!!!” Sil seemed genuinely excited and happy.

Hunter and Mad leaned back cuddling in their seats watching the game.

And, true to Sil’s observation, the game was indeed WILD! It started out as each person having their own hand, then as players had to fold, those “out” chose sides. As it progressed, snacks and drinks broke out. Kid friendly drinks for Sil, Love, and Omega. Spotchka for everyone else, which worked to their advantage, as the kids seemed to be whipping the adult's butts.

Tiggy had awakened, wandering around the table begging...

...she was also an effective card mule. Both sides covertly tucked cards into her collar as she crawled under the table to deliver them...and was rewarded with a treat.

The Betting Pile was indeed growing larger as time went on: Credits, a bar of expensive Coruscant chocolate, death sticks that SOMEONE stole from the secret compartments (nobody on the Beldame smoked, but Mad always kept a couple cartons for trading purposes when they ran out of credits), Lula, Echo’s scomp, a full roll of toilet paper, and other odd assorted objects that made NO sense whatsoever. Wrecker helped Echo with his cards since...he was down one working appendage. Tech tried to use his vast intellect and strategy, but The House Rules befuddled his Spotchka infused brain.

“Hunky...” Mad whispered.

“Hmm?” He hummed into her hair.

“I’m gonna go lay down.”

“You ok?” He seemed concerned. She seemed more tired than usual...and his senses picked up a slight difference in her body chemistry the last 48 standard hours during the time she had passed out.

“Yeah. Not really tired...just...I don’t know.”

“You want me to come with you?”

Mad smiled. “I SHOULD say stay and watch the game or play a hand.” Then she stopped, concentrating...

“Hey...” Hunter noticed an uptick in her heartbeat, then caught a faint whiff of... “Oh...hey...”

Mad smiled recognizing Hunter’s expression “Yeah...horny...kinda out of nowhere.”

“Well, let’s get you to bed.”

Hunter helped Mad stand. “Lads, kiddos, we’re off to bed.”

“Goodnight, all” Mad nodded.

Everyone bade them goodnight as Hunter and Mad made their way towards Mad’s stateroom. The whoops and hollers amid dance music intensified as Echo gained some ground, but Omega blocked him with a hidden card.

“Hunter?” Tech had left the table and followed them.

Hunter turned to see his brother’s expression slightly uncomfortable, yet soft. He could smell the booze on Tech’s breath.

“Eh, what is it, Tech?”

“I... uh...need to speak to you...privately.” Tech shifted pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose.

Hunter turned back to Mad “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll be in shortly.”

Mad nodded. “Goodnight, Tech.” Then wandered into her cabin, closing the door.

“Goodnight Maadienne.” Tech flustered, realizing he had called Mad by her “proper name” NOT the one she preferred.

When he had Hunter’s full attention, Tech reached down under an instrument panel, pulling out a small metal box and handed it to him.

Hunter, awaiting an explanation and getting none, opened it...

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Chapter 16 (SMUT!)

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/758770205138845696/vagabonds-chapter-16-trip-like-i-do?source=share

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

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zeb-z · 1 year ago

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that’s it fuck it fuck this fuck all I’m working on another Star Wars au and nobody can stop me

Etoiles is a resistance fighter before they had a name, before they were the Rebels, pre-Andor levels where there’s large cells but no major force and just communication. As much as he fucking hates and I mean just hates the politics between the different cells, he’s usually the one who deals with negotiations between them

Before then, he’s a bounty hunter. Jango Fett levels of lethal, but I’m not entirely convinced on if he’s mandalorian or not. Either way he uses beskar, but if he’s not mando he takes care to learn the culture around the metal and earns it. It’s what makes him able to go against those armed with lightsabers - which is the equivalent to him just being unkillable by codes. He’s well trained and kicks ass and when all is said and done, he leaves whoever he was fighting with their saber next to their usually unconscious, sometimes dead, body.

Pac is a newly retired smuggler/thief, who’s introduction into the rebellion is similar to the steps he’s taken to find what’s left behind by Walter Bob in canon on the island, except he’s not known by the rebels - or at least not on their radar. His past is certainly known, as one of the largest known criminals to have ever escaped the high security Imperial prison stationed on some famous core world, but he’s considered to be gone, missing or killed shortly after. But he stumbles upon this conspiracy, and digs deeper because he’s got nothing better to do, because he’s curious, sue him, and it leads him to the rebels.

He’s roommates/shipmates with Fit, a resistance fighter who Pac drags into his investigation sometime after the discovery of the ship named Hope - a derelict ship drifting in some asteroid field that once carried refugees fleeing from the Empire. one that Pac finds alone, and cements his decision to truly try and figure out how to reach some rebels to join them. It’s too late for Fit to try and direct him elsewhere, so instead he helps to point Pac in the right direction - because as much as he can’t risk compromising his own position with his ties, however low, to the Empire, he can find a way to bend the rules.

Moving around with Fit is a recent development. His apartment he shared with Mike he can’t risk returning to, because Mike is definitely currently missing due to “mysterious circumstances” (the Empire) and he can’t try to find or help Mike if he’s taken too. For that stint of time they’re living together, he stops smuggling to make sure none of it reaches back to Fit somehow.

Fit is a janitor for the Empire, and is one of the few with access to high security locations. Usually he’s stationed out in various locations - he’s one of the ones willing to travel, so he’ll bounce around on occasion. He’s sometimes requested to clean at the Imperial Palace and ISB headquarters - various high security buildings that he needs lots of clearances and background checks for. Don’t ask him how he got the job he doesn’t know, but he does know he’s good at it. He also knows he’s done well as an informant to the rebels, because he hasn’t been caught and taken by the ISB into one of those high security “interview” rooms that even he doesn’t have access to. He also hasn’t been force choked by the Emperor, like he’s also seen happen. He keeps his head down, his nose clean, and is very careful in how he obtains and leaks his information.

Foolish! He’s an newly elected senator with a lot of money, who listens to his constituents but ultimately leans pro Empire. Or seemingly does. His glamorous life and ‘he’s lucky he’s pretty’ kind of reputation makes it seem like he’s the perfect golden boy by Imperial standards. They still keep an eye on him, because they keep an eye on all the senators, and because he is known to be rather persistent with his agenda that isn’t always purely pro-imperial interests - but ultimately he’s cherished by the hierarchy. Popular and good company. A true believer of what the Empire stands for. And he’s steadily making connections with influential people. Think Arhinda Pryce from Thrawn - politically savvy, and in it for his own purpose like everyone else is, except he’s not actually a piece of shit. He’s just ambitious and crafty. A shark who is watched just as much as everyone else is, because the higher Imperial command is full of sharks looking for weaknesses to strike at, but no more than any other politician - because he’s good at what he does. His end goal is to do as much damage as he can from the inside out, because what he truly believes in is freedom - and as long as the Empire has its heel on the throat of the Galaxy, no one will be free.

Jaiden meets Foolish at one of the larger parties during Ascension Week, before his elections for governor which is before his elections for senator - and they become fast friends. She gets signed on to work for him, under the command of someone much higher than her for reasons “classified”. There’s some moment where her and Foolish have to work with the Inquisitors for one reason or another - and she immediately feels connected with them. She cant help but get this feeling that their role isn’t entirely voluntary, that there’s even darker forces at play. Think how she feels for Cucurucho. What she doesn’t know is that she used to be one of them - an Imperial experiment that never ended up showing enough force sensitivity to be of use, so she was mind wiped and given an insignificant job to keep her busy but close, to keep an eye on her.

Ok. Cellbit. A spacer merc who doesn’t get hired for hits, but for mysteries. To solve things. Star Wars equivalent of a traveling private eye. This gets him in some deep shit when who he’s investigating is tied deeper into shady Imperial shit than most, and of course once he’s caught onto conspiracy, he cannot stop digging. Also one of the escaped convicts, not that people make that connection - he’s changed his appearance and name after all. He eventually makes it to the rebellion.

He’s sensitive to the force like a motherfucker and struggles with balance, but is somehow entirely unaware of how connected he is. Thinks everyone must feel as extremely and physically as him. Anything else he brushes off as paranormal - the force doesn’t exist, but ghosts and the other world sure does. So maybe he sometimes has prophetic dreams, and maybe his own emotions overwhelm him to the point of physical illness, and maybe when he’s tired and distracted he’ll notice things moving seemingly on their own. Must be paranormal. Definitely not just oblivious to his own subconscious actions, and definitely doesn’t get overwhelmed at the feedback he gets from other life forms because he can’t properly separate himself from them. He’s just haunted. It doesn’t do well for his paranoia tbh

Phil is a Jedi who had to go into hiding, who managed to help a group of knights, padawans, initiates, and younglings escape Order 66. In the chaos and mess of it all, he finds himself alone with a youngling who’s barely a toddler. He makes a life for himself, for the first year traveling around instead of risking settling and being found. He meets and befriends Wilbur - a spacer with a dream of touring the stars to play his music - during this time. He ends up settling, making a life for himself on a nice mid rim planet, finding a husband and raising his kid. Wilbur shows up one day with a girl of his own, stays a few days, and leaves her with Phil, for reasons he doesn’t quite explain, saying she’ll be safer this way, and it won’t be forever. She’s just as force sensitive as his son.

He joins the rebellion after the Empire takes over his city and forces them to leave - and subsequently blows his cover, matching his scans to the database of Jedi who were never confirmed KIA. He has no reason to not join the rebellion at that point - the main thing that kept him was his family, his children, but now they’re no safer anyways. There’s safety in community and numbers. And he can strike back at the Empire, for what he views as right.

Missa really is the Just Some Guy that Phil married - except for the fact that he’s also force sensitive. During the raid in their home, he’s separated from Phil, Chayanne, and Tallulah, and currently is trying desperately to find his way back to them

Bad runs a shipping company, and has old money, like almost back to High Republic days money. Of course it’s mostly a front for organized crime and mercenary work - mostly hit jobs, assassinations, but that doesn’t mean he won’t branch out. He’s got an extensive criminal record, and is definitely on the Empire’s watchlist - but he somehow manages to get away with it all. He’s very anti-empire, and as much as he’s the head of the company, he delegates the non crucial busywork and takes hits and contracts himself.

Force sensitive, more attuned to those left behind who are one with the force, for some reason. And his race is unknown, but he’s older than he seems (he mostly keeps it secretive for tax evasion purposes, it’s only a little bit because he’s a habitual liar and likes the chaos that causes). As much as his views align with the rebellion, he doesn’t know much of its existence, and the rebellion is extremely hesitant to reach out, as beneficial as him and his resources may be

He meets Tina at a wrong place wrong time sort of moment - she just happened to be trying to get to know an Imperial officer he had a hit on, and came by to visit at just the worst possible moment. The thing is, she wasn’t trying to get to know the guy for any innocent reason - she wants to find a way to join either side of the conflict. Either by schmoozing out enough info to make her important to the Rebels, or establishing connections in the Imperial world.

She ends up working for Bad instead, talked into it after they talk it out, and he doesn’t just kill her to get rid of witnesses. They work together on mercenary work for a long while, which she’s fine with. It’s time spent almost having fun, and she’s a trusted member of the group. She does eventually join the rebellion after meeting Bagi, and it’s easy for her to convince Bad to join the cause once he’s made aware of its existence

Forever! Okay he’s definitely an Imperial politician, kind of similar to Foolish? I’d compare him to Mon Mothma - he’s hardworking, he’s funneling funds to the rebellion, and he’s an idealist who is constantly at odds with what he had to do and what he must pretend to support in order to do what’s best to protect the cause. He will do what needs to be done at the end of the day, and knows the consequences will surely one day catch up, but until then he’ll fight for his family and for freedom. For the rebellion.

He works often with Bad as the main point of contact for his shipping company - and also the main rebel contact. Again, just somewhat based off of Mon Mothma and Luthen from Andor. Bad doesn’t entirely trust Forever, thinks he should be doing certain things differently, gets nit picky with tactics and the way Forever moves his money. Forever finds him a bit extreme in what he’s willing to do, willing to sacrifice, and extremely pedantic. They bicker a lot for two guys who ultimately agree with each other.

That’s all I got off hand for now but please ask me about it please

#I’m at it again. another sw au #ask me about it ask me about it ask me about it #because I have thoughts #I’ve had the brain worms since etoiles first joined the ‘rebels’ and I cannot sit with them any longer #I’ll probably make another post this just got long but like I have Thoughts #I need to make one specifically for the eggs because I only mentioned chay and tallulah here but trust me they’re all here #qsmp #mcyt #sw #Star Wars #qsmp au #z speaks

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kitty-i-swear-to-gosh · 1 month ago

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I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT EACH AND EVERY PERSON ON YOUR OC POSTER. PLEEEEAAAASSSE

Thank you for being as obsessed with these little freaks as I am. It’s truly an honor

I’ve already talked about Angela and Mordicondor a bunch. I’ll just go into more detail about the rest of the crew.

Lets start with you, pretty boy

Griffinart Eltidar. Assassin. Drifter. Keeper of Secrets.

Griffinart was born as Prince Aureolus Solei, the eldest son of Emperor Aldonious of the Goldra Empire. The Goldra are a war-mongering species, fighting for control over the galaxy. Classic bad guys.

After Aureolus was caught assisting enemy forces in the war against the Xandra Empire, Aldonious executed his own son as a traitor, slicing him through and dumping his body into a river.

Wounded but alive, the prince washed up near the swampy wastelands of his homeworld, where he was saved by a Xandra priestess. He then assumed a new identity as Griffinart Eltidar, and fled his homeworld.

He spent many years living on the edge of the law, and soon was hired by the Captain of the Arora for his cunning and skill. Now, Griffinart has gotten almost comfortable in his new life, but sooner or later his past will catch up to him…

Fun fact: Griffinart is a natural blond. He dyes his hair bc he doesn’t want to look like his father.

And then this funky lil guy

Beelos Barthanos. Insane. Paranoid. Hates everyone.

After a harrowing escape from his (super communist) home planet, Beelos’ ship was swallowed by an unexplainable wormhole in deep space. The portal chewed up his ship, and spat it back out—crashing right into the Starship Arora.

Beelos survived the crash and was rescued by the crew of the Arora. However, upon waking, he couldn’t remember anything of his past, and even worse, he began hearing voices in his head.

He’d been touched by the hand of Chaos, and made its prophet. He sees glimpses of the future—a world where Chaos reigns and every light in the galaxy has been snuffed out. No one believes his prophecies.

Beelos is permanently paranoid that everyone is out to get him. He trusts no one, and hates everybody. The only reason he stays with the Arora is because he has no where else to go.

And then there’s my emo child <3

Roaco Agapé. A killer by compulsion, but a kid at heart.

Roaco was cursed from birth by Chaos, lord of evil, with a Withering Touch that destroys any living thing he touches with his hands. The curse is slowly killing him as well, creeping up his arms and melting away his flesh.

Because of this curse, Roaco was banished from his village as a small child, and left to die. He wandered the wastes until he came to a small trading village. He stowed away on a cargo ship called the Maiden Arora where he was found and later adopted by Captain Mordicondor and his crew.

Roaco has been searching all his life for a way to rid himself of the Wither. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, yet a part of him always craves the satisfaction of destruction and death. Roaco has to fight to keep his morals and his mind intact.

My beautiful queen bestie🙏💖

Nyranu Buluro. Resourceful. Greedy. The compassionate Empath.

Nyranu is the ship’s medic, and she uses her unique Empath abilities to feel what others are feeling, in order to help them, or more often than not, to help herself.

Nyranu grew up on Talinor, a planet where wealth determines worth. Nyranu trained as a medic under the Federation until her family ran out of money.

Out of desperation, she turned to the criminal underworld, where she used her half-completed medical training to patch up smugglers, bounty hunters, and rebels. It was during this time she learned of the Federation’s enormous bounty on Former Admiral Mordicondor Agapé, a man infamous for his rebellion against the Feds. Capturing him would mean unimaginable riches.

She used her wits and power to gain the rebellion’s trust, and made her way onto Mordicondor’s crew, where she placed a tracker on the ship and sent a signal to the Feds. However, once they arrived, they betrayed and attacked her too.

The Arora risked their lives to save her, and she realized what a mistake she’d made. Nyranu confessed to the Captain, and to her surprise, he chose not to punish her but instead offered her a chance to do better.

She chose to stay, serving as the Arora’s medic and finding, for the first time, a family that valued her for more than her worth in credits.

Super fun fact: Roaco has been in love with Nyranu for years. He doesn’t have the courage to tell her.

And finally—

Drocithar. Despite the heat, he’s rather cold.

Drocithar has been a soldier all his life. He was a child soldier serving during his home planet’s civil war. After decades of battle, he escaped and joined the Federation, where he met Mordicondor. (And we all know how THAT went 😭)

Without somebody giving him orders, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he really wants is to settle down and stop fighting, but that would mean giving in to weakness—and weak is the one thing he can’t allow himself to be. A weak soldier is a useless soldier, and a useless soldier is a dead one.

So he pushes himself, and he pushes other people too. Sometimes beyond their limits.

Uhhhh yeah. Rambling again. I love loredumping and I love backstories and I love found family and I don’t know what to do with all of this but I will someday.

Thanks for listening!!! I love you!!

#thanks for the ask!#someday I will do something with these guys #today is not that day #kitty’s ocs #lore dump #long post

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stone-stars · 3 months ago

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songs in c3e71: the king consort (timestamps from the ad-free version. does not include the generic combat music. “a wizard’s tournament” is the recap song.)

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 18:51

Forsaken - 21:03

Into the Flame - 23:51

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 31:41

Forsaken - 34:20

Into the Flame - 38:19

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 1:00:41

Forsaken - 1:04:19

Into the Flame - 1:08:59

The Red Fen - 1:18:44 and 1:23:59

Left is Left and Right is Center - 1:25:24

Greener Shades - 1:28:02

Balnor the Brave - 1:29:06

Malscurial - 1:33:11

Gunvar - 1:35:38

Escape from Smuggler's Bounty - 1:37:47

Left is Left and Right is Center - 1:41:45

Escape from Smuggler's Bounty - 1:43:37

Soul Coins - 1:46:03

The Red Fen - 1:49:39

Sir Reynard - 1:50:33

context for each song + notes under the cut!

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 18:51 - Fatebringer mage pulls Sol into the swampgrass maze

Forsaken - 21:03 - Sol recognizes Jovyre / She shows him the planar system

Into the Flame - 23:51 - Jovyre attacks Sol

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 31:41 - Fatebringer mage pulls Calder into the frozen maze

Forsaken - 34:20 - Calder sees Gregor dead, then the rest of his family

Into the Flame - 38:19 - Jovyre attacks Calder

Conspiracy in the Clouds - 1:00:41 - Fatebringer mage pulls Callie into the burning/smoke maze

Forsaken - 1:04:19 - Callie defies Jovyre / Jovyre becomes huge

Into the Flame - 1:08:59 - Jovyre tells Callie the Beastlands are burning and Oberon is dead

The Red Fen - 1:18:44 - Trying to steal Charbin's hammer

The Red Fen - 1:23:59 - Charbin drinks piss / Asks to drink piss

Left is Left and Right is Center - 1:25:24 - Making Charbin be a piss boy

Greener Shades - 1:28:02 - Charbin toasts them w/ piss

Balnor the Brave - 1:29:06 - Trying to convince Berelain to help and free Trashcan

Malscurial - 1:33:11 - Charbin offers them his help

Gunvar - 1:35:38 - Discussing Oberon's death

Escape from Smuggler's Bounty - 1:37:47 - Gathering the automatons + giants to head out for battle

Left is Left and Right is Center - 1:41:45 - Interrogating the blogging/journalism Green Knight

Escape from Smuggler's Bounty - 1:43:37 - Heading out on the serpents / to Garrosh's castle and gathering their allies

Soul Coins - 1:46:03 - Garrosh gives them a rundown of their allies

The Red Fen - 1:49:39 - Calder flips Albin off / Albin casts command

Sir Reynard - 1:50:33 - Garrosh brings them in: "tomorrow we decide the fate of the realm"

Notes: "Into the Flame" is credited as "Into the Fire" and "Sir Reynard" is credited as just "Reynard"

#naddpod spoilers #naddpod #ba2mia #ba2mia spoilers #the second to last of these for c3 huh....#song timestamps #conspiracy in the clouds #forsaken #into the flame #the red fen #left is left and right is center #greenere shades #balnor the brave #malscurial #gunvar #escape from smuggler's bounty #soul coins #sir reynard

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grapenehifics · 10 months ago

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WIP Wednesday (2/3)

This WIP Wednesday is a continuation of the excerpt I shared last week (after a bunch of text about the next fic I'm posting, a GFFA canon-divergent disaster trio story called Pick Up the Pieces).

Last week, we found seventeen-year-old Anakin on a mission to Takodana going undercover as a (not very talented) gambler and card-player. Read more after the cut:

“Hey, boy!” someone called, and it took Anakin a second to realize it was the Ugnaught he’d been playing cards with, and that they were calling to him. (Anakin had chosen not to give his name, real or otherwise, on this little excursion, and no one he was playing with had turned out to be the type to care. They hadn’t given their names, either.) “Next round’s starting. We dealing you in or out?”

Anakin did some quick math in his head. “Yeah, all right,” he decided, and took his seat again. He wasn’t surprised they wanted to play with him, what with the way he’d been losing. He was an easy mark, and he knew it.

His reputation held all through the first hand, in which he was, yet again, the first to bow out. Pazaak was a game that required winning three hands to take the match, however, so the Besalisk dealt him back in for the second.

Only, his four hands were sweaty (Obi-Wan said this happened to Besalisk a lot, especially on warm planets, because their ancestral world of Ojom was an ice planet, and their species had started migrating throughout the galaxy relatively recently and hadn’t developed biological adaptations for warmer weather yet) and the cards slipped and about half the deck fell to the floor.

“Whoops,” Anakin said, and he and the Besalisk both bent down to collect them. “Let me help you, there, buddy.”

“I got it,” the Besalisk growled, and Anakin sat up, hands raised in surrender.

“Hey, all right, no harm intended,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready. I just feel a hot streak coming on, is all.”

The Ugnaught and the Trandoshan across from him at the table both laughed (well, the Trandoshan made a sound like air escaping from a punctured balloon, anyway). Anakin just smiled back placidly.

“No, really,” he continued, as the Besalisk re-shuffled the cards and started to deal. “I’ve got a really good feeling about this one.”

“Sure,” the Trandoshan lisped. She wore a badge pinned to her bandoleer that identified her as part of the Bounty Hunters Guild.

Anakin did, in fact, win that hand, the first he’d won in almost an hour. Then he immediately lost the next one, thereby erasing his lead, because now all but the Ugnaught had won a hand apiece. They played again, and Anakin got twenty exactly on his first hand.

“Read ‘em and weep!” he gloated, spreading his cards out in front of him. The Trandoshan hissed at him. The Ugnaught swore in Ugnese. The Besalisk tried to look at Anakin’s cards again, but Anakin quickly put his hand over his side deck. “Uh-uh,” he taunted. “No cheating!”

“I’m going to go get a drink,” the Trandoshan growled, and pushed her chair back from the table.

“Get me one too,” the Besalisk said, and tossed the Trandoshan a credit chip, which she caught as she stalked off toward the bar.

“This is fun!” Anakin said, crossing his arms behind his head and tipping his chair back onto just the back two legs. He ruffled his ponytail with his hand. There wasn’t a lot he could do to hide his Padawan haircut, but he’d wrapped his braid around the band that held his hair back and tucked the end underneath, so at least that was off his neck and a little less conspicuous. Plus he’d traded his usual Jedi robes for a dark pants-and-vest combo that looked a little more smuggler-y (or at least he hoped it did). He carried a blaster without any ammo in it, and before choosing a card table he’d purposefully spilled some ale on himself, both to make his clothes look a little more lived in and so that he’d smell like he’d been drinking alcohol without having to actually have any. “I think I get why you fellows like this game so much,” he continued, because his companions very much looked like they wanted him to stop talking. “I’m really glad you all taught it to me. Hey, how about this. Now that we’re friends and all. If I win this match, next round is on me, all right? Just, uh, don’t go too overboard,” he chuckled. “I am still down quite a bit to all three of you…”

He cut himself off when the Trandoshan sat down heavily, ale slopping over the rim of the glasses she’d carried over from the bar.

“…but I think my luck might be about to change,” Anakin finished.

The next game, unlike previous one, was a real nail-biter. Anakin got to start, because he’d won the last hand, but they had to go twice around the table, and the tension ratcheted with each card-flip. By the third time the draw came around to Anakin, he was ready to make his move. “Plus one,” he said, taking the top card off his side deck and ignoring the communal deck in the middle of the table.

“You cheated,” said the Besalisk.

“No I didn’t,” Anakin said. “It was right there the whole time. I was saving it for when I really needed it. And right now, I need it.”

“It wasn’t there earlier.”

“He’s hustling,” accused the Ugnaught. “I think you do know how to play this game!”

“And how would you know that,” Anakin shouted, suddenly exploding both in anger and out of his seat. He stood on his chair and whirled to face the Besalisk. “Unless you’ve been cheating, and looking at my cards!”

#obikin #wip wednesday #pick up the pieces #an uncivil war

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the-starry-seas · 10 months ago

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what's up I have an OC to talk about

— (via bahrmp3)

This is Vinir. Vinir has paranoia where his ability to form emotional attachments with human beings should be. You'll notice I specified human beings. This is because he's deeply attached to his five droids!

All five of them are rescues. G13 was left outside to rust because their repairs were too expensive. R6-D8 was used for target practice after vaer strut broke. 29H7 was sold to Jawas to be melted for scrap after zir tread broke. D5KF and 4-T-O were kicked around by people who didn't respect them. They're 'just droids', after all.

Vinir relieved the former owners of their credits, their life, and their droid, in that order. You ever see a guy spinkick another guy's head off? Turns out it's not as scientifically impossible as you might think.

D5 is Vinir's first droid, when he's in his early twenties. 4-T-O is next about five years later. Then R6, G13, and finally 29H7. D5 is secretly his favourite, but he'd never actually admit to that. They've been through a lot together, through half his life, and at this point, D5 is the only one who truly knows him. Vinir would also never actually admit that D5 is his emotional support droid. (D5 is aware. It's fine.)

(Left to right: R6, 4-T-O, G13, D5, and 29H7)

Vinir was born on a factory planet named Yeneva-17, a miniature Coruscant where there was nothing left of the natural surface world, only skyscrapers. It was run on the sort of predatory workers' system where everything was controlled by the company and nobody could afford to leave.

As a kid, he resented his parents for bringing him into a life hat he had no chance to escape. He spent his childhood fixing some things and stealing others. At fourteen, he realised that his above-average skills might get him a half-decent life on a planet where people were actually paid for their work. He stowed away on one of the export ships, and left it at the first spaceport it stopped at.

There, his skills were enough to get him an apprenticeship with a man named Corjak. It wasn't long before Vinir picked up on the fact that Corjak's enterprises were hardly restricted to repairwork. He was part of a criminal empire, and Vinir wanted to get in on the money.

He started as a pickpocket and smuggler, expanding his skills and the languages he knew whenever he could. His jobs changed quickly and with little notice. He loved it. Smuggling cargo was no harder than smuggling bounties. Guarding people was easier than hunting them down, and he realised when he overheard something that would be of value to the highest bidder.

At twenty-two, he went on the mission that ended up with him and D5 meeting. A year later, he left the Cinuvian spaceport, in the stolen ship of a teammate who'd made one too many comments about how Vinir would be better off if he romantically loved a human rather than platonically loved a droid.

From there, the entire universe was open to him. He went wherever he found a job to interest him. Along the way, he somehow collected four more droids (he's still not entirely sure how that happened, but he loves them, fiercely). Their ship can feel more like a circus at times but Vinir doesn't regret a thing.

Eventually one of his jobs is to assassinate a Mandalorian warlord. He ends up saving the warlord's life instead, to prevent another hunter from being able to claim the bounty. Things get complicated from there. Before he knows it, he's been adopted into the clan, and can't get out of his new family, despite his best efforts. He truly thinks that telling them why he came in the first place would be enough, but then they forgive him for it, and he's ultimately just really confused about the whole thing. They're an extremely friendly people and he's never had someone so determined to be his friend before.

After about two years of "we're your family and there's nothing you can do about it", he finally gets used to them being around. This is after he's spent those two years murdering every threat that comes near them and letting them use his tech and letting them watch his droids while he's on a mission, and six months after he's able to fall asleep around them. The man needs time to come to terms with his emotions and still isn't acknowledging that he has them.

Still, after spending half his life as a wanderer, he doesn't really want to stay anywhere permanently, even if it is with them. So he tells them that it's time for him to go back to solo hunting. He also (to his own surprise) promises that he'll be back at some point.

The clan saw this coming from a mile away and have a farewell gift to him to help keep him safe. He paints it on his last night there so they can see everything he's never been able to find the words for. Red for honouring a leader, pink for respecting and being respected, blue for reliability, and dark green for guarding and protecting.

They're polite enough not to say anything about it (also he stabs and bites and honestly they're all a skosh worried about rabies).

He leaves on his own, like he always has. He promises to come back to a family, which he's never had. He keeps his promise, every time.

Vinir's aroallo, which means he has a great time with various people until they start getting attached to him, at which point he ditches and also takes their wallet if they made any kind of romantic confessions. He's had a lot of people insist that he can change for them. By total and complete coincidence, he's stabbed a lot of people.

After everything he's seen and done, he's pessimistic, and his family hasn't much changed that. He's not quite as unfriendly as he pretends to be, but he's never been one who gets attached to people easily, and he never really trusts their attachment to him, either. That regular, normal, platonic affection so often turns into some romantic bullshit and that's when things typically fall apart. He generally prefers to spend his time alone (or alone with his five droids, or alone with one or two people who are capable of sitting in silence with him).

He's calm, capable, confident, and knows exactly how to get what he wants, in a way that people tend to read as 'arrogant and pushy'. When he sees the solution, the perfect path from one point to another, he follows it to get what he wants. Why wouldn't he? Other people have never exactly been a consideration, and he's never let his droids be in harm's way. Success is what matters. Those that get hurt in the process… well, it's a shit galaxy. Everyone gets hurt.

Dying for a job or cause is ridiculous, since he's got things to do and credits to make, but his sense of self-preservation disappears when something dangerous is also appealing to him (there's some sci-fi version of skijoring that he regularly competes in). A job going badly doesn't faze him much. Unpredictable messes are a good way to hone his skills and ensure he's not getting soft or complacent. Sure, he's going to murder whatever bastard set him up, but that's more of a pride thing.

Speaking of which, he wouldn't be as much of an asshole if people would just have a brain cell once in a while. As a treat, perhaps. Or maybe standard-issue mission gear. When someone's stupidity affects the mission or otherwise becomes his problem, he is going to become their problem in return, and they're going to like it even less than he did. He's very good at being annoying. He's just not good at... well, anything else involving human interaction.

big fan of characters who are always leaving. who constantly have a suitcase in their hand. characters who start planning their exit the moment they arrive and get nervous when the people in their lives start to Know them. in a totally normal well adjusted and not at all projecting way of course

— (via mobydyke)

#vinir #if you made it to the tags then i have extra lore! i stole R6's pronouns like two months after creating vaer

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ak-vintage · 11 months ago

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Quarry - Chapter 12

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, canon-typical violence, peril, angst, mild possessive language, Din speaks Mando'a

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

A couple hours after sunset in the Karthakk system, Din Djarin settled himself into a booth in the back corner of a cantina. It was a dingy spot – its hard-packed dirt floors ensured that everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, cloudy liquor bottles and seedy patrons included – but that was to be expected on a backwater planet like Lok. A remote, desert planet infested with all manner of underworld scum and not much else, the fact that there were actual tables at which to sit was about the best he could have hoped for.

His quarry was one of those underworld scum, a notable Weequay smuggler called Kevok Toklelq. Over the last several days, Din had managed to narrow down his location to this district of Nym’s Stronghold, and all of the local intelligence he had gathered indicated that this nameless cantina was a popular place to do business, that anyone with any kind of pull on this world could be found exchanging credits and trading merchandise while bellied up to the bar. To the bounty hunter, it sounded like precisely the place he needed to be if he wanted to put eyes on his target.

Din had stopped in earlier to scope out the place and get a lay of the land before he made his move, and the booth he had selected was perfectly situated for his needs. From his corner, he could easily observe both the door and the bar, and the ambient orange lighting from the back bar left the edges of the establishment almost entirely in shadow, lending him an air of anonymity that otherwise might have been difficult to achieve in head-to-toe beskar’gam. As it was, all that was left for him to do was melt into those shadows and watch as the cantina filled up around him.

As he had expected, the crowd grew as the night deepened. To anyone who might have glanced his way, the Mandalorian was the picture of nonchalance, but behind the impenetrable surface of his helmet, he was focused, vigilant, intent only on finding his quarry. The crush of bodies was loud now, laughing and shouting and slinging insults over the sound of music pouring from a jukebox in the corner, but somehow Din cut through all of it. He held the image of the Weequay’s leathery, hard-eyed visage in his mind, and he waited.

So absorbed was he in this task, scanning the faces of each and every patron as they entered the bar, that he almost didn’t notice the young Twi’lek waitress approach his table.

“Evening, honey. Anything I can get for you?” she prompted. Her pale blue skin shone faintly in the dim lighting, and a warm, flirtatious smile quirked the corners of her lips.

The Mandalorian drew his head back, startled, before schooling his body language back into something closer to indifference. Leaning back into the cushion of the booth casually, he replied, “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

The girl arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been here a while. You sure there’s…nothing you need?”

He watched as her dark, hooded eyes traced over his form, her gaze settling on his black visor, then his shoulders, then his chest in quick succession. Her cheeks flushed in poorly-concealed interest, and Din fought the urge to fidget under her gaze.

This sort of thing happened occasionally. He knew that others found his stature appealing, that the bulk of his armor, the mystery of his helmet, and the legends of Mandalorian ferocity sometimes inspired intrigue rather than intimidation. As a younger man, he had found the attention flattering. Puzzling at times, but flattering. He certainly had been guilty of taking advantage of that interest on more than one occasion – a man had needs. But that had been years ago. It felt like a different lifetime since he last had felt the urge to indulge in that way.

It had been a life before he had anyone other than himself to consider, a life before his commitment to the Nevarro covert. A life before Grogu.

You, of course, were the glaring exception.

The bounty hunter burned for you, fierce and desperate, with an intensity that he might have found embarrassing if it weren’t so all-consuming. His control dangling by a thread that grew thinner with each passing day, there was no room left in him for shame. Even in the aftermath of your argument, the days spent in hyperspace traveling from Trevi IV to Lok had been torturous. He could hardly bear the proximity, the nearness of you – always within reach and yet never touching. Not how he wanted, how he needed. It was driving him mad.

No. If he were to have you, it would not be an indulgence. It would be…cataclysmic.

Before his thoughts could travel too far down that path, however, Din wrenched his attention back to the matter at hand. He had promised himself that he would keep you as far from his mind as possible while on this hunt. His quarry was a dangerous man. Toklelq was well-connected in the Outer Rim smuggling networks, a friend of the Pirate Nation, and a skilled fighter. It had been some time since Din had faced an opponent of this caliber; he refused to allow himself any distractions.

“Nothing, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend,” he said. The half-truth came easily, and he watched as something like disappointment colored the Twi’s expression. However, she recovered quickly and instead offered him a coy, practiced smile.

“All right, honey,” she demurred, heavy-lidded eyes giving him a final once-over. “Well, if you change your mind, you can find me at the bar. I’ll be here all night.” She slipped into the crowd then, and the bounty hunter caught himself smirking behind his visor in return. The girl’s choice of target had been off tonight, but he appreciated the tenacity.

It reminded him of you.

___

Just before midnight, Kevok Toklelq entered the cantina.

From his dim corner booth, Din watched as he swaggered through the door, a female Theelin on his arm and two other male Weequay close on his heels. He was precisely as his bounty puck had depicted him – his long hair tied back in a series of ponytails wrapped in dusky red fabric, his sharp eyes partially visible through a pair of yellow-tinted glasses, his expression cool and arrogant. With how frequently the Mandalorian had studied it over the last several days, he would recognize that face anywhere.

The group approached the bar first, appearing to order a round of drinks before seeking out a table right in the center of the venue, but their progress to their seats was slowed multiple times by Toklelq stopping to converse with other patrons. His reception, however, was mixed. Some appeared uncomfortable at the smuggler’s attention, their bodies stiff and their laughter forced as though they had hoped not to see him that night. Others, however, greeted him warmly, clasping his forearm or cuffing him on the shoulder in comradery. Din made note of each of them regardless, mentally cataloging them in his mind.

If a fight broke out while attempting to take his quarry into custody, it might be useful to know just how many enemies he would be up against.

The bounty hunter hoped that could be avoided. Teklolq, according to his research, was a known tabac smoker. At some point during the night, he would need to step outside with his pack of cigarras, and Din would follow so that any confrontation might happen outside the crowded cantina. It was possible that some of his companions might accompany him, of course, but even if he didn’t go alone, Din was confident that he could handle a handful of drunken smugglers. Now that he had eyes on his target, he needed only to wait for the right window of opportunity to strike.

Of course, nothing was ever quite so simple.

About an hour after the group in question arrived, something in the air…shifted. As though they had been waiting for some cue that only they could perceive, the Mandalorian watched with apprehension as his quarry’s companions one by one began to drift away from the table.

One of the other male Weequay was the first to leave, offering Teklolq something like a salute before ducking into the press of the surrounding crowd. He looked to be heading toward the exit, but when Din attempted to track his movements, he lost him almost immediately to the faceless mob of bodies that seemed to pack every square inch of the cantina. He never appeared by the exit, seemingly having vanished into thin air somewhere between the table and the door.

Then the Theelin woman rose from her seat. She pressed a lingering kiss to one of the many horns jutting from Teklolq’s lower jaw, and a moment later, she was gone, melting into the throng just as stealthily as her companion but in the opposite direction. Din cursed under his breath as he watched her bright orange hair be swallowed in the masses, the heat of her biosignature becoming instantly indistinguishable from the rest. Like her companion, she never reappeared.

It was only when the last of his target’s escort, the other Weequay male, kicked back from the table and rose to his feet that the bounty hunter felt a sinking sensation in his gut – the tug of his intuition, an undefinable feeling that something had truly gone awry.

On instinct alone, Din’s gaze snapped to Teklolq. If he had managed to sneak away while Din was too preoccupied with his colleagues…

But no, the smuggler had not escaped. Instead, he was staring directly back at him, meeting the Mandalorian’s eyes through the milling crowd, the dusty haze, the long, dark shadows. And he was smiling.

___

Through dimly-lit streets, down grimy alleyways, past cantinas and brothels and abandoned warehouses, Din Djarin ran.

“Razor Crest! Come in, Razor Crest!”

Streaks of blue blaster fire zinged past, lighting up the night in flashes of cold flame and splitting the atmosphere around him with the reek of ozone and carbon. One round ricocheted off his breastplate, sparking and skittering away harmlessly, barely a blip on the surface of his armor. Another flew ineffectually past the left side of his helmet, mere centimeters away from hitting its mark, but the Mandalorian didn’t so much as flinch. Yet another arced wildly and collided with a pile of crates stacked high against the side of a building, blasting it to smithereens. Scraps of wood and metal shrapnel flung into his path, crunching under the heavy pounding of his boots, pinging off his beskar.

His quarry’s aim was getting worse. And Din was gaining on him.

“Razor Crest! Come in!”

The moment he had locked eyes with Teklolq, Din had known that whatever plan he might have had to bring him in without any casualties had suddenly become obsolete. He had watched with senses on high alert as his target stood from the table and downed the remainder of his drink, and he could have sworn he saw the smuggler wink at him from behind his thick-framed, yellow-tinted glasses before making his way toward the door.

It had felt like an invitation, like a dare, and the Mandalorian felt his hackles rise instantly.

He had never backed down from a challenge in his life. He certainly wasn’t about to start now.

The night beyond the cantina was deep and dark, the streetlights in his part of Nym’s Stronghold few and far between. Din had taken one step, then two beyond the little pool of light cast by the cantina’s open doorway, and as though he had summoned them from the shadows themselves, he immediately had been met with the business end of four blasters all trained in his direction.

A Weequay thug had stared him down from each side, their bony chins jutted out in defiance, ice in their eyes. Behind him, the Theelin woman had slinked forward and waved the barrel of her compact blaster pistol inches from his shoulder blades. And with a smile still twisting his thin, hard lips, his target had emerged directly in front of him.

“I’m here for Kevok Teklolq,” the bounty hunter had said, neither raising his hands in surrender nor reaching for his blaster. “I have no quarrel with the rest of you. Lower your weapons and stand aside, and no harm will come to you.”

He hadn’t truly expected them to surrender, but he couldn’t imagine not offering the small mercy. As long as he got his quarry in the end.

As it was, three corpses lay crumpled outside the cantina now, smoking in the aftermath of his whistling birds, leaking blood into the dirt. And his quarry was several meters ahead of him, running at full tilt, dangerously close to getting away.

“Razor Crest reads you, Mando – what’s going on?”

Stars, it was good to hear your voice. You sounded groggy, as though he had pulled you from sleep, and for a reckless moment, Din allowed himself to picture you. He could see it so clearly – your cheeks flushed and your clothes mussed, your hair loose around your shoulders as you pushed it out of your face and tried to wake up enough to concentrate. The image buried itself in his chest, warm and bright, easing his breath, soothing his racing heart.

“Quarry gave me the slip. I’m in pursuit,” he panted in reply. He clutched his comm link in one hand and his blaster in the other as he returned fire, legs pumping all the harder as he tried desperately to close the distance between him and Teklolq even further. “He’s headed for the yards – he’s going to run.”

“We going after him?” you asked after a beat. The warm fuzz of sleep coloring your voice had evaporated.

He fired again at the smuggler’s retreating form, and his shot seemed to graze the outside of the other man’s thigh. Teklolq howled in pain and stumbled, but in an instant, he was on his feet again. The fumble didn’t last long enough for the Mandalorian to catch up, and still, he remained just out of range for Din to use his grappling wire or his flamethrower. Loosing a colorful curse in Mando’a, the bounty hunter jammed his thumb down on the comm link’s sending button once more.

“Absolutely.”

Your reply was quicker this time, curt and efficient. “Understood. One second – let me get to the helm…” A handful of seconds passed, and then, “Okay. Deactivating ground defenses, starting preflight checks, extending the port gangplank.”

A thrill of pride shot through him at that, making the ache in his muscles and the burn in his lungs all but disappear. Even if Teklolq made it to the shipyards, even if he somehow managed to get in the air without Din taking him out, he wouldn’t be getting away. Because Din had back-up. Din had you.

“That’s my girl.”

___

It took every ounce of strength at your disposal to keep your eyes on the flight controls, to keep your mind on the engine read-outs and your ears tuned into the sound of the port-side ramp dropping. Those words, spoken in that deep, warm voice, strained and breathless, throat tight with exertion… Those words would be your undoing if you allowed yourself even a moment to think about them.

His girl. He had called you his girl.

Goosebumps broke out across your body at how perfectly, undeniably right that felt. You were still clad in your sleep clothes, your feet bare and cold on the metal deck plating, but you had never been more awake. Your very cells responded to the phrase – the fondness, the intimacy, the possessiveness of it. You couldn’t deny that it frightened you; the idea of belonging to anyone was a tender topic. But something about it, something about the fact that it was Mando and not anyone else…

It felt safe. Natural. As easy as breathing. You were his girl, and you were so tired of pretending like you weren’t.

Before you could allow the realization to sit with you any further, however, your comm link sputtered back to life once more.

“Haar’chak!” Mando swore. Grogu, still half asleep but now strapped into one of the co-pilot chairs, whined at the sound of his guardian’s voice in distress, and you reached behind you to pat him comfortingly on the head.

“What’s your status, Mando?”

When he replied, his words came in short bursts, sharp and strained. “I have a visual on the bounty’s ship. He’s taking off. Now.”

Your hands had already found their way to the scanner controls before he had finished speaking. “What’s he flying?” you asked, taking broad readings of the entire spaceport, small though it was.

A pause, and then, “An A-24 Sleuth.”

You adjusted the scanners in response. “Dank farrik,” you murmured to yourself, this time not bothering to broadcast your concern over the comm link. You had worked on a handful of Sleuths in your career, and there were few vessels that could match them for speed and stealth. If the quarry managed to get it out of the atmosphere, the Razor Crest would have a difficult time keeping pace with it. If he made it out of the Karthakk system, Mando’s hunt would need to begin again from scratch.

As though the Crest had heard your apprehension, the scanners beeped at you, and you watched as the monitor before you shifted from a view of the surrounding spaceport to one of a long, narrow vessel about 150 meters away rising slowly into the air.

“I’ve got him on scanners,” you said into the comm link’s receiver. “How far out are you?”

A gruff, modulated exhale crackled through the connection. “…about 30 seconds.”

Even though you knew he couldn’t see you, you nodded to yourself as you ran through your mental checklist one final time. Everything was in place for a quick take-off, and you had locked the scanners onto the Sleuth so it would remain in your sights even as it began its ascent through the arid atmosphere.

“Acknowledged, we’re ready to pursue once you’re inside.”

You sat in silence for those 30 seconds, Grogu keeping vigil with you, your hand hovering anxiously over the switch that would retract the landing gear. Taking a deep breath to center yourself, you realized that you had never been in a chase like this before. Although it had barely begun, you already found it oddly exhilarating. You had never thought of yourself as someone who might enjoy being under this particular kind of pressure, but that didn’t change the fact that the racing heart behind your ribcage wasn’t unwelcome.

Did you find Mando’s job…exciting?

The sound of heavy boots thundering up the durasteel ramp and rocketing into the cargo hold interrupted that train of thought. Mando had flung himself onboard at top speed.

“I’m good, get us in the air!” he shouted from the base of the ladder – unnecessarily, as you already had it in progress. In the span of about three seconds, the twin engines turned over with a rumble, the landing gear lifted back up into the ship’s underbelly, and by the time the port gangplank had folded back into place, the Razor Crest was already making its ascent.

Mando, also, was still moving quickly. One moment, you heard him panting against the rungs of the ladder, as though he had paused to lean there for a moment and collect himself. The next, you felt his looming presence behind you, the breadth of his shoulders suddenly taking up a ridiculous amount of space in the cockpit.

You threw a glance at him over your shoulder from your perch in his pilot’s chair, your gaze tracking up and down his form, assessing, scanning for injuries. “The Sleuth just broke the atmosphere, we’re right behind him.”

Thankfully, he didn’t appear harmed, just a bit winded.

The bounty hunter nodded once, letting out a rather vocal sigh. “Well done. Keep on him,” he replied, pointing out the transparisteel viewport to where you could just barely make out the glow of the quarry’s engines against the blackness of space, growing closer by the second as the Crest followed him into orbit.

You felt your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You don’t want the helm?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the controls spread out before you in your current seat.

“No. I think you’ve got it handled.” He dropped heavily into the other copilot chair – your favorite chair, you noticed with a thrill – and turned slightly to face his own set of knobs and switches. “Give me weapons control.”

You couldn’t fight the grin that bloomed across your face at that. “Yes, sir.”

Unfortunately, your good humor ended almost as soon as it had begun. As you began to chart a course in pursuit of the Sleuth, a glaring warning appeared on your navigational readout – an asteroid belt, stretching dense and wide across the star system, wrapping itself around the yellow sun almost exactly halfway between the system’s two habitable planets, Lok and Maramere.

In any other situation, you would have taken the Razor Crest out of its way to circumvent it. As it was, you doubted the quarry was going to take the extra time. If either of your two ships wanted to get out into open space, you were going to have go through it.

If your read-outs were correct, the quarry had come to the same conclusion. He was headed straight for the heart of the asteroid belt.

And he was powering up his weapons.

“Mando?” Apprehension colored your voice as your deflector readings spiked, dust and debris from merely the outer edges of the thing already making navigation a challenge.

“I know, I see it,” he acknowledged. “Charging blaster cannons. Follow him in.”

Your heartrate spiked at the instruction, but you obeyed all the same. You were a good pilot, you told yourself as you poured on the sublight power, closing the distance between the Crest and the Sleuth as fast as you dared. You could chase a dangerous smuggler flying one of the nimblest ships in existence through an asteroid belt and not end up splattered across the surface of a spinning hunk of rock.

Right?

You cursed colorfully as a bolt of energy exploded from the Sleuth’s aft laser cannons, missing the belly your gunship by a hairsbreadth.

“Returning fire,” Mando called out, and the Razor Crest’s twin heavy repeating blaster cannons roared to life, loosing a volley across the smuggler’s tail just as both ships breeched the asteroid belt.

And just like that, you had no more space in your mind for trepidation. There was only the Crest, the quarry, and the twisting, lurching lumps of space rock through which both of you wove.

Keep the Sleuth in sight. Don’t crash. Dodge that attack. Don’t crash. Get closer. Help Mando line up his shots. Give him a nice, wide window. Don’t crash.

Don’t. Crash.

You felt yourself sink into your body, your grip firm and sure on the joysticks, controlling your pitch and your altitude and your speed through intuition and muscle memory. You blocked out everything else, allowing all other thoughts and sensations to roll off of you like rainwater on a leaf. A part of you wondered if this was how Mando felt when he was in combat – if he could feel all his other thoughts vacating his brain and leaving him only with what he needed in that exact moment, what had been trained into him since he was a child. Just him and his weapons, an extension of his body, doing what they were best at.

In that moment, the Razor Crest was an extension of your body. And it was beautiful.

The Sleuth careened through the slalom at breakneck speeds, firing round after round, landing some, missing others. You kept the Razor Crest on its tail as though the two ships were connected by a wire, following every arc, every dive, every spin. From his position behind you, Mando gave as good as he got – firing the blaster cannons at every opportunity, wearing down the quarry’s shields blow by blow – and Grogu simply giggled, his hands in the air as though enjoying the dips and banks like an amusement park ride.

It seemed to you that you might be evenly matched, that this battle might be decided not by skill or agility or firepower but by one party simply waiting for the other to make a mistake. But as the density of the asteroids around you started to thin, as both ships drew closer to coming out on the other side, it became apparent that the quarry had been holding out on you. The moment it was not quite so taxed by its own maneuvering, the Sleuth released a deluge of laser fire.

The Razor Crest shook with the impact, nearly sending you out of your chair and throwing Grogu against his seatbelts before the artificial gravity could compensate for the disruption, and an alarm sounded on the console to your left.

Your deflector shields had suffered heavy damage. The ones mounted to the front of your port engine had been completely knocked out. One more shot and –

The Sleuth fired again, and you banked the ship sharply to the right to try to avoid it, but it wasn’t enough. The shot landed, and your felt the Crest shudder and seize.

“Direct hit to the port engine,” Mando warned, his voice tight. Grogu cooed worriedly in response.

“Shit,” you swore. Something not unlike rage burned in your chest at the sight of smoke streaming behind the ship – your ship – as you banked again to avoid another volley, this time to the left.

“How’s she looking?”

Your attention darted briefly to the engine readouts, the ones you knew like you knew the veins on the back of your hand, the ones you had worked so hard during your first weeks aboard the Razor Crest to optimize. It had been damn fine work. And now it was smoking.

You wanted to punch someone.

“Output is down 47 percent,” you replied after a moment. “I can compensate, but if we take another hit like that, I’ll have to take it offline or risk overloading the reactor.”

The Crest wasn’t designed to run on one engine. Redirecting power from other systems to the reactor was a stop-gap measure. It might be what you needed to give Mando enough time to take out the Sleuth, but…

“Bring us in closer,” the Mandalorian ordered. “I have an idea.”

Your eyes widened, and you fought the urge to glare over your shoulder at him incredulously. Getting much closer to the other ship than you already were was a risky move. One erratic choice, one unpredictable dive or spin by the Sleuth could mean a collision. The margin for error was miniscule. Did he know what he was asking? Did he know just how much he was gambling?

Even in the fraction of a second that it took you to process that thought, it was as though Mando could sense your indecision. “Just trust me, cyare,” he added, his words curt but not unkind.

Of course, you did, and he knew it. Just like he knew that saying so would spur you forward. Banishing your worries from your mind, you poured on the power, and the Razor Crest shot forward. The aft end of the Sleuth dominated the view out of the cockpit, drowning out the surrounding blackness of space. You squinted against the glare of its engines, suddenly so close you swore you could almost see inside them.

“Be ready,” Mando quipped, and before you could ask what for, the twin blaster cannons flared to life, and a thick, black plume of smoke exploded from the Sleuth’s engines.

You didn’t think – you simply reacted. White-knuckle gripping the joystick controls, you pulled back hard, effectively throwing on the brakes and sending the Crest careening upward before it could run right into the quarry’s now-limping vessel.

“Direct hit,” you confirmed, bringing the ship back around again. Satisfaction had a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you skimmed through the scanner readings displayed in front of you. “His engine nacelles are ruptured. He’s lost light speed capabilities, and he’s leaking coolant. He’s going down.”

You felt Mando’s sharp nod behind you. “He’ll try for an emergency landing on Maramere.”

Your eyes skipped to your navigational readouts, doing a few quick calculations in your head. “…Confirmed, Sleuth is adjusting course for Maramere. He’s coming in hot.”

“Follow him down,” the bounty hunter ordered. “If he somehow manages to touch down on a land mass, I want to be right behind him.”

Quirking your brow, you risked a glance at him, meeting his glinting black visor with your gaze. “A land mass?” you echoed.

“Maramere is almost completely aquatic.”

You swallowed thickly at the thought. How terrifying that would be – to evade capture only then to crash land into a never-ending ocean, your ship helpless against the crush of the waves as you sank beneath the surface.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. You had found the chase thrilling, and the surge of gratification you had felt at the sight of the Sleuth diving hard toward Maramere, belching black smoke and glowing with the unforgiving friction of the planet’s atmosphere, had been almost addictive. It was an incredible rush, escaping your own destruction, watching someone else’s.

You didn’t want this man to die…did you?

A wave of nausea rolled over you, but you tamped it down, forcing those thoughts as far away as you could manage. The Razor Crest. That was where your focus was needed now. You could reckon with your own morality later.

You plotted a descent pattern just behind the Sleuth’s, modulating your angle just enough to reduce the drag from the atmosphere without widening the gap between the two ships. As the old gunship dropped into the mesosphere, you turned your attention to the navigational computer.

“Based on his current approach speed and trajectory, he’s going to crash…here,” you said, gesturing for Mando to peek over your shoulder at the monitor before you. “On land, but barely. It looks like an archipelago in the northern hemisphere.” On the topographical map the ship’s computer had generated, a sparse chain of islands freckled the surface of the never-ending sea.

The bounty hunter studied the readout for a moment then nodded once. “When he does, see if you can put us down about 100 meters from the crash site. I’ll need to go see if I can pull anything from the wreckage as proof of death.”

“You think…” The words caught in your throat, and you coughed into your fist to clear it. “You think the impact will kill him, then? Even if he doesn’t land in the water?”

He seemed to weigh his response carefully before he spoke, but when he did, his voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “With the speed he’s dropping in at, I think he’d be lucky to make it to the surface in one piece, let alone when he hits the ground.” He met your gaze then, really looking at you for the first time since he came barreling back onto the ship. “This will be the first time I’ve brought in a dead quarry since you’ve been with me. You doing okay?”

The unexpected question made you smile faintly, and your heart throbbed in your chest with fondness for this man, somehow continuing to surprise you with his kindness even all these months later. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” you replied. “I think I am okay. Which admittedly is freaking me out a little. I’m trying not to think about it too hard.”

A breathy, rasping sound, unmistakably a laugh, filtered through Mando’s helmet at that. “I appreciate the honesty,” he chuckled.

Before you could speak on it any further, however, an alarm blared from the console to your right, and the monitor for the navigational computer switched from a birds-eye view of the archipelago to a live feed of the Sleuth. It had lost several panels of its hull on the way down through the atmosphere, its engine chassis were still spewing black filth in a stream behind it, and its thrusters were coughing and sputtering as the quarry tried to keep it in the air as long as possible.

The island chain was in view now, but only barely. It was the middle of the night on Maramere, the ocean waves were high and wild, and it was pouring rain. The only thing that indicated that you were anywhere near land was the silhouette of tall, dense trees against the black sky, outlined in cloudy moonlight, and they were getting bigger with every moment that passed.

“30 seconds to impact,” you said, your eyes jumping between the scanner readouts and viewport.

The Sleuth wobbled dangerously, its underbelly dragging along the tops of the trees of one island, sending splinters of wood and vegetation spraying everywhere, overshooting its first landing attempt, heading for the next island over.

“20 seconds. 10.”

Durasteel scraps and engine oil poured into the choppy water, and just as it passed over the rocky shoreline of the next closest island, the Sleuth’s thrusters flickered out one final time.

Your heart in your throat, you watched through the rain-streaked cockpit window as the quarry’s vessel dropped the final few feet out of the sky and burst into flames.

Behind you, you heard Mando release a breath. Grogu, however, was silent. “100 meters from the crash site,” the bounty hunter reiterated. His tone was inscrutable, somewhere between relief and resignation. “See if you can keep us upwind of the fire.”

You nodded once in acknowledgement and adjusted your grip on the flight controls, throwing on the reverse thrusters to bring the Crest into a gentle drop. The ship’s headlights combined with the column of flame rising from the remains of the Sleuth illuminated the island’s coastline enough that you were able to make the landing by sight even with the rain, and suddenly, what had begun as one of the more thrilling experiences of your life had come to a rather somber ending.

However, as the Razor Crest’s landing gear finally touched down on the jagged, rocky surface of the shoreline, a flash of movement from the decimated vessel caught your eye.

“Wait. Mando, is that – ” You gestured for the Mandalorian to follow your gaze, pointing emphatically out the viewport.

And it was. The dark silhouette of a man – hunched over oddly and limping but very much alive, tumbling from the flames onto the gravel below.

“He survived,” Mando breathed, seemingly unable to look away, his gaze locked forward as he watched the injured quarry stagger to his feet, tamp out a fire on the shoulder of his flight jacket, and begin stumbling toward the tree line. “The skanah is still fucking running.”

The bounty hunter lurched to his feet then, moving out of the cockpit and down the ladder with a swiftness that made him almost impossible to follow. You tried anyway, and although Grogu squealed from his seat strapped into the copilot’s chair, you paid him no heed. You would come right back for him. And if you didn’t, at least you knew he would be safe there until either you or Mando made it back –

By the time you made it down into the cargo hold, Mando had already flung open his weapons cabinet and was arming himself to the teeth – additional blaster cartridges threaded into his bandolier, thermal detonators added to his utility belt. Once he was satisfied with his load-out, he gave his blaster a quick once-over and brought his fist down on the control panel next to the rear exit, bringing out the gangplank.

You didn’t wait for his request or his approval. Instead, you simply darted over to the bunk where you had left your brown cargo pants in a crumpled pile on the floor. You roughly tugged them up over your hips, zipping them closed over your sleep shorts and shoving your bare feet into your boots as quickly as you could manage. When you reached into the weapons cabinet to grab your own blaster, however, you felt a gloved hand clamp around your wrist.

“No. Stay on the ship,” the Mandalorian commanded, and you felt your eyebrows fly to meet your hairline.

“What if you need back-up?” you replied, refusing to drop your hand. “This guy is slippery, Mando, maybe if there’s two of us – ”

“What? You’ll shoot him, gotabor’ika? Hm?”

Your cheeks burned at the not-so-subtle taunt, and you yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, we’re in this one together now, and that man is dangerous. You can’t just go out there in the dark on your own – ”

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” he growled, crowding into your space, forcing you to tilt your chin up if you wanted to keep your eyes on his visor. “You will stay. On. The. Ship. That’s how this works. I capture the bounties. You protect my kid.”

You faltered a bit at the mention of Grogu, who you could still hear whining in the cockpit, and it was as though the bounty hunter could see your resolve beginning to buckle. You might have begun to protest again, but it hardly mattered. Holding your eye contact with an intensity that ought to have been intimidating, Mando closed the remaining distance between you and brought his hand to the side of your neck, and with demanding force, he tucked his orange-tipped thumb under your jaw and angled your face to up his. You felt your breath leave your lungs at the contact, but before you could even begin to process it, he was resting the forehead of his helmet against yours.

The beskar was cold against your heated skin. Your eyelids fluttered of their own accord, almost closing completely as your heartrate spiked. The warmth of his body bled into yours, and you found yourself bringing your own hands up to clutch at his breastplate lest your knees suddenly give out from under you. He’d never touched you like this before – with intention, with such single-minded focus and something not unlike desperation boiling under the surface.

“Please. Promise me,” Mando whispered, and you swore that you could hear not only the modulated version of his voice through his helmet but also his real voice, his natural voice, like an echo that would have been lost had you not been so impossibly close. “Keep yourself safe. Keep Grogu safe. My sweet, fierce girl.”

You swallowed heavily and fought the urge to allow your eyes slide closed, to permit yourself to simply savor this moment for as long as he would allow it. Instead, you brought your fingers up to his neck, threading them through the folds of his cape, the high neck of his cowl. Stars, he was so warm there – so vital and real and alive.

You wondered then if he knew what this did to you. If he knew you would do anything he asked if only he asked you like this, with this body pressed against yours, his hands on your skin.

A moment of silence stretched between you, marked only by the sound of your breaths and his, both heavy and labored.

“Fine,” you said, digging your fingers into the back of his neck with an urgency you couldn’t disguise. “But you have to keep yourself safe, too. Keep yourself safe…for me.”

You felt him gulp beneath your touch, his throat working against your fingertips in a way that made you blush. “I’ll do everything I can, cyare.” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against yours, and then, “If I’m not back by sunrise – ”

“Don’t,” you murmured, biting back a whimper at the thought. You knew he couldn’t promise you anything. You knew every time he walked out the door, he took his life into his own hands. But you couldn’t bear the thought…

“It’s all right,” you said. “Go. We’ll be here when you get back.”

Maker, how many times had you watched this man leave you? How many times had you prayed to every deity ever imagined in the cosmos that he would return to you, safe?

Why was this time so much harder?

You couldn’t make your hands release him. He had to take the first step back.

Releasing his grip on your neck, he almost threw his body away from yours, increasing the space between you like he was ripping off a bandage. You stayed rooted to the spot as he backed out of the cargo hold, as he retreated into the pouring rain and the blackness beyond, and giving you one last, long look, the Mandalorian drew his blaster from the holster at his hip and ran off, disappearing into the forest beyond the shoreline.

___

Mando'a Translations:

beskar'gam - armor haar'chak - damn it! cyare - beloved skanah - a very hated person, on the same level as calling someone a "fucker"

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