#mando bounty hunter

[syn0vial]

yes, yes, boba fett finds it strange and uncomfortable when people can see his face and this is one of the major reasons he almost never removes his helmet (in the expanded universe anyway), but another factor that i think isn't explored nearly enough is just how much his helmet shapes how he sees the world. it grants him 360° vision, lets him interface with his weapon systems and slave I, and automatically dampens loud noises and dims bright lights. imagine going through the vast majority of your life seeing the world through that lens and then suddenly taking it away. removing his helmet for any significant length of time likely isn't just uncomfortable for him but downright disorienting.

[almondcroissantsandink]

Ol’ Brown Eyes

[redbean-nom]

din djarin, age 10: clone wars refugee child

boba fett, age 11: in federal prison for destroying an entire venator while trying to kill mace windu

[means1974]

The Mandalorian by @FrankAKadar

[nocternalrandomness]

Mandolorian by TastefulAI

[covillain]

Mullet!Boba supremacy!! Or just Boba in general!! 🧎🧎

Here a helmetless redrawing of that iconic scene in Jabba‘s (or Boba‘s x3) palace. Cause I‘m a sucker for young Boba :>

Enjoy!

[therealjediknight]

[daremattfan]

An alternate universe in which Mando is an ordinary Earth bounty hunter, always wearing a motorcycle helmet, but without it he is just a good father to his adopted son

[brody75]

The Mandalorian - The Pirate

[mobilerafie]

Bounty Hunters Through Time.

[tiefighters]

Din Djarin, The Mandalorian

Art by Luis Santander || IG

[floral-force]

Omg 1st off I LOVE your writing! It’s soo amazing, I strive to write more this year and you’re the reason! But can we get some nervous Din? Basically reader is the FULL PACKAGE (wink wink) you know with their knowledge of combat, weapons, basically just badass. Meanwhile Din is LOVIN it and is just a wreck what it comes down to it! You don’t have to do this but if you do it would be appreciated <3

thank you so much for the compliment--it means so much that I've motivated you to write. please do it!!! bless the world with your words!!!

I tried my best with this!! I'm just such a sucker for soft!din that it kind of spilled out of me. I think din would just admire a skilled and badass partner and want to just soak in their presence. I hope you enjoy this!!

(requests are open! search the tags #prompt requests or #prompts and send me an ask!)

Misjudgments

din djarin x gn!reader

summary: Din Djarin reluctantly agrees to work with a partner on a hunt, and they turn out to be incredibly skilled in bounty hunting. They make him a nervous wreck, something that never happens to him. But, maybe there's more to Din's mixed emotions than he realizes...

words: 1.9k+

warnings/tags: my blog is 18+ ONLY/NO MINORS, bounty hunter reader, soft!din djarin, mention of orgasms, din is bad at feelings, mentions of canon-typical violence

read on ao3 | masterlist

Din had been so resistant to the idea of having a partner on a hunt, but Greef refused to take no for an answer. He agreed in the end; he figured he owed the man a favor because Greef had set aside a puck for Din that had a big payout. After he got the credits, he’d been able to afford not only refueling the Crest, but a few thermal detonators, a new vibroblade, and a fresh bar of soap—all luxuries he rarely indulged unless absolutely necessary. So, Din had sighed and nodded, Greef introduced Din to his partner, and then they were off. 

He hadn’t expected his unwanted accomplice to be as—if not more—capable than him. They’d boarded the Crest with an overstuffed backpack and a long duffel bag, a wry smile on their face, and an attractive body that made Din gulp and blush. How could he not notice their looks when they carried themselves with the confidence of a skilled and seasoned hunter? Karga had told Din how many years they’d been in the Guild after he asked the question for a third time, and Din had groaned at the answer. The person was still an amateur compared to him.

It certainly didn’t appear that way when Din descended the ladder from the cockpit to the cargo hold and saw them sitting on the floor taking apart their sniper rifle. It was a model Din had seen before in a couple shady, back-alley shops on Coruscant and slung over the backs of one or two other Guild members, but the one his partner was dissembling had a few modifications Din didn’t recognize. Din watched their hands deftly take it apart, moving with a level of precision only acquired by years of practice and experience he knew didn’t match the number Karga had told him. It was hypnotizing to watch them pull and twist the pieces apart and gently place them on the black canvas pad in front of their legs. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he saw the way their brow was furrowed with focus and their lips set in a hard line.

“Are you going to stand there all the way to Jakku?”

Their curt voice snapped Din out of his trance, and he crossed his arms. “No, I—um,” he got flustered when they looked up at him with questioning eyes and cleared his throat. “That rifle. How did—”

“How did I get it?” they finished his question with a tired sigh and a roll of their eyes. Their thumb tapped the piece in their hand, and Din watched it with eager eyes. “I bought it, that’s how,” they snapped, looking back down at the pieces in front of them.

There was a pause, Din’s helmet trained on them as they set the piece back down. Their hands were still for only a few seconds before they reached to the right and grabbed a can of oil with a thin spray nozzle. Irritation painted their face as they picked up a sleek black piece, inspecting it before shaking the can and giving a part of the piece a quick blast of oil.

“It’s a 773—”

“773 Firepuncher,” they snapped, their voice overlapping Din’s. They picked up its scope. “I bought it after my first hunt. I’m not a fan of getting too close to my quarries. This guy—” they gave Din a quick smile— “is my best friend.”

He crossed his arms. “Those aren’t easy to come by.”

“They are when you have a network, but I doubt you talk enough to have one.”

Din tilted his head at the snide remark, almost letting it slide because of the way they bit their lip and smiled to themselves. Their shoulders jumped with a suppressed laugh that should have made Din mad, but it only made his cheeks and ears turn red under the beskar. Clearly, they knew their way around their weapon—but any good hunter should. As they set down the scope and picked up the rag on their left, wiping off their fingers, he shifted and thought of something smart to say.

“So, you don’t like getting your hands dirty?” he probed.

“Oh, I will, I just think it’s…” They looked up at the ceiling and waved their hands around, searching for a word in the air. “Unproductive.” They hummed and picked up a part of the barrel. “Yeah, that’s the word. Unproductive.”

“You can just be honest and say you’ve broken your hand throwing a punch,” he shrugged. 

They laughed mirthfully. “I learned how to fight before I started hunting, Mando. Not all of us can hide underneath beskar.” 

Din’s skin went hot under his.

They looked up at him with mischievous eyes and an endearing smirk. They looked back down at their occupied hands and shrugged, tracing a finger over the barrel’s ridges and lines. 

“I just thought it’d be idiotic to start hunting while still training. Luckily, I started young—way too young, I think,” they added, eyebrows knitting together, something hard settling across their attractive features.

Din cleared his throat and leaned back against the ladder, hoping to relate on some level with them. “I began my training as a child after I was rescued by my covert.”

“I held a blaster for the first time when I was 13,” they stated.

“I think I was 11.”

They shook their head and exhaled with wide eyes. “Damn, Mando,” they chuckled, giving him a smile. “You’ve got me beat there.”

They looked back down at their work and gave the barrel a few more moments of consideration before setting it down and fiddling with the stand. Din kept quiet, observing them in silence once again. He couldn’t decide if his heart was racing from their smart quips pushing his buttons or from shy nerves. He wasn’t inclined to find out, but he did know that he’d changed his mind about them. They weren’t the incompetent, young hunter Din had thought them to be; no, it was quite the opposite. They were hardened from experiences they shouldn’t have had to go through, tough as nails, and wittier than anyone Din had ever met. They made his gloved palms clammy and left him flustered. But he didn’t hate it. Maybe he liked it. Maybe he liked them, or maybe he just envied them. But he had time to decide—their hunt hadn’t even started yet.

“Have you ever used a 773?” they asked, something in their voice wavering. They looked up at him with expectant eyes, hoping for a certain answer. What that answer was, Din couldn’t tell; he just hoped he’d give them the right one.

“Can’t say I have.” 

Din waited on edge, hoping he’d answered them correctly. They nodded and their eyes darted to the black canvas, fingers tapping against the piece in front of them. When they looked back up at Din, they gave him a soft smile that he didn’t think they were capable of. Even more surprising was that he liked it.

“Would you, um,” they bit their lip and cleared their throat. “Would you like to learn more about it? Maybe try it out when we land?”

Din was…flattered. All the hunters he knew were incredibly protective of their weapons, only sharing when absolutely necessary and always asking for everything back once the job was done. Yet here they were, offering him a piece of themselves. It threw him for a loop, but then again, this hunter was full of surprises. 

When he silently nodded, they gave him an excited smile. Din dragged over a light cargo box—kriff, he needed more rations—and plopped down in front of them, leaning forward and urging them to start talking with a wave of his hands. They eagerly began, their sentences sprinkled with nervous stutters and awkward glances. Din enjoyed it, smiling under his helmet at how their face lit up while describing an impressive shot they’d made with the rifle. For once, Din was glad he’d made a misjudgment. Maybe a partnership with them wouldn’t be that bad. Who knows—maybe he’d want to keep them around for more than this hunt.

Months later, after finishing their sixth consecutive hunt together, he told them how that moment lit a small flame inside his chest. Din held their hand in his as he told them that he’d smiled.

“You actually smile under that thing?” they teased, earning a shake of Din’s head. 

“I only smile at you,” he clarified. 

They pulled their hand away and raised their arms over their head, stretching their body with a cute grimace. They’d been occupied with their rifle for a good while now; it was an anxious habit of theirs. So, he’d decided to keep them company. It would be a while before they got to Nevarro, and Din enjoyed talking to them anyways.

“That’s—mm—good, Din.” 

Their comment was interrupted with a tiny groan from their stretch that tickled Din’s heart. Their eyes met Din’s visor and their hands dropped to the metal floor before picking up a piece of their rifle. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, drinking them in with thirsty eyes.

Din could never get enough of them. He was forever parched now that he’d had a taste of them after their third hunt. They’d been forced to drop their rifle and engage the quarry in a fight, and Din had found them with their knee on top of the Trandoshan quarry. As they put the cuffs on the quarry, they gave Din a coy smile, shrugging their shoulder to try and rub sweat off their cheek. In that moment, Din knew he wanted them, knew that the way they made him blush and stutter wasn’t due to him feeling insecure. No, he was attracted to them, and he needed them.

Later, they both came together on the floor of the Crest, their voices harmonizing in ecstasy, chests heaving in unison. Din was sweating under the helmet, the rest of his body bare and hot under their touch.

He didn’t even have to ask if they’d stay with him a little bit longer. The look in their gorgeous eyes told him all that he needed to know.

So here he sat, watching them grease their rifle yet again. Din would never get tired of watching it. Every time he saw them make a clean shot or save his ass on a hunt with quick thinking and excellent aim, his heart hammered in his chest and made him want them even more. Din’s knees went weak for them, and words failed him. 

But he couldn’t tell them all of that just yet. He’d tell them later in bed after they brought in the quarry from their most recent hunt. Din hoped they didn’t hate the room he’d booked at Nevarro’s small inn. Din hoped he wasn’t misjudging their feelings, too. They were the only person in the galaxy who could make Din care enough to feel his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Din? You here with me?” they asked, smiling.

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here, I promise.”

“Good, you went all stiff and silent. I was nervous for a second there,” they admitted.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They beamed at him, making his heart skip a beat. Kriff, he loved the way they made him feel. How could he ever leave someone as incredible as them?

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@bbyanarchist @hardlystrictlystarwars @hrtsforpascal @threeheadedlamb @dindjarinsmut @notsosecretspy @djarinslove @jellybeanstacey0519 @tizylish @dheet @kalea-bane @totallynotastanacc @elinedjarin @charlottetownwaffles @theamuz @kaqua @tortor-mcgee @graciexmarvel @mymindfuckery @saradika

[nocternalrandomness]

”Mando & Grogu” by Nico DiMattia

[banoonagrams]

Hot on His Trail — Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)/Reader

Summary: When you had first met the Mandalorian when you were collecting your next bounties from Karga, you didn’t think much of your encounter. Sure he was interesting and sure, you were attracted to him, but you assumed that the two of you would never cross paths again.

You’d soon come to learn that your assumption had been wrong. Entirely.

Warnings: None

Your feet pound against the cobbled road that you’re sprinting on, the streets beside you lined with outdoor stands and shops of every different color imaginable and selling items that you couldn’t pronounce even if you tried. With the hustle and bustle of people along the streets and adjoining alleyways inside of the bazaar, squeezing between them in an attempt to keep up your hurried pace was no easy feat, but you try your best. You had gotten quite a few curse words thrown at you by now with how many bodies you had accidentally bumped into already, but you don’t stop to say sorry, instead yelling throwaway apologies behind your back. You’re never going to see these people again anyways, and there were more important matters at hand. Matters like catching this Maker forsaken bounty that’s sprinting a ways ahead of you.

A Weequay man by the name of Molorne that your tracking fob had led you to was wearing annoyingly simplistic clothes that caused him to fit in with the rush of the crowd surrounding him, so it was easy to lose sight of the man if you weren’t paying attention. You probably would have lost him by now if it wasn’t easy to spot the angry faces of the people that he had shoved past while trying to get away from you. He was practically carving out a path of pissed off civilians for you to follow.

You ignore the harsh stitch that’s beginning to form in your side from your strenuous pace as you continue to press on, feet slamming on the cobbled road while your bandolier bounces along with your body. A vendor empties the remnants of a colorful cutting board out into the street and you walk straight through the dust cloud that comes off of it, nose tickling for a second before you sneeze loudly from the dust, attracting even more stares than you had already gotten. Ignoring this, you continue on forward.

A flash of movement that differentiates from the crowd comes from Molorne’s direction, and you can see him trip and fall to the ground from your current position. He’s yelling at the customers of the bazaar to help him up while cradling his ankle and pointing at you, screaming even more. The two citizens that had bent over to help him’s gazes follow where he’s pointing and see you sprinting towards him, eyes instantly widening in panic and putting their hands in the air in submission. Perhaps being decked out in all kinds of combat gear with a crazed look in your eyes isn’t the most friendly way to approach someone. Just spitballing here.

Snorting to yourself breathlessly in amusement at their reactions, you finally reach Molorne, glaring down at him in a mute warning for him to stay put. He, however, decides to ignore your niceties, attempting to crawl away from you and back into the anonymity of the bazaar. Rolling your eyes, you swiftly snatch your blaster out of its holster and turn off the safety, purposefully blasting a stone directly next to where his head was. He stops in his tracks, snapping his head over to you with eyes as big as moons.

“You’re crazy!” He says while baring his teeth at you, voice accusational. You scoff at his accusation.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the one who stole money from a Hutt.” You hold your hands out to emphasize your words. “I mean, of all of the people in the galaxy to steal from, you choose one of them? Not the brightest idea.”

He squints his eyes angrily at your response, attempting to lunge at you feebly from his place on the ground. In response, you immediately push the sole of your boot against his torso and force him on his back onto the ground, not hesitating for a second. He struggles beneath the pressure of your foot against his chest as the people in the bazaar move around your scene, steadfastly ignoring you.

“Listen, dumbass. There’s two ways that we can do this.” You spin your blaster around with your hand while you talk. “You can either get on my ship like a good little quarry, or you can make me have to lug your stiff body all the way to the loading bay. Which one’s it gonna be?”

The Weequay visibly gulps, eyes snapping in every which direction in a futile effort to find someone who would help him out of his predicament.

“I don’t have all day.” You press your boot harder down upon his torso and he gasps, slapping his hands on your ankle to try and get you off of him.

“The second one,” he croaks out, hands still smacking against you.

You smile in triumph, motioning your hand upwards as you lift your leg up and off of him and back to the ground. “Right choice. Now get up.”

He takes a deep breath, dusting off his clothes before slowly scrambling himself to be upright, back hunching over in defeat. As he puts weight on his injured ankle he winces, trying to shift the pressure put on it to his other foot. You don’t give him any special care just because he’s injured. He’s the one who ran away from you like an idiot. Ankle or no ankle, he was going to be turned in. You haven't lost a bounty yet and you sure as hell weren’t going to have your streak broken by this guy.

You grab a pair of stun cuffs off of your belt and slap them onto his wrists, adjusting them to him so that they’re tight enough to leave light impressions in his leathery blue skin. He curses quietly, grumbling under his breath and thinking you won’t hear him.

“Kriffing bounty hunters.” 

“What’d you say? You wanted them to be tighter?” You say sarcastically, adjusting the cuffs so that they now pinched at the Weequay’s skin. He mumbles incoherently again but doesn’t say anything else. “Walk.”

He follows your order, heading forward into the crowd with you mere inches beside him. The bazaar slowly fades into the distance behind you as you reach an older section of the city, reaching the lot where your ship was currently parked.

“Where’d you get your hands on one of these? I haven't seen one around in years,” the man says in reference to your ship, obviously surprised. He begins to stare at the little designs that you had painted on the outside walls, and you ignore him, annoyed that everyone is always fascinated that you don’t have a state of the art star fighter like some people have nowadays.

Entering the code to open your ship’s doors into the number pad, you keep your blaster trained on your bounty’s side as you wait for the door to open. She was a bit slow in the hinges due to age, but everything else worked just fine. No need for a new ship if your current one still served its purpose.

Stepping behind the Weequay man once again, you push him forward with the end of your blaster, causing him to stumble forward onto the ramp and into the ship. It was at this point in time that he began to try reasoning with you for his freedom, like they all do eventually.

“You know, I have a good amount of credits left over from my, well… dealings with the Hutts. I could buy you a better ship—“

“I don’t need a new ship.” You say with an irritated tone, closing the door before turning towards him with a scowl. You cross your arms over your chest, blaster still pointed at him, and try to predict what he’d say next in your head. Maybe he’d try to give you some cold hard credits instead? Or perhaps he’d try offering his body to you like that one Zabrak guy did. People try insane things to not get turned in. Understandable in their situations, but you never budge.

“What if I got you away from this life? You’re a pretty girl, I’m sure I could find you a place somewhere.” Damn. That would have been your third guess. ‘Offer to whisk you away like a fair maiden of yore.’

Stepping over to your carbon freezer, you begin to input the man’s information into his slab. “You know, as enticing as that sounds, I think I’m going to have to disrespectfully decline.” You bite your tongue to hold in a laugh as his expression shows how shocked he is that you would ever even say such a thing. “Say your full name for me real quick, would you?”

You had already forgotten his first name. Usually, all that you needed to hunt someone was their last name, what they looked like and their tracking fob, and you were set to go off and find them. But you did need to put every bounty’s name into the freezer for record purposes, which is why you’re asking him his name. You could always just fish his puck out of your bag, but you’re feeling lazy at the moment.

Looking confused, he stutters when he speaks again. “I— Quen Molorne. Why?”

Typing in the last of his information, you lightly grab onto his shoulders, smiling at him. He immediately smirks down at you, and you’d say it’s not far-fetched to say that he’s assuming you’ve suddenly changed your mind about setting him free just because he offered you bribes.

“So that I can freeze you, idiot.” Roughly jerking his back towards the freezer, you shove him inside, slamming the confirmation button and watching his surprised expression be etched into the carbonite. The texture of the carbonite displaying all of your captured quarries' faces is less than flattering for all of them, but then again, it wouldn’t be flattering for anyone. You giggle to yourself at his perpetually shocked face before you crack your knuckles and stretch your arms out in front of you, groaning into the air at the feeling before adjusting your posture.

Molorne had taken a pretty damn long time to catch. He wasn’t your record longest, but he had taken almost two weeks to find. On average it took you a little over a week to find a regular bounty, but Molorne had been extra tricky, only using public freighters to travel and not staying in the same place for a continued amount of time. Once you had caught him though, it had been comically easy. You’d have expected him to put up at least some kind of fight other than his one laughable lunge. Maybe he just knew who would win a fight between the two of you. Smart man.

Walking over to the front of the ship, you settle yourself into the pilot’s chair and spread your legs out underneath the dash. One other pro about this ship: the foot room for when you were piloting.

You start to power up the ship, flicking a couple of switches on the overhead to start the engines before strapping yourself into your seat. Placing your hand on a lever to your right, you adjust a couple of other things on the dash before inputting the coordinates for Nevarro into the nav comp. Molorne was your last puck out of the bunch that you had received last time you had met up with Karga, so now it was time to collect your earnings.

You do a quick survey that everything you need to take off is ready before pushing the lever in your right hand forward, lifting the ship up and into the air, passing by the ozone layer before reaching space.

Checking your coordinates once more, you nod your head to yourself in verification before activating the hyperdrive, the lines of hyperspace showing up before you quickly surge forward. Nevarro was only a little ways away, but you weren’t the most patient woman, and if there was a way to get somewhere quicker, you’d take it. The trip won’t take long, maybe ten minutes at most before you’ll leave hyperspace and appear in front of Nevarro, so that gives you a little bit of time to cool off for a moment and refresh yourself.

You head over to your room and dig through your dresser for whatever shirt catches your eye, deciding on a white tank that looks incredibly comfortable in comparison to the heavy, dirty shirt that you’re currently wearing. It’s an aggravating process to remove all of your gear from your body just to take off your shirt, put on another one and then put all of your weapons back on again, but one that’s definitely worth the struggle for the ounce of comfort you feel as the cool, clean fabric rests against your skin. In the fresher, you grab a rag and put it under some cool water from the sink to dab at your hot face. The eyeliner in your waterline had thankfully not budged from your sweat, so your eyes were still strikingly outlined. You liked wearing heavy eyeliner on the job, as it made you look more intimidating to bounties and their hunters alike.

But as you double check that your makeup is still intact, you now see that the red powder you had walked through earlier had coated your left arm in little clusters. Dammit. 

You take the rag that you had just been using on your face and begin to scrub at the powder along your arm, wanting to get rid of any residue that was left so it wouldn’t stain anything you own. Just as you finish getting off the last specks of red, the quiet beeping to signal that you’re exiting hyperspace comes from the cockpit, and you plop back into your chair to get ready to go into manual.

The ship slowly floats forward for a moment as you appear in front of Nevarro before you take control of navigating yourself once more, moving through the skies of the planet and onto the ground of a familiar loading bay that you had landed on more than a handful of times by now.

You softly guide the ship onto the bay floor, moving it a smidge backwards so that you’re straight. The landing gear hits the ground with a soft thud, the walls inside shaking for a second before ceasing once the ship steadies itself. When you had first started using this ship, anything that you had hanging on the walls fell down everytime you landed, which was a total pain in the ass. Now you had everything bolted into the walls so that they didn’t budge when the ship shook.

The familiar crackle of a voice speaking into the comms sounds off into the small room, and you wait for the static to fade out before you can hear what they’re saying.

“This is Base to ship number four hundred and thirty seven. Please state your name and reasoning for landing.” 

You flick the button next to the comm to activate your own speech option. “This is the Imminent Bodkin, here for a meeting with Karga.”

“Copy. Your ship will be emptied of all bounties as soon as we get confirmation from Karga.” 

Base’s comms cut off without a second’s pause and you turn off your own, stretching in your seat again before standing up. Walking over to the main section of the ship, you open a hidden closet that’s tucked neatly into the wall and grab a brown leather jacket, the tolls of use prominent on its surface. It was always annoyingly cold in the cantina that Karga and other bounty hunters liked to hang around inside of, so you always wore a jacket inside just in case.

You adjust your belt and make sure your weapons have their safety on before opening the ship’s door once again, leaving it open when you exit for the crew that’ll be taking your frozen blocks of people out and away. Everyone on the street didn’t make eye contact with anyone else and was walking on their own, the likelihood of a fight stemming from looking at someone wrong by accident a prominent fear. You walk along with them but forego the fear of eye contact, staring around aimlessly in different directions at the names of locally owned restaurants or sketchy alleyways where the silhouettes of people doing illicit activities lurked.

When you finally reach the cantina and push the door open, it’s already bustling with people, lively conversations blending together to create a light racket that greets you as you step inside. A couple people had drinks in their hands and stood by the walls while others sat at tables or booths to relax.

Karga was standing up next to a booth and conversing with an overtly armed Rodian man that you hadn’t seen around the Guild before, chuckling heartily and tapping his hand on the man’s shoulder. When you get closer to the pair, Karga’s eyes flip over in your direction before he instantly holds his arms out towards you in a welcoming manner, saying your name as if you were the life of the party and not one of the other dangerous individuals inside of the cantina. Nevertheless, you shoot a grin back at him.

“Glad to see another friendly face! Here, this is…” Karga gestures to the Rodian that he had just been speaking to, only to find that he had moved to another side of the room and was flirting with a Twi-lek woman whose name you faintly remember being Yvonne. Karga chuckles once again, albeit less energetic, before dropping his hand. “Nevermind, then. Seems he’s preoccupied. What brings you here today?”

“It’s payday. I’ve got all the bounties on my ship.” Karga nods in acknowledgement, gesturing to the booth to your right. You slide inside, him seating himself in front of you.

“I’ll get my crew to collect them,” he says, crossing his hands on top of the table. He nods his head at a man standing by the door, the man reciprocating the gesture and exiting the bar. A waitress comes by to ask if either of you would like something to drink, and Karga orders a Bespin Fizz. You only order water. This bar was damn overpriced, which is probably why a lot of the Guild liked to meet here in the first place. Everyone got to show off how much money they were making and order more expensive drinks than the others in a silent little contest.

You lightly place the four tracking fobs from your previous jobs on Karga’s side of the table, and he takes them in his hand before tucking them into his right pocket. In return, he places a small stack of imperial credits in the middle of the table. You instantly give him a look, raising your eyebrow at him in incredulity. Karga remains firm in his stance, not budging or moving to retract the money and replace it with something better than some shitty credits that were used while the Empire was in place, so you take the credits with a sigh before tucking them into a pouch of your bandolier. Karga and his dirty fucking money.

Running a hand through your hair, you lean against the back of the cushioned seat, positioning your elbows on its crown so as to get more comfortable. “So, who else do you have for me to hunt?”

Karga reaches into his pocket, pulling out eight pucks from its depths and slapping them on top of the table’s surface. The waitress brings the two of you your drinks simultaneously, the red of Karga’s Fizz reflecting off of the table. Karga takes a sip, smacking his lips together in satisfaction before answering.

“There’s a few bail jumpers, a wanted murderer, a wanted smuggler, and two people running from their debts.” He taps each puck along with the type of job it offered as he lists their names.

“The killer and the debtors sound fine,” you say, reaching over to take their pucks. Karga reaches his own hand out to try and stop you, but you had already gotten the pucks, tucking them into yet another pouch.

“Don’t tell anyone that I let you take three jobs. They might think I’m picking favorites,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. He discreetly hands you the three tracking fobs to go along with your pucks across the table, and you store them along with their compatriots.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you respond, drinking a small amount of your water. At least it tasted fresh, even though it was practically the price of an entire meal.

As you take another gulp of your water, the babbling around the room comes to a hush, incredibly light footsteps coming from the direction of the door. Karga’s eyes move to a spot behind where you were sitting, and he sets his drink down. The footsteps near your table until they stop directly next to you, to which you allow yourself to get a peek at their owner by flipping your eyes to the side and… up. They continue to go up for what seems like forever until you finally reach the man’s helmet covered head.

A man donning a Mandalorian helmet paired with intricate but worn armor and combat gear stands next to you, his arms hanging at his sides with his helmet tipped towards Karga. You join Karga in setting your drink on the table, the man’s presence being incredibly overwhelming even though he’s at least a foot away from you.

“Mando! Good to see you,” Karga says, voice notably tighter around this armour-clad man.

The Mandalorian says nothing, grabbing five tracking fobs seemingly out of nowhere and holding them in his hand. Karga looks at you with his eyes wide, jerking his head ever so slightly as if telling you to get a move on and out of your seat.

Feeling offended by his silent command and deciding to be stubborn, you instead choose to adjust your body towards the Mandalorian, extending your hand towards him in a friendly manner and introducing yourself. His helmet turns towards you and he stiffens at this, but otherwise he doesn’t move.

“Are you going to hang me out to dry here?” You joke, your hand still extended in the air. You can practically feel Karga’s eyes burning a hole in your head.

“I— no.” The Mandalorian’s voice was deep but smooth, the modulator crackling as he spoke. His thumb twitches at his side before he hesitantly shakes your hand, his grip strong even though he didn’t slide his hand in all the way against yours. He stares at the place where your hands are interlocked before suddenly remembering himself, moving his arm back to his side and reflexively sitting against his blaster.

“I assume you’ve come here to collect your credits?” Karga asks, shifting in his seat. The Mandalorian nods marginally towards Karga.

“I was just leaving, so you can take my seat,” you say, gulping down the last of your water before setting it on Karga’s side of the table. The Mandalorian’s helmet tips lower towards you. He was blocking the end of the booth, and you can’t get out until he moves, so you wait patiently for him to step to the side. No such move is made. 

After a few seconds of him continuing to stay unmoving, you chuckle in amusement, looking up at the Mandalorian with a grin. “You’re going to have to move if I’m to get out, you know.”

His helmet snaps up as if he were surprised, and he takes an uncharacteristically clumsy step to the side to let you pass. “Right, yes.”

You scoot yourself out of the booth and past the man, standing up and heading towards the door. Before you leave, you take a quick peek behind you at the table that Karga and the Mandalorian were now sitting, the latter placing the tracking fobs on the table. You huff to yourself, opening the door and leaving the cantina behind you. That man was interesting. You’d of course heard of a Mandalorian member in the Guild from the gossip of acquaintances, but had never actually had the luck to meet him. He wasn't as scary as you’d thought he’d be.

Patting your pockets to reassure that all of the things that you had received from Karga were still there, you head down the street and into a small corner store. You’re friends with the owner of the shop because you always come here after having a meeting with Karga, picking up a few sweets but also gathering rations for the time that you’d be out hunting. She never overpriced anything or tried to swindle people into giving away too much money for something stupid, which worked in your favor when you were stocking up on food.

“Hey Risha,” you say to the owner as she stands behind the counter reading an article from the Galactic News Service on a disposable holo pad. She waves at you with her hand while not ungluing her eyes from the article, her tied back magenta lekku shaking in the process. You have to wrestle a basket out of a pile of its brethren by the door before you can actually start shopping.

Heading over to the produce section, you bag a few familiar fruits and vegetables as well as some that you’ve been wanting to try before heading to the canned goods. It had taken a while to find them, but you had discovered some non perishable items that tasted like actual food instead of some kind of bantha fodder in a can. You grab a few more food essentials plus a handful of lollipops for an on the go snack before setting your basket on the counter, Risha placing her holo pad to the side and scanning each of your items. 

The two of you don’t say anything, instead letting the jingle of a rock tune humming throughout the store fill in the silence for you. That’s another thing that you liked about Risha; she didn’t fuck around with small talk. The two of you were close for that reason. You both talked when you had something to say, not just because you felt like you should speak because you were uncomfortable. You’d met a lot of people who you felt uncomfortable sitting in silence with, blabbering on about nothing in order to fill in the empty void between you, so the fact that Risha and you could have silence without getting nervous was something you thoroughly enjoyed.

She finishes scanning all of your items, looking at the price and whistling lightheartedly. “I think that you pay half of my rent every time you come here.”

You snigger at her, taking out one of the imperial credits that Karga had given you and placing it in her hand. “I don’t see a thank you card.”

Risha gives you a sassy look in return before opening the register. Moving her gaze down at the money and then back up at you again, she raises an eyebrow in surprise but doesn't say anything about the dirty money that you had given her. She simply puts it in the register and then hands you your change before giving you a bag to carry your things in. Risha was also incredibly discreet, which was definitely a must have quality in a friend if you were a bounty hunter.

Placing all of your items neatly in the bag, you pick it up and hold it in your arms, heading towards the door. You struggle for a second before opening the door with your foot, the bell attached to it meant to notify Risha of customers ringing merrily as you shout over your shoulder. “See you next time!”

Risha nods in response as you head out of the door. “Ka’ta.” 

You start to navigate through the streets again in order to find your ship. The bag in your arms is piled so high that you have to keep on adjusting it lower to be able to see over the top, and you finally find the alleyway that you had come from earlier to get to your ship. As you turn the corner however, a shiny speck of light a few feet away catches your eye, so you take a quick glance to see what it is. Surprisingly, the source of it was moving right in your direction and you discover said source to be the shiny beskar helmet of the Mandalorian man from earlier in the cantina.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you jest, smiling at him before starting to head down the alleyway towards your ship. You don’t expect any response from him, as the two of you’s interaction was so quiet and quick back at the booth.

“Need any help?” He suddenly asks, voice the same monotone as earlier. You whip your head around with your brow lifted in surprise before shaking your head at him.

“Wasn’t expecting you to talk.” You take a singular step towards him, shifting the bag in your grip. “Suddenly found your voice?”

“I’m not much of a fan of bars. Or Karga,” the Mandalorian says matter of factly. He also takes a hesitant step forward.

“I get it. If there’s already all that noise, why try talking over it, right?” A lollipop attempts to escape from your bag of groceries before you catch it with your hand, balancing it back on top. The Mandalorian nods, agreeing with you. He seems to hate fucking around with small talk, too.

“Well, I’ve got to get these groceries on my ship before they spoil, so… I’ll see you around, Mando.” You announce, using two of the fingers that you had wrapped around the bag to wave at him. He raises his chin up in response, now looking over your left shoulder instead of slightly down to talk to you as he had been before.

Turning around, you take a few steps forward, tentatively pausing when you feel a presence behind you. Even though the Mandalorian walks silently, you can still sense him to your back, so you turn around once more to see what he was doing. As you do this, curious to see what he was still there for, the Mandalorian walks right by your side and towards a familiar door to your left, banging on it with his fist. You roll your eyes at your ridiculous assumption that something other than him knocking on the door would have been the reason for him continuing to be near you.

Him knocking on that door in particular was strange. You’d been through that threshold a while back to collect information for a supposed ‘deep pocket’ bounty, as Karga had said. You’d never followed through with the hunt and actually gone after the bounty, figuring the other, less suspiciously mysterious pucks available to you were less trouble. There was also the fact that your personal morals wouldn’t let you work for the kind of men that the job was offered by. They were a tiny twig broken off from the huge tree that the Empire had once been, and you had felt overtly on edge around them. Your hand had been itching to reach for your blaster the entire time that you had been in the room with those men. It’s hard to explain; it was almost as if they were radiating darkness.

It seems like Mando’s putting himself up to the test of bagging that lucrative bounty.

It’d be interesting to see what a Mandalorian’s views on Empire loyalists are. Maybe he sympathizes with them. Maybe he wants to kill them all for what they did to his people. Or maybe he doesn’t give a flying fuck if they live or die. Who would you be to judge? A reward is a reward, and those Empire huggers were giving out a hefty one.

Although you would judge Mando internally if he sided with the loyalists.

The ugly droid that had scanned your information when you had first gone through the door appears from the wall, looking over what Mando has on his card before letting him through. You start walking again as he steps through the door, thinking how strange it was that Karga would give a bounty to someone other than the person who had already accepted it. You’d think Karga would have at least told you that he was giving away your assignment. Weird.

When you reach your ship, you unpack your groceries and organize all of your supplies, readying everything for another job so that you wouldn’t have to worry about where things were after a long day of tracking. You put the lollipops in a cup holder in your cockpit for easy access before popping your spine in a stretch, preparing for another few weeks hunting lousy little deadbeats. You’d catch them all in no time.

If you’d like to continue reading, head on over to the story on AO3!

A/N: I did it. I caved. I’m writing a Mando fic. Boo fucking yah.

As you can tell, this chapter was during episode one right before/after Mando accepted Grogu’s bounty. Mando is going to be characterized pretty much by the first few episodes of season one.

[evighedenlegacy-scribblez]

Here’s some more scratchy sketches of Alyxia Dalyrud, realized I forgot the writing on the right side of her buy’ce (helmet).

I’m noticing I don’t have quite a lot of art of my OC’s and if I do have some they are low quality and inconsistent so I’m probably gonna take a bit to compile and create some more. I’ve debated just posting them but I dont know :/

I’m a sketchbook hopper and I can’t just draw start to finish in one sketchbook so it’s very scattered. I have a digital character lineup in progress tho.

[captainderyn]

*looks at oc pile of buff ladies* you know what this needs? ANOTHA ONE

got around to doing a quick sketch of Morrigan, big and dumb (when not working) golden retriever of a mandalorian and her forcefully befriended agent, who she had dubbed Squishy (belonging to @tiredassmage)

They get into shenanigans, or, Mor drags Squishy into shenanigans in an ongoing attempt to teach her agent Work Life Balance and the meaning of Fun