#paz/dyn

[srtatropicalia]

So, I've been holding onto this for a while. And I just had to let it out because I haven't really seen someone with this take yet (but if there is, PLEASE point me out to them!!). People's reaction to Din's name order reveal in that last episode baffled me a lot, because the fans didn't seems to like it all that much (and some seemed to outright hate it). But I actually LOVED IT and I think it brings out some of the themes of identity and what it means for Din in particular and for his covert in general.

Right out of the gate I will say: I don't really think that this was planned from the beginning. Yes, I think that most probably Din's name started as Din and and his surname Djarin, until someone somewhere had the idea to change it up for that last episode. Though I wouldn't put it past the producers to have had that idea from the begining, as there are some pretty involved individuals on the creative team that like to make lore that never makes it to Canon.

But, though I don't think it was planned from the beginning, I don't think that this reveal (and I will call it a reveal, because I think it was meant to be one) loses all that much by not being planned from season one. Ideas progress, and I don't doubt that they were doing it a season at a time, finding new ways to explore Din's identity when confronted with the various occurrences throughout the episodes.

Having said that, I will explain why I think it's genius. And I totally understand if people don't necessarily agree.

Din's anonymity is a big part of his character, and I always loved how the show did its best to first: actively hide his face and name; and second: when revealed, do its best to not remind us of his face and name or use it unnecessarily.

I don't really need to explain that first part, you guys saw the show. We don't know his name until almost the end of season one, and that is the same for his face. His face is only shown when we have confirmation that a sentient (if you consider a Droid a sentient, BECAUSE I DO) sees his face. That is a big step and this reveal will mark Din because this is a first step on the big list of technicalities in which he "breaks" his code. The second being when he wears the imperial soldier helmet.

Every moment he breaks his rule of anonymity, there's weight.

But the second part is the one I'm gonna focus on: the show actively tries to not remind us of his identity. Even after the reveal of the face, we don't get free scenes of him alone without his helmet. Though I will admit that the show uses his name casually a lot, I will also point out that is kinda hard to not use it when he's with other mandalorians (how to distinguish that the Armorer is speaking about him or about Paz in scenes? Etc). And I will forgive when people that are not mandalorian use his name after they learn it. (Like that scene in BOBF when Fennec just announces to a group of mercenaries his name). But the fact that people seem weirded out by Fennec announcing his name like that is proof of how they don't use it unless necessary. I even had a friend point out to me that in the subtitles (at least for S2, dont remenber for S3) they chose to use [The Mandalorian] instead of [Din Djarin] when hes talking offscreen. Even the spelling was very uncertain in the begining, you can still find posts and fanfics written with "Dyn Jarreen" or other variants.

Though his helmet and his belief in wearing it continue to be a big part of his identity and faith/creed, I think that the need for anonymity in the form of not revealing his name is eroded slowly throughout the series. He opens up more, makes friends and allies, and recognizes Grogu as family. And, progressively, his friends get to know him and use his name (or not!). This last step, of recognizing Grogu as family, is fundamental to me. Lastly, the mandalorians don't need to be anonymous for survival anymore: they can profess their culture, identity and creed under the sun, not hidden. And that's why I love it, because one last barrier that the series has given us is eroded IN the scene that Mandalore has ressurged as a unified nation and Grogu is adopted. In that scene, they reveal to us that Din's his surname and Djarin is the personal name. We get the meaning behind the words that we've been using to call him all this time, and that changes everything!! We didn't really know him because he was not in a position to be safely known. Now he is. He is ready to have his clan and it's not Clan Djarin, it's Clan Din!!

On a sidenote, I don't think that his friends knew the order. The only confirmation we have is that the Armourer knew, though maybe not long before the ceremony. So the weirdness of having Bo-katan call him by his "first name" and Cara call him by his family name is kinda part of it. He didn't open himself up until that last moment.

TLDR: The reveal of Din Djarin's personal name and family name is a last barrier that the series erodes to us, in a three season progression of slowly but surely revealing The Mandalorian's identity; progression which goes hand in hand with his character arc and the revival of Mandalore, that makes it possible for Mandalorians not to live in anonymity anymore.

[captain-jebi]

alright, i actually liked the finale. it doesnt make up for the whole season but at least we ended on that note. i probably liked it because my expectations were low but a win is a win

~~spoilers below~~

yall is din his family name???????? this feels like dyn jarren all over again i-

honestly i was so shocked when they broke the darksaber and like?? im not upset about it.

i wanted din’s (djarin’s????) reaction to paz dying but not surprised they didnt show it

the ending scene with them just hanging out the house made me emotional

and we got through this season without dinbo 🥳

again i still did Not like the whole season and i might at some point write out my thoughts just to let it out but we’ll see

[scarletlegionnaire]

Your boyfriend just became Mand'alor and he's being real dramatic about it.

[maigawa]

”ah” chasquea la lengua teniendo un momento eureka “entonces es claramente tiempo de sobra” sentencia burlesca ya que ni siquiera intentaría ser algo para alguien tan inofensivo como era la opuesta. encuentros solo destilaban una molestia compartida por personalidades chocantes, nada poco habitual para alguien como mai. “no se nota” clara mención a su clan que se deleitaba con las palabras del sabbat cual predicadores de una superioridad. “para una persona que genera impresiones inocuas como yo, nada que te incumba tampoco” porque exponer que negociaciones también se jactaban en vitae vampírica diluida no era más que una condena, no un beneficio. además, al menos a su perspectiva reconocía que ella si estudiaba clanes ajenos a fin de poder establecer las importancias de sus vínculos, sin mencionar que siempre terminaba por cruzar neonatos o chiquillos, bastaba con una simple interacción para saber si era posible o no un buen vínculo de mutuo beneficio. “no hay peor ciego que el que no quiere ver, satomi” lenta es la forma que modula mientras los pies avanzan sobre superficie áspera, el tiempo le ha quitado la suavidad que solía tener para resguardar infantes. “no estoy discutiendo” al menos no todavía, podría ser un poco más venenosa si se lo proponía “¿qué pasó con eso de no estar al servicio de los demás?” porque el sugerir que se estaba por alguien más era un tanto similar a su postura y sólo quería hacerle notar su hipocresía @satcmis

responde, sin darse por aludida: "es complicado no pensar en quién genera impresiones tan inocuas" , el movimiento con papeleo tampoco pasa desapercibido, en realidad, carente de inter��s por asuntos ajenos, que encontrase en aquella habitación se resumía en una casualidad. "tendrás que disculparme, no estoy muy enterada, nunca he tenido que ponerme al servicio de los demás" imita el gesto, por su parte mueca luce casi inocente, aun cuando se trata de una verdad a medias. piensa, los encargos de su sire apenas podrían considerarse, por fortuna o no, ella la quería la suficiente para encargarse de los costos de su existencia, como una verdadera madre, diría, y un escalofrío le estremece la piel. tal vez deba agradecerle a mai que conversación apartara los pensamientos turbulentos. "¿mejores pagas como por ejemplo?" apenas la pregunta abandona los labios, el instinto le dicta que tal vez no querría enterarse, los gatos y la curiosidad. a lo que sigue, echa un siseo jocoso, desconcertada durante un segundo, solo para que al siguiente encuentre gracia en las interrogantes, gracia en las creencias. "¿así ves a los vástagos del sabbat?" aventura "¿o es que empiezan a ver a los miembros de la camarilla como deidades y por eso la religión?" de cualquier forma, no podría afirmar que se equivoca. su rostro cae a un lado con la mirada expectante centrada solamente en la contraría. "digamos que, yo también estoy aquí por mi sire, y, a pesar de todo, no tengo interés en discutir contigo, mai, quería saber si encontraba algo interesa en este sitio" / @maigawa

[galactic-fanatic]

The Mandalorian: End Credits Visuals

Season 1 Chapter 3 - The Sin

Masterlist

[skittydolly]

Paz and Baby Yoda both doggy pile Din in order to show their love nd appreciation

Paz you’re like 200 lbs 😩

[honestlywrites]

Clan of Three | Chapter Two (Din Djarin x Mando!Reader)

Summary: After the events of last night, you wake up to find yourself being called to the throne room to talk with your employers, the King and Queen of Hapes. Your fears take over as you wonder about the security of your job and what impact that may have on your as time continues on. 

Clan of Three Masterlist

- 

Waking up on Princess Illena’s couch was comforting. It had been one of the best nights of sleep you had gotten in a while even with the vision of the unknown Mandalorian scarred into your mind. 

Lifting your head up, you see the Princess sitting at her table and eating breakfast by the large window that overlooked the city. There is a place set for you in front of her with a steaming plate of breakfast cakes. Fondness fills your entire body as you know that you cannot eat with her but the idea fills your heart with joy. You were lucky to have such a gentle and kindhearted client, it made the job much easier.

Getting up and walking over to the Princess, you see her turn to you and smile.

“Did you have a good night of sleep?” she asks, popping a berry into her mouth.

“I did, your highness. Thank you for letting me sleep in your room,” you nod your head in respect, grabbing the tray of your food to bring to your room. As you begin to exit, her voice stops you in your place. 

“My parents requested your presence after breakfast,” she states softly, a tone of disdain layered on thick. “They want to discuss the events of last night.”

You turn your head and are frozen in place for a moment. What if they wanted to fire you? Was your tie to the intruder too much for them to let you stay? Various questions ran through your head and you push them aside, hoping for the best-case scenario. 

“Of course, I will see you later then,” you state and rush to your room, tugging your helmet off once you know that the door is secure. Your chest tightens and you sit down, placing the tray on your ornate desk. This job was everything you had, your entire covert was dead. The memories of the explosion run through your head and the tears begin to fall before you even see your vision cloud. The cry of your buir, your mother, calling out for help echos in your skull, unable to escape. You were the only one who walked away from that explosion, it was by pure luck that you had gone out to gather some food. 

Wiping away the tears, you breathe a breath of fresh air in deeply, hoping that you were worrying about nothing. Perhaps they simply want your report on the events of the night prior, at least that is what you continue to tell yourself. 

After eating the sweet breakfast cakes, you gear up, pulling on all of the armor. It was like a second skin, your training allowing you to carry the weight with no effort. You exited your room, and briefly poke your head into Princess Illena’s room before making your way down to the throne room. Nodding your head at the two guards taking their station in front of the doors, they open them up to reveal a beautifully decorated room. The ceilings were so high, you feel like they touch the sky. Gold covers anything and everything, the marble floors so shiny that you could see your reflection in them. Being in the throne room would never bore you. 

Walking forward, you see the King and Queen sitting on their respective thrones, waiting to address you. Once you arrive in front of them, you drop into a bow as a sign of respect.

“You may stand, Mandalorian,” King Isolder’s voice booms, echoing throughout the large room. You take to your feet and look up at the King and Queen. The beating of your heart seems to be the only thing you can hear but as you look through your visor, the body language of the King and Queen speaks a million words. There would not be a happy ending for you here on Hapes. 

“If I understand, another one of your kind attacked our daughter last night and you saved her,” you nod and the king continues. “We are forever grateful for the work you do here, but unfortunately due to the circumstances, we are unable to allow you to continue working for us and for our daughter. She will be placed into hiding due to the attempt on her life, but you stand out far too much to be around when we do so. Also, the fact that you are a Mandalorian and a Mandalorian attacked our daughter raises suspicions within the royal court. We know that you remain loyal to her, though. You will be compensated tremendously for your work and we thank you for your work here.”

A servant comes forward with a large satchel full of credits and you take it, nodding as the tears roll over your cheeks. For a moment, you are thankful for the helmet for concealing your face. While the sadness overtakes you, you can still remain the warrior that you were trained to be.

“I thank you for this opportunity,” you state as best as you can as the tears cloud your vision. You march straight out of the throne room, planning to pack your few things and find a way off the planet with your old ship, Teara I. It was old and beat up, but it would do. 

Finding your way back to your room was much difficult because you found solace in the room of Princess Illena who welcomed you with open arms. Mandalorians were not an unfeeling culture, they very much took care of their own. So, leaving Princess Illena would be difficult. 

“I have to leave,” you mutter, your voice cracking as the tears continue to run down your cheeks in streams. 

“What? Why?” the Princess stands from her table and walks over quickly.

“To keep you safe. Like I told you, that Mandalorian will be coming back for you and it’s safer that I’m not around so that he cannot find me. Your parents will be sending you into hiding, and I will be leaving the planet.”

“The planet? This is unfair, I am safest when I am around you,” she contradicts and reaches forward to grasp your hands in hers. 

“This is for your safety, Princess. It is for the best,” you pause for a moment, feeling the warmth of her hands through your gloves. “I will miss you.”

Tears begin to roll down Princess Illena’s cheeks and you let out a sigh, leaning your head forward to gently touch her forehead. The two of you are silent, relishing in your last moments together. It had been a friendship that resembled a sisterhood and you could not be more thankful for the experience. 

“In my culture, this is called a kov’nyn, and is used as a way of showing endearment,” you tell her as the two of you separate, both of you pausing to sniffle. “I wanted to share it with you so that one day when we meet again, you will know what to do.”

Princess Illena smiles through teary eyes and gives you one last hug before allowing you to leave. When you finally return to your room, you take your helmet off for a brief moment to wipe away the tears. After recovering, you gather your few items into a bag and head to the docking bay filled with various ships. Finding your personal ship was not a challenge and getting back on allowed you to reminisce in the bittersweet memories. As you turned it on, taking off into the vast ocean of space, one thought remained. 

You would teach that Mandalorian a lesson. 

[ashikubi]

Me wating for new Dyn Djarin / Paz Vizla fics on AO3 be like..

[moewaenae]

Concept: Mandalorian foundlings that appeared in the first episode (around 18:34) bonding with baby Yoda

[eunyuin]

"blegh" expresa abanicando su rostro con vago entusiasmo para ahuyentar cualquier intento de hedor o ácaros atacando su rostro por haber irrumpido en recinto aislado. si estaba cerrada significaba que no había sido revisada demasiado, o no había llamado la suficiente atención para poder ser visitada por aquellos que buscaban tesoros. para ella todos los tesoros eran nuevas adquisiciones para su colección de diamantes, joyas, cualquier accesorio que pudiera darle un status de clase alta. a sabiendas de que aquello no le daría en verdad lo que el status y jerarquía social le había quitado cuando era humana. los pies avanzando con resguardo y se detiene de un corto brinco cuando un grupo de ratitas chirrea huyendo de los vástagos que recién ingresan al recinto. amplio es el espacio con la luna llena brillante en el semblante del manto negro. metiéndose por los espacios de una maderas rotas que solían tapear las ventanas. al parecer el abandono inminente no había sido una razón para esquivarle al vandalismo. observa sin demasiado detenimiento en primera mirada. sólo se permite disfrutar en su imaginación lo que hubiera sido de haber tenido accesos, de haber asistido a ese lugar y ser llamada señorita, que un botones le lleve sus varias maletas. suspira entretenida. gira con sus talones para observar al más alto cuando este habla. "muchas gracias, señor beau" expresa con una reverencia occidental mientras se hace del pañuelo que baila en el aire, siendo manipulado por su mano. divertida con la cuestión de parecer fina y clase alta en modo satírico. "a ver, déjame ver" expresa entre risillas acercándose a dónde el otro mientras se inclina con cuidado "parece una caja ¿no?" consulta mirándolo antes de volver a ver ese recuadro que sobresalía entre la zona señalada. con el pañuelo se cubre la mano para sacar aquello de su lugar. tiene que usar un poco de su fuerza para despegarlo, de seguro era la humedad actuando en su contra. "¡es una funda de una joya!" le dice aunque estaba en lo correcto, no era un tipo de joya como la que ella gustaba. intenta abrirla pero no puede "¿harías los honores?" le tiene la funda de la armónica con el pañuelo para que se resguarde si eso deseaba. @beaudngz

' perfecto, agradezco la preocupación. ' vocablos inicialmente caracterizados por gran afabilidad, siquiera las eventuales bromas apaciguan estos, arrastrando sinhueso contra carnosidades. perplejidad oscurece color de iris, rememorando las veces que visitó bar. las cuales no ascienden a dos. esos espacios no son su elemento, aunque de ser invitado, imposible rechazarla. ' no caerá por ahora. ' tocarla reafirma sentencia, sumergiéndose en el mar de sus ideas. maneras de ingresar a la habitación sin ocasionar más daño, aunque acompañante escogiera la vía fácil. con mano extendida retrocede unos milímetros, frunciendo glabela por las acciones de fémina. por unos instantes levanta brillante mirada, dibujando con carnosidades pequeño óvalo en señal de protesta. no sale ningún ruidito de él, optando por cerrar la boca y no importunarla. quizás agradecería que vástago no se interpusiera en camino, respetando esfuerzos que la llevan a la victoria, asintiendo entre avergonzadas sonrisas. ' ¡lo hiciste! ' enuncia rebosante de sinceridad, dando unos pasos hacía adelante. desagradable combinación de polvo y húmeda ensanchan fosas nasales, cubriéndolas de prisa. ' después de ti, eunseo. ' la voz aguda y esperanzadora del castaño contrarresta expresiones faciales, marcando pasos grata cadencia. de bolsillos saca pañuelo, ofreciéndoselo a eunseo. ' no es bueno que toques los rincones con las manos desnudas. ' simple cortesía. incluso si no son propensos a enfermarse dada naturaleza, las precauciones nunca sobran, eligiendo recorrer la amplia recamara cauteloso. los metros de más comparada con anterior son impresionantes, hallando el doble de sucio y plantas, asomándose a las ventanas. ' no cabe duda que esta habitación en su momento fue muy bonita. ' trata de no rozar con ningún mueble en mal estado, paseando vista por lugar, deteniéndose en cajones abiertos. no cree que atraparán cosas de valor, excepto por ratones y arañas. ' ¿quieres echar un vistazo aquí? ' se voltea hacía la chica, señalando lo que no puede asegurar desde la distancia. no parece vacío en lo absoluto, manteniéndose al margen de los posibles tesoros. misión es acompañarla y continuará cumpliendo. ' creo que es tu día de suerte, en caso de que creas, claro. ' @eunyuin

[starfirette]

Every Which Way : Chapter Two

The Way To Nevarro

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it.

➡️ prev chapter found on masterlist

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,237

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST  | NEXT CHAPTER >> !

Mando’s only command is to stay with him at all times. 

He did not want you to wander or stray from his side.

You felt jittery with excitement. You agreed to all of his terms knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to survive without him. You can’t read, write, or even spell, so how could you make it on this planet? 

Mando explained before you two left the ship that Nevarro is a planet of a bounty congregation that calls themselves The Guild. You know that means at least one person here will have heard about the missing servant girl from Aniri. Mando explained further that while he is a member of the guild, he is first and foremost a Mandalorian warrior. 

You knew of Mandalorians, but not much else. 

Venturing out to the town, clad in the leather jacket (which Mando insisted you wear zipped over your plain shirt) and by Mando’s side, you asked him many questions. Where would you go, what would happen? You wanted to know. 

But mostly you wanted to talk. 

You’ve kept your inner dialogue “inner” for too long, now, and you’ve decided you will babble to your heart’s content. Mando didn’t seem to mind. He answered all of your questions truthfully and without judgment. He understands that you lacked a proper education and he doesn’t make you feel bad about it.

He’s easy to be around, despite his often awkward bouts of silence. 

His strides are a bit faster than you’re used to, so you catch yourself jogging just to keep up. 

Nevarro is very sandy, you have learned. At least it’s sandy out in the middle of nowhere . You wonder why Mando would have landed the ship so far away from wherever he’s taking you, but you don’t ask him to explain. He’s in charge, you tell yourself, and that’s perfectly okay with you. 

Your feet kicked up sand that irritates the back of your thighs. 

“We’re here,” Mando said. You’d stopped outside the entrance to the sandy village, guarded by two men in uniforms you’d never seen before. Mando exchanged a few words with them, explaining he had business with the guild. 

“Who’s the pretty lady?” One of them asked, pointing at you with a blaster. They have the same sort of modulated voice that Mando does. Your knees felt weak when you realized they’d been talking to you, looking at you. 

“No one you need to worry about,” Mando gruffly replied. 

Still, the man zeroed in on you. “Why don’t you let her answer me? Huh, gorgeous?” 

You are hardly able to stammer out a proper response. Your knees wobbled. Gorgeous. The word here is a compliment, but you’ve gone your entire life dodging compliments. Being ‘gorgeous’ wasn’t good, not ever, it only causes trouble. As the soldier’s helmet bobbed down then up, you could tell the rules of beauty might not be entirely different on Nevarro. 

“She’s mine,” Mando growled. “Are you letting us in or not?”

With a defeated shrug, the man let out both in. Mando ushered you with an arm around your waist, just barely there, not quite touching you, but enough to keep you safe. 

The Nevarro village is filled with the same sort of soldier who’d given you a hard time at the gateway. 

“Who are they?” You asked, careful to keep your eyes straight ahead. 

“Storm troopers,” Mando explained. “They’re all—,”

“Imperial?” You guessed. You tucked stray hair behind your ear. 

Mando made a confirming sound as he continued to usher you through the village. 

“I often worked events for the court when they entertained Imperial officers,” you mutter. “Are the rumors about the war true?” 

Mando nods. 

“Everything you’ve heard about the Empire is completely true,” he whispered in your ear. 

A sharp shiver rolled down your spine. You exhale a shaky breath. 

“Left here,” Mando instructed, taking you on a sudden turn. The alley slips into a steep slope, where at the end is a large dumpster positioned beside a little metal door. 

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, unable to contain your questions. 

“Just follow me,” Mando pressed as he kicked open the creaky door. 

You did as he asked, but with a sour feeling at the bottom of your stomach. 

Through the door is a tunnel that runs long with stone floors. You feel almost at home, in the most inappropriate of ways. 

“Where are we?”

“Underground,” Mando says. “I’m taking you to my people. They can protect you while I figure out what to do next.” He offers you a hand to help you maneuver between the jagged stone that scatters around the floor. 

The warm leather of his glove soaks into your palm as you squeeze his fingers and step over the jagged rocks. The darkness deepens the more you walk along. 

“How can you see?” You ask. 

He pulls you out of the way of a rock you can’t see, pulling you close to his body.  Nestled against his armor, all you can think about is the smell of his pillows. 

“My helmet does more than hide my ugly face,” Mando whispered, a lilt of amusement somewhere in his words. 

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. So he does have a sense of humor.

“We’re here,” Mando eventually murmurs in your ear. His hand found your lower back and gently he pushed you forward. You step downward, onto a new setting of cobblestone that massages the arches of your feet. 

Light came to your eyes, blinding you momentarily as you stumbled back into Mando’s arms. He helped you stay upright while you rubbed your eyes. 

You’re standing amidst the underground world of Mandalorians. It’s a medium sized congregation of people wearing armor like your friend. The telltale sign is the helmet with the signature T visor and precise slopes around the jaw. Some armor gold, others blue, but all in all they are the same. Mingling into the crowd you feel unseen eyes on you. You curl into your Mandalorian’s side, heart beating painfully. 

“It’s alright,” he assures you. His helmet tips down as though he were looking straight at you. “You’re going to be safe here.”

You’d been under the impression Mandalorians had an entire planet to themselves. You can’t say you know much, if anything at all, about them, but the rumors that did manage to spread around the Anirian servants made Mandalorians out to be practically invincible. It is why your king and queen hired your Mandalorian to kill that man. 

Mando had delivered, and he’d done it in less than a day. You can’t imagine what a whole colony of Mandalorians can do. 

“Well, well, well, look who decided to pop back in, hm?” 

Mando stopped in his steps and groaned quietly. 

He turned to look at the largest man you’ve ever seen. Your eyes trailed up and up to finally see this man’s crimson helmet. How could anyone be so tall? You swallowed a lump in your throat as you inched closer to Mando. 

“Well, well, I see you didn’t do anyone a favor and abandon the planet,” Mando grunted. 

The other Mandalorian laughed, booming through his modulator as he bent over himself to pat his knee. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? And who is this?”

Your face burns as the Crimson Mandalorian inspects you up and down with an exaggerated nod of his head. 

“Djarren, aren’t you a bit old to be pickin’ up foundlings?” Crimson chortled. “She is pretty, but a little old to be a recruit.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Mando asked, in that same stoic tone. 

Crimson ignored him; you imagine he probably rolled his eyes, as he didn’t seem as intimidated by Mando as many others did. He held out an open hand in front of you. 

You flinched away, half expecting him to grab you or drag you down the hall kicking. Rather than that, he just waited for you to do something. 

“Don’t ya know how to shake hands?” Crimson asked. 

Mando knocked his friend’s hand away. “Leave her alone.”

“Smitten, are we?” Crimson mocked. “I’m not so sure how the others will react to you giving away the covert. Where’d you pick her up, eh? You a Hutt whore?” Crimson asked you with a jut of his chin.

“A what?” You asked. It didn’t sound like a good thing to be. 

“Leave her alone,” Mando grits out. “Let’s leave,” Mando says as he leads you away. “What’s a Hutt whore?” You asked Mando as you were escorted away. “Something you’re not,” he assures you. 

Many heads turned your way as you followed Mando through the underground colony. You earned the attention from every Mandalorian you walked by; you’re not so certain, anymore, that it’s your lack of armor as it is your presence beside your Mandolorian. 

“The Crimson Mandalorian called you Djarren,” you murmur, intertwining your hand with his. 

He quickly pulls his hand away. “That’s my name,” he says stiffly. “Din Djarren.” 

It’s a perfectly normal name but it somehow feels different. 

You want to tell him it’s nice; only thing is, you’ve started to realize he isn’t your friend like you’d mistaken. He didn’t hold your hand and he didn’t even want you to know about his name. You fold your hands behind your back as you follow Din into the first room you’ve seen in a while. A burning sort of stove pillar lights up the entire room from the center, where something inside boils. Weapons hang along the walls, sharper and made with more intricacies than you’ve ever seen on decor, let alone on weapons. 

Two Mandalorian women occupied the room, one donning gold armor and fur as she tended to the furnace; the other lounged in a chair, her legs kicked over a table with a sword strewn in her lap, which she sharpens at her own leisure. 

The Mandalorian women inside are muscular and beautiful, even with their masks covering their faces. Aniri required servant girls to wear makeup to hide their beauty, but now you’re doubting it worked at all. You can’t see their skin but you’re enamored by their beauty anyways. 

“Din Djarren,” the Golden Mandalorian says. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Din replies. “Hello, Wendi,” he adds to the Blue Mandalorian that sits. “Din,” Wendi replies, her voice smooth as butter. 

“I see you’ve brought a visitor,” Golden drawls. She sets down a large hammer on her work table, coming to examine you closeup. “I would suppose this is the girl you spoke of in your last transmission.”

“Yes,” Din replies curtly. “She was a slave in Aniri, condemned to execution.”

Wendi raked her stone up her sword with a sharp hiss. Sparks flew on her lap. “And her crime?” Wendi asked.

Three visors turned to you. You suddenly realized they meant to listen to you speak for yourself. 

You’d never gotten the chance to explain before. You spoke up best as you could with your chest tight with anxiety. “I tried to escape the palace while also abandoning my makeup.”

“Your makeup?” Wendi cried. A laugh escaped her modulator as she tossed the sword to the cobblestone floor that had begun to pain at your feet. You felt increasingly smaller by the minute, especially as Wendi took to her feet and made her own examination of you. 

“Awfully plain without this makeup, isn’t she?” Wendi drawled. 

At your sides your hands form tight fists. “On the contrary, ma’am,” you muttered while your nails bit your palm. “I was told to wear makeup because I am beautiful.”

Wendi sniffed behind her modulator. “And awfully sarcastic,” she snubbed. 

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” you snap. Your heart jitters for a second, half expecting retaliation or punishment for speaking with such a tone. None came. You were in slight awe as you realized the extent of your freedom. “I only meant to answer your questions,” you added, softly now as you chew the inside of your lip.

The Golden woman lifted a hand to silence one of Wendi’s impending remarks. “I’m sure you’ve had a very exhausting two days,” Gold says smoothly. “Not to mention the complete and utter lack of proper clothing from Djarren.”

Mando remained totally silent, his helmet staring expressionless at Gold. 

“Yeah, it’s almost as if Din’s never had a girlfriend before,” Wendi purred as she elbowed Din on his side. 

Din tilts his helmet to her. “More than you have,” he says. 

You never heard such jokes from Din’s lips! He calmly explained everything in full detail, then, from his bounty Kais Korren to the number of ships that chased him off planet. 

“They considered Y/n property,” Din recalled, looking at you. You stared deep into the visor, unable to tell if Din is even actually looking at you.

“We have all heard of your stunt, already,” Wendi notes from her corner of the room. “As if we didn’t need anything else to be on the run for. I suppose now we’ll have to help fix your mistake.”

Gold made a fist, hitting it against her worktable, making Wendi jump in her blue armor. “That,” Gold says slowly, “is the Way. Mistake or not, Din Djarren is one of this clan and he will have help. Whether he asks for it, or not,” she adds. 

Wendi crosses her arms over the dented chest plate. “This is the Way,” she agrees, although begrudgingly. “—but we do have other pressing matters, like it or not. This little girl just adds to the mess.”

You hadn’t realized that was what you were til now. 

A little mess of a girl, as Wendi had so vehemently put it. You stub your toes against the cobblestone, feeling your chest pain grow as Wendi’s accusatory finger pointed you out. 

While you failed to speak up, Din’s leather bound hands clenched. “She needs our help,” Din growled. 

“Your help. You failed to think of your people,” Wendi snapped. 

“I wasn’t going to let an innocent woman die,” Din replies. To his credit, he remained calm and level headed, which was not the same for you. Tears gathered in your eyes as you realized Wendi meant you had put her and her people in danger. 

These people—these Mandalorians— all live underground for a reason. 

You’re an outsider. 

You quickly rub your tears away. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you clear your throat. “I’m truly sorry,” you choke out, “for the trouble I must have caused.”

“You have not caused any trouble,” Gold soothes. “There are many ways we can ensure your safety. Anirians are vicious and they use their laws as their weapons. You were born into servant ranks and thus are considered an object of the court. Taking you off planet is the equivalent of taking their money or jewels. Each day that passes wears their patience. They are more likely to negotiate today than they will be tomorrow.”

“So?” Wendi asked, circling her hands around impatiently, trying to draw a conclusion in the air. 

“So we don’t have a lot of time left for dallying about,” Golden concludes, her voice firm. “Before anything, Y/n needs proper clothing. Shoes even, if it’s not too much to ask for, Djarren?” 

Din stayed still for a moment longer than you’d expected. “…Fine,” Din says, flatly. “You’ll be safe with our Armorer,” Din says to you. His voice lowered as he stepped closer, looking down at you with what you hoped to be tenderness. “I’ll be back soon.”

You nod, releasing the tension in your hands. You didn’t want Din to leave you here, not with these strangers. 

You are sheltered, yes, but you are not stupid. You know you must remain unattached from Din Djarren. He saved your life without much thought; including the lack of thought concerning where you’d live and who you’d depend on. You don’t think Din had intended for you to be his friend at all. You’re actually not his friend in any way, shape, or form. So even though you felt ill at the thought of being left behind by Din, you did nothing to object. 

“Okay,” you murmured.

You brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. 

You tried not to watch Din while he exchanged hushed, last minute words with Wendi. Both helmets tilt to look at you. Wendi finally looked to Din and nodded. 

“Will you stay with her?” Din asked. 

The Golden Mandalorian nods. “She is safe here. This is the Way.” 

You’re not certain of what the Way entailed, but it evidently provided you with your own lodgings. 

You followed Gold out of the furnace room, struggling to not look over your shoulder and search for Din’s retreating figure. His armor blended with the rest, becoming lost in a sea of Mandalorians. You returned your attention to Gold. She doesn’t earn as many greetings as Din had on the way in; rather she got nothing. You couldn’t tell if she was disliked among her community or not. Given her well polished armor, you guess she could be in charge. It might be respect keeping her left alone; respect and maybe even some fear. 

The sway of her hips and the sword that bobbed with them left you a little bit speechless. You’d never seen such armor. Aniri forbade women from being much of anything aside from servants; women were fortunate to be born into the court, where they were treated equally as men just because they’d been lucky enough to be born into rich families. Even those women, however, were not allowed to do certain things. They could not join guardian ranks; they could not leave the planet. Seeing that Mandalorian women can be so strong willed plants the smallest seeds of hope inside you.

As much as you’d love to be as strong and capable as Gold, you still feel so small. After all, you fidget your hands, unsure of how you’re supposed to hold yourself together as you follow behind Gold. Surely the servant position isn’t expected of you, with your head tilted down and your hands folded neatly by your lap. 

You struggle to be comfortable in your own skin. You’re not entirely sure you enjoy living day to day without your makeup. 

On the ship, with Din, it was alright. Except now you’re off the ship, where people are able to see your face. It’s strange to think you’ve been given freedom by people that don’t show their faces to anyone, either. Perhaps it’s just irony you’re experiencing. 

Gold brings you to the end of the tunnel, which is just one stretch hallway. After all of the walking, you’re shocked to find that there is still more to the tunnel beyond the bedroom you’re being given. 

The wooden door creaks open. Before you is the best room you’ve ever seen, despite its lack of space. There is a wardrobe, a mirror, a single cushioned chair, and a bed. 

“This room will be yours until we have secured a home for you,” Gold says. She makes two paces across the room to the wardrobe. The old thing only has linens to offer.  

The room is a bit small; the new brick walls and cobblestone floors give off an even smaller illusion. 

“The covert does not conjoin for meals,” Gold continues, prim and perfect as ever. She puts the stack of linens in your arms. “There is a common room with food portions directly down this hallway. If you need anything, someone there can help. I am usually in the furnace. Din and Wendi have gone to collect for you clothes, shoes, and other such things. The women use the washrooms every night. Men use them in the mornings.” 

She almost left before pausing, then turning to look at you again. Her golden visor aimed at your eyes. She says, “There is one rule. Do not leave the tunnel. Above ground are Imperial guards. They will arrest you without hesitation. If you find yourself in trouble and in need of help then yell for it. Din will be back soon.”

Gold departed, shutting the wooden door behind her. You were tempted to follow, but she didn’t seem like the type that wanted company. It must be a Mandalorian thing. Sighing, you hugged the linens to your chest. You’re eager to make your bed, even if it was small and lumpy. It’s soft; above all, safe. 

Your linens smell old, but it’s a pleasant smell. It feels nostalgic of a time you couldn’t have known. You smooth the quilt over the mattress, trying to pat out any wrinkles with your fingers. It’s a bit strange knowing the bed is yours to really relax in. 

You aligned the quilt to the corners of the mattress. 

Satisfied with the work, you gladly crawled under the blankets. Cuddling into the mothy pillows, you lay on your back. 

The ceiling has a few cracks in it. 

How had this tunnel been built? Why did the Mandalorian people not have their own village? These questions you had no guesses for; the new world you’ve been invited into is curious, and becomes curiouser every waking moment. It frightens you but excites you all at once, a feeling you’ve never felt before. 

A knock on the door awakens you from your dreamless sleep. You sat up, vision blurry and mouth dry. Hours must have gone by. You stand, your bruised feet once more being pressed by the cobblestones embedded to the floor. 

Your hand stretched for the creaky handle. Beyond the door was Din. 

You didn’t know how to greet him. 

Awkwardly struggling for the right pose proved difficult. Would he expect respect? Gratitude? Would he want something in return for what he had done for you?

“Hello,” you murmured, averting your eyes from the T of his helm. 

“I woke you,” he said. 

“You did,” you acknowledged. You glanced into your small room before shuffling back. “Come in,” you said. 

Din entered. It must have been hours judging by the creakiness in your joints, but Din hadn’t changed out of his heavy armor. He set down a large laundry box on your lumpy bed. “This is for you,” he said. 

You peered into the box. You were confused to find rolls of velvet tightly wrapped and stacked on top of each other. It reminds you of birthday presents, of the neatly wrapped boxes the princes and princess would receive yearly. You’d watched the opening from afar, never once imagining you’d have the chance to do the same thing one day. 

With wary hands, you scooped up a roll of velvet, not looking at Din as you unfolded the cloth. 

Shiny cuffs of metal shone at you from their soft blanket. “It’s pretty,” you say, stunned by the perfect roundness of the cuffs. 

“They’re yours,” Din said, voice a bit stiff. “Armor.”

Puzzled, you cast a questioning glance. 

Din approached, his leather bound hands wrapping around the metal. He slid the first over your arm. The cuff fit perfectly around your forearm, casting upwards to your elbow and ending at your wrist. You stared at the piece of armor in shock. Your face looked back at you from the sheen of the heavy metal. 

“How does it feel?” Din asked, his hand still adjusting the cuff around your wrist. His fingers are warm even through the leather gloves. They rested on the inside of your palm as he examined the fit up close. Your ears burned at the feeling of his touch. Each little tap on the delicate skin of your palm tingled. 

“It feels nice,” you said. “This, I mean,” you add. 

Din notices you staring at his hands on yours, and he drags his hand away too slowly. The pads of his fingers left spots that burned on your skin. 

“There’s more,” Din added, tilting his head up to gaze at the ceiling. He looked around at your small room before cocking his head to you. “Are you comfortable?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear bashfully. A smile peeled over your lips as you glanced around your very own sanctuary. “I love it very much.”

“It doesn’t bother you how horribly plain and undecorated it is?” Din asked. He was clearly joking, but you became serious. “I have privacy and the luxury to do what I want,” you say. “That’s all I could have asked for.”

If Din was surprised, he didn’t say anything to display it. “I’m sorry,” Din finally let out. 

You had been pushing around the box for other goodies and upon hearing this, you became startled. “You’re sorry?” You guffaw. “I’m going to be eternally grateful for what you’ve done for me,” you continued. You clutched the other arm piece close to your chest, glad to have something physical to keep you down to the planet. 

“That’s just why I am sorry,” Din grunted out. “I’m not a good person to become attached to.”

You blink. Shocked, you slide the arm cuff off and set it loose on the bed. “I never meant to ‘attach’ to you,” you mumbled. “Thank you for the armor, and for everything else. I can sift through in private if you’d like to leave.” 

Din left as you’d suggested. 

Curious; Din is very curious. You wonder what he meant by the apology. Perhaps you had grown attached…it would be hard not to! After all, Din had saved you from Aniri. You’d only meant to show your gratitude. Like he had on the Razor Crest, Din once again rejected your gratitude. You suspected he would rather pretend nothing happened at all. He’d rather live his life without you in it. 

The thought slashed your heart in half. A world without Din? You’ve known him for four days and he’s taken such care of you. 

Being reminded of care, you returned your attention to the box on your bed. Enveloped in rolls of velvet were sets of shoes and new clothes. Among that, there were other pieces of metal formed in a way you could only imagine to be armor. Every piece shone and you suspected they were all brand new from the smell of slight smoke that lingered on them. But they were polished to perfection, allowing you to see every detail of your own face in them. 

The soft tunics and the fitting trousers were a miracle to receive. Comfortable and, dare you say it, a bit stylish. 

What truly took the cake were the pairs of boots. They rose above your ankles and laced up with red string that stood out against the black leather. You almost loved the shoes more than the socks! And the socks you immediately slipped on. They cushioned your skin against the cobblestone a bit better, but starting tomorrow you’d get to wear shoes like any other person in the galaxy. 

The next morning you rose early and dressed neatly. You’d missed your opportunity to use the washrooms last night. They were reserved for the men to use in the morning, so you’d have to wait until night came to shower. 

This did not worsen your mood, as you were very excited to wear new clothes for a change. You paired a baby blue tunic and plain trousers.

Wearing the cuffs and shin guards felt strange. You almost didn’t want to wear it as you feared the sort of attention it would bring, but you did remind yourself that the rest of the covert wore full body armor, including the helmets, on a daily basis. 

If anything about you was to be found weird, it wouldn’t be your outfit—it would be that you are an outsider. 

Over the tunic you shrug on the leather jacket, cuddling into the butter soft fabric. You stretch your hands through the sleeves, and the shiny cuffs are just barely visible from the cuffs. 

You venture out of your room with a heartbeat that thunders in your ears. Drifting along the tunnel path are Mandalorians who casually wield weapons like blasters and blades that are taller than even you. Cautiously avoiding their gaze, you creep along the walls in search of the furnace. You hoped to find Din among the covert, but he isn’t anywhere to be seen. A clock would be nice to have. You can only assume it is morning. When you’d entered the tunnel yesterday, the sun was on its way down. Would Din be sleeping now? Would he be out, above ground?

The furnace only housed Gold, who currently wielded a knife and cloth, with which she polished the blade so it gleamed brilliantly. 

“Good morning, miss,” you say softly. 

“Good morning,” she greeted. She didn’t turn to face you, but she did set down her work. She cleaned around her work space, and you simply stood by watching in awkward silence. “You can have a seat,” Gold suggests. “Unless you’d rather stand.” 

You took a place in the chair which Wendi had occupied yesterday, where she lazily played with her sword.

You shrugged out of your leather coat as you felt the heat begin to bother you. As you draped the jacket over the back of your chair, the Armorer glanced over at you. 

“Do you like them?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“The armor,” she says, gesturing to your arm and leg plates with a heavy glove. “I made them the minute Djarren transmitted the message of your arrival. How do they fit?” 

“Perfectly,” you say. You look at the metal that wraps around your forearm. “What is it?” 

“Beskar,” she replies. “I do apologize for the lack of any other pieces.” 

“Well, I should thank you for what you have given me,” you say, as you tuck hair behind your ear. The locks of hair gathers sweat on the back of your neck. You dab your forehead with the back of your hand. “I am confused, though. Why did I get armor in the first place?” 

“You are in the care of the covert,” Gold explains. “This means we are responsible for your safety until you can be relocated. It’s only natural we give you a bit of armor to keep you safe. Although Wendi did give me hell for it.” 

You crinkle your nose. Wendi must not be happy about your arrival. You suspect many would not be. 

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Gold asks. You shook your head. “Would you like to join me in the meeting hall?” she then suggested. “It would give you a chance to meet the others.” 

You supposed it would have to happen eventually. 

Following the Armorer to the main hall, you fiddled your thumbs together.

Exposure to Mandalorians, to actual people, made you sick to your stomach. You’d never worn such tight fitting clothing. On Aniri you’d be called an enemy of the court, condemned to trial for indecency. It seems no one minds, though, as they all dress similarly. The Mandalorians that don’t wear armor wear trousers and tunics, often, however, donning some sort of safety plates on their backs or arms like you. While you feared being judged for indecency, the rational part of your brain knows you will be judged for the lack of a Mandalorian helmet. Every planet has those who fear outsiders. You don’t know the word for it, but it breaks your heart. The royal court hated outsiders. They joined forces with the Empire because the Empire feels similarly. How could someone hate another living being just because they were born on a different planet? You couldn’t understand, as you’ve never felt that way even after living your whole life on Aniri. 

The question really dialed down to this: would the covert hate you for being an outsider, or would they fear the trouble an outsider might bring? The difference may be subtle, but it’s there no doubt. 

The meeting hall did have several people filling it out. Most bore tunics and trousers like you, but still bore leather belts and cuffs. You recognized Wendi immediately from her helmet bobbing on the corner of the room. It had a delicate touch to it, the carvings of the metal curly and wispy. She didn’t have her blue armor on today, instead a black tunic with long sleeves and tight trousers that rose to her waist. You’d never seen such trousers before but you suddenly long to have simliar types. It was a marvelous outfit to wear, and the black danced with her gold wrist cuffs and knee pads. 

Din Djarren is nowhere to be seen. 

You wanted to see him and ask him what he meant, last night, about attachment. For some curious reason, the comment bothered you all night. It even haunted your dreams. Perhaps he rejects your reverence towards him. You couldn’t simply make the feeling go away. You’d feel that way forever, because Din had done something you could never do for him. You would never be able to repay him no matter how hard you tried. You want to thank him one last time, even if he didn’t want to hear it. He single handedly saved your life. Of course you’d want to thank him, right?

Gold offered you a seat at the main table. A large basket overflowed with food that made your mouth water. This differed much from the stale bread and leftover poultry you’d been allowed to eat back in the ranks. 

You reached for a block of white cheese, tossing it over in your hand before taking a deep sniff. It smelled delicious. You took a tiny bite and lo! how your mouth watered. You had never tasted such flavor in your life, and this had been a single bite of a single square of cheese. You anxiously nibbled around the edges, trying not to let on how impressed you were with just cheese. Embarrassing, really. You’d be bullied no doubt. 

The Armorer made conversation with the warriors around her while she supervised you as you ate. You were encouraged to eat as much as you wanted, but you hesitated to do that. Even when your belly felt filled, you wanted to keep on eating, half out of the fear you wouldn’t get an opportunity to again. 

“So,” a voice drew behind you. “This is her?” 

You froze. The hair on your neck prickled when Gold said, “Yes, although I believe she can speak for herself.”

You turned to look who had inquired about you. The Mandalorian that had given you a hard time yesterday towered over you in his crimson armor. As you looked up at him, he crossed his arm over his strapping chest. 

“So she’s staying?” He asked. 

The tips of your ears burned with embarrassment as Gold appeared to be glowering. “Ryder,” she snapped. “I’m certain that you were at the meeting last night. Don’t waste your breath with nonsense.” 

You swallowed back the anxiety that plagued your chest. “Ah, yes, the meeting,” he said thoughtfully, as if he had just remembered. Although you had a feeling he was being sarcastic. “Where we all voted on killing the little girl.” 

You buried your head down to your chest, chin quivering with tears as you felt guilt and overwhelming anxiety boil in your blood. 

“I’m not a little girl,” you muttered, just quietly enough that you hoped Ryder hadn’t heard. 

“What was that?” He mocked. 

Something savage spurred across your brain as you rose to your feet, the chair you’d been in falling to the ground. “I’m not a little girl,” you said again. The quiver in your mouth had transformed into a sneer as you kept your chin raised to look Ryder in the eye. Maybe the anxiety you’d been feeling wasn’t anxiety at all. 

It was anger. 

With no one to punish you for “stepping out of line” you could express said anger all you wanted, and you started with Ryder. 

A mistake, it might have been, as Gold had to use an hand to brace Ryder back by his chest plate. 

Searing across your body was the wave of regret and mild, mild fear; in that mixture was a pinch of satisfaction. Standing up for yourself felt good. But you imagined a punch in the face from Ryder wouldn’t feel as great. 

“Your vote was cast, Vizsla,” The Armorer reminded him. “I won’t remind you who the deciding vote was. You are obligated to follow your brethren in protecting Y/n or you can join Boba Fett and his fascist friends on Nevarro. This is the Way.”

Ryder seemed like he could be seething behind his mask, but you had no way of really knowing. “This is the Way,” he grit through his modulator. 

Anger issues, you think as he stomps away. To the Armorer you quickly apologized. “I’m very sorry, Miss,” you tell her with a bob of your head. 

“Do not be,” Gold said dismissively. “Vizsla needs to be put in his place, and you need to continue standing up for yourself. It is imperative if you want to survive.” 

Stunned, you nodded. You see the honesty in her words, and while she might have been blunt about it, she was very, very right. 

How curious the Mandalorians have turned out to be…

“I suppose now would be as good a time as any to walk you through our way of life here.” 

You held out a hand, though it wavered, to stop Gold from continuing. “Before that,” you stutter, “could I ask just what ‘meeting’ you refferred to with Ryder?” 

“Ah,” Gold hummed. “Last night the covert convened a meeting in which we all voted to keep you with us or to send you away. Ryder voted against it. The deciding vote was his elder brother, Paz. He voted for you to stay and I suppose Ryder didn’t like that.” 

You sighed. You looked down at yourself, at the baby blue of your tunic and how it splashed like the ocean against your beskar cuffs. “I ought to thank you again, Miss. I am forever indebted to the covert.” 

Gold tipped her helmet forward, leaving it inclined for a second too long. “This is the Way.”

The Way is what you will be grateful for even after life. Gold brought you along to the furnace after you grabbed one more block of cheese. She showed you the set of her metals. In sheets or in bars, she had a collection of beskar, palladium, ruthenium, and other metals you couldn’t keep track of. 

“You make the armor for everyone?” You asked. You grazed the metals with your finger tips. What does Din wear? You resist the question as you thank Gold for her help today. 

“I am grateful for the armor and for everything else,” you say, inclining your head the way she had done to you earlier. “Could I ask…where is Djarren? Din, I mean.” 

Gold, while taking a thick apron down from a hook, replied, “I am unsure. I think he might be asleep. I haven’t seen him since the vote last night.” “How did he vote?” you asked. You hated the question as soon as it left your lips. But you yearned to know. 

“He was very adamant that you stay,” Gold responded. “In fact he made a very moving speech. It’s the most I’ve heard him say all his life.” 

Your heart fluttered with assurance. “Thank you.”

“If there is anything else you need, you might find it from me or in the gathering hall. Good day, Y/n.” 

“Good day, miss.” 

Shyly stepping out of the furnace and back into the hall, you kept your gaze strictly on the floor. Mandalorians threw lingering glances your way, but they didn’t seem to last as long as you feared. A long table lined the eastern wall, and over it was a stack of books. You’d never seen so many before. You’d never actually held one, either. As much as you wanted to pick one up and read it, you couldn’t; you’d never learned to read before. From where you’re from it’s common to hear that, but you suspect it’s not so common amongst Mandalorians. Another factor for them to ostracize you for. You approached the table to get a closer glimpse at the books. 

Lingering around the book table was a taller man, in dark blue armor, and he inclined his head towards you as a greeting. 

“Hello,” you stuttered. Your intial reaction is always to bob a curtsey when someone greets you, but those days are behind you. 

“You’re Y/n,” the Mandalorian says, “aren’t you?” 

You nodded. “I am.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” he says in his deep voice, “to meet the famed madame. I am Paz.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Paz,” you returned his greeting. “Are you guarding these books because they might run away?” You asked. You half meant it, considering the heavy weapons the were strapped along Paz’s back and belt. 

“Something like that,” Paz said. He laughed. It was strange to hear it! Din hadn’t made such pleasant conversation with you in the two full days you’d been on the Razor Crest with him. The Armorer was very formal and upfront, so she didn’t seem like the conversational type. Wendi and Ryder? They’re non-starters. 

So you were sort of stunned to find that Mandalorians were, in fact, capable of laughter. 

“What do you do here?” you asked, feeling breathless. Finally, someone you could talk to. You’ve never gotten to truly talk to anyone, ever! You’re filled with questions and hope that Paz could answer some. 

“Among the covert we have our respective jobs. Titles, almost. I’m apart of the covert’s makeshift infantry. I usually guard and protect, that is.”

“And so the books are under your watch?” 

“Sure. Not as prisoners, but as…well, they’re a bit like you. I protect them.” 

“Why?”

“Because they were in my family for a long time. Most of them, anyways. Some have been bought by other Mandalorians here. Consider this the library of the covert.” He waved a hand across the table. “Would you like one?” 

Gnawing on your lip, you shake your head “no.” 

“I can’t read,” you admit. It was easy to say it to Paz. Paz did not laugh or mock the way Ryder or Wendi might have. Paz looked through the books on the table and picked one out for you. 

“This is generally for children,” he admits as he holds it out. “The first pages are the alphabet. Memorizing those letters is the first step to literacy.”

Bashful, you look to the floor. “Oh, thank you. I can at least know the alphabet.” 

Paz shakes his head. “If you’d like help, I will help. Before the covert I taught foundlings who were also illiterate.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t bother you,” you say, hugging the book tightly. 

“It wouldn’t bother me. But I won’t bother you,” Paz says. “You’re welcome to come here at nights, if you want. An hour each day would surely catch you up.” 

With a fuzzy feeling in your chest, you slowly nod. “I suppose it wouldn’t bother me if it wouldn’t bother you,” you admit. “I do want to learn.” 

“Learn, you will,” Paz promised. 

You could hear the smile in his voice. 

next chapter

[stevechoosesbucky]

Please let me know for an instant follow, if you watch The Mandalorian and ship Mando with Paz Vizla (the huge brute Mandalorian with whom he has a lot of tension with, almost kill each other just to be rescued by him later lol).

The guy sacrificed his covert hideout just to save Mando and his green son so of course I ship it and I need more content about them

[eunyuin]

“¿me estás haciendo una escena, seomun?” inquiere entretenida mientras ladea el rostro mirándole “tal parece que tu encanto conmigo se está mostrando cada vez más” bromea con aires vanidosos que siempre corresponden a la invención de sus propias fantasías que creaba alrededor de ciertos vínculos que consideraba entretenidos. “exacto, pero yo no hago lo que me dicen” le informa sosteniendo sus manos a su espalda, variando el peso de su cuerpo de la punta de los pies a los talones mientras no tiene intenciones de avanzar hacia donde él. “no me interesa ver a personas que me importan lastimarse por mero gusto” expresa y sosteniendo los talones contra el suelo gira en su eje unos pocos grados. “¿no quieres acompañarme a ver este lugar? quizás encontremos algo divertido para hacer” sugiere y ladea el rostro hacia el más alto. “te dejaré hacerme una pregunta y contestar con toda la sinceridad más sincera del mundo” apoya mano en hombro ajeno y guiña el ojo, como si oferta fuese única e irrepetible “pero tendrás que responder a la mía con la misma honestidad” sinceridad en labios ravnos ardía hasta convertirse en humo. @sskcng

" espero un mejor trato, ese he tú lo tomé un tanto personal " burlesca decora facciones, sílabas no toman con seriedad mismas palabras. "me dirijo al patio principal " espectáculo no es que llame en demasía su atención, aunque disfruta aprender sobre cómo se desenvuelven el resto de clanes más allá de estudios teóricos, no se encuentra atrapado por osadía de los lasombra. ritual, a sus ojos, carece de sentido. " ¿no es eso por lo que nos citaron aquí? "

[scarletlegionnaire]

Productive Me: Let's write today and finish some videos for the channel.

Also Me: sits in front of the computer daydreaming about Paz and his big tiddies. And his growl. Nothing gets done.

[schoolgirl303]

Spoilers for Episode 7. Look away! If you haven't seen it.

So you're telling me that Kuiil died but that red devil looking thing from episode 6 didn't die after getting double smashed?

Girl BYE.

P.S I have a feeling that the Mandalorian Squad is going to make an appearance once again. I'm ready to see my thick blue boii !!(the heavy infantry) 😍😍

[skittydolly]