#skug songs

[neims-skeleton-obsession]

Behold, yet another song that has no right being a skug song to me: Elysian Fields by the Mechanisms

(this is the death to the mechanisms version because. it’s my favourite version. Original is here. warning for some blood/dead bodies in the art in the video)

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 2

Chapter Two: Our Magnetism To Recklessness

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: UHHH… I’m back! Hopefully, I can update this fic consistently now since I have a relaxed school schedule now. As well as writing chapters for Notre Dame but at the moment I’m back with Pedro Pascal character fics hehe.

Song: Someone To Stay by Vancouver Sleep Clinic

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INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

You’re sitting cross-legged with your palms facing up on the cool metal floor of the Razor Crest. Meditation has always been a struggle for you. You long to explore the depths of your soul, but confronting your deepest fears and desires fills you with a sense of trepidation. Danger seems to be lurking around every corner, and it's always been easier to turn away than to confront it.

But you know that danger lives within you. It's a part of you, an ever-present shadow that threatens to consume you at any moment. And so, you steel yourself for the battle ahead. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let the stillness envelop you.

At first, the darkness within seems to grow, threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to be swayed. You focus on your breath, on the rise and fall of your chest, and slowly but surely, the darkness begins to recede. You feel a sense of peace wash over you, and you know that you've taken the first step on a long and arduous journey.

You open to the sound of the ship's hull rattling, a disconcerting reminder that you're hurtling through space. With a sigh and a frown, you pull yourself up from the floor and climb up the ladder to the cockpit. As you push the doors open, the baby coos in delight, oblivious to the events that surround you. You peer over Mando's shoulder at the star map, trying to make sense of the jumble of lines and dots that represent the countless stars and planets of the galaxy.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.

Mando shrugs, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen before him. "The kid keeps touching things."

You snort, knowing full well that the baby's curiosity is boundless. You settle into the co-pilot's seat, leaning over to get a better look at the holomap.

"Let's see," Mando says, his voice gruff. "Sorgan. Looks like there's no star port, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it's perfect for us.”

You nod, fully aware that a remote planet like Sorgan is precisely what you need to escape the Empire's wrath and the other bounty hunters on your tail. After a brief pause, Mando turns to the baby and speaks, "Are you ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat? Nobody's going to find us here."

You can't help but smile at the Mandalorian's words, even as you feel the weight of your past deeds and the danger that constantly surrounds you. But for now, you're grateful for the opportunity to take a breather and rest up before the next job comes knocking. You strap into the co-pilot’s seat and prepare to land on the forested swamp planet.

SORGAN, 9ABY — DAY

The Razor Crest's engine hisses as the landing gear deploys into a locked position, signaling your arrival on the planet's surface. Mando rises from the pilot's chair and gently places the child on the ground, speaking in a hushed tone, "Listen, I'm going out to look around. It won't take long. Just don't touch anything. I'll find us a place to stay and come back for you."

As you stand up, the Mandalorian turns to you with a serious tone, "You watch the kid." He then turns back to the baby, his voice firm, "You stay put. Don't move. Got it?"

The child grunts in response and Mando nods, "Good."

You observe as the Mandalorian strides out of the cockpit doors, leaving you to tend to the small, precious bundle of joy. Your attention shifts to the baby, his big round eyes gazing up at you, conveying his desire to follow the armored warrior. You heave a sigh, weighing the pros and cons of taking the infant along, and then concede, "Alright, let’s go.”

You descend to the lower deck and find the Mandalorian working on lowering the left-side telescopic gate. The child is standing by his right side, fascinated by the mechanism, while you make your way to his left side as quietly as possible. As soon as the gate is fully lowered, the Mandalorian notices the child next to him, tilting his head down to meet the baby's curious gaze.

You stand there awkwardly, unsure how to convince him to let you and the child go with him. You give him a shy smile, hoping it would be enough to persuade him. He looks at you for a moment, then sighs and relents, "Oh, what the hell? Come on."

As you step out into the vibrant greenery of Sorgan's forest, you can't help but marvel at the beauty of it all. The towering trees loom above, their leaves forming a natural canopy that filters the sunlight to create a dappled effect on the ground below. You take in a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling a sense of calm wash over you.

With Mando and the child by your side, you begin to weave your way through the dense foliage, using your hands to brush aside the leaves and branches that obstruct your path. The colors of the plants and flowers around you are like a rainbow, bright and vivid, a far cry from the dull and dreary landscapes you've become accustomed to.

As you walk, you feel a connection to the planet, as if its life force is pulsing through every living thing around you. It's a stark contrast to the harsh and unforgiving worlds you've visited in the past, where the emotions of despair, distaste, and anger seem to permeate every surface. Here on Sorgan, you feel at peace, and you can't help but be grateful to have found such a serene and beautiful place to hide away for a while.

You enter a common house where food is grilled over a large grill. You pull your hood up, not wanting anyone to identify you. As you look around, the patrons are mostly human, and a loth-cat growls at the Child, startling him. You quickly check your surroundings and notice that Mando is doing the same before finding a table.

You lean down to pick up the child and place him on the toddler's chair, and as you sit down, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you sense mixed emotions from someone nearby. Suddenly, the proprietor approaches your table and greets you, “Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

Mando is curt as he replies, “Bone broth, for the little one.” The proprietor hums, “Oh, well, you're in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there's plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” Mando nods, “Yes please, for her.”

The proprietor nods and turns to leave but Mando then inquires, “That one over there. When did she arrive?” The proprietor turns to look at who he’s referring to and replies, “I've seen her here for the last week or so.”

You also take a good look at the woman, your empath abilities seeing multiple shades of dark blue radiating and outlining her. Mando tilts his head, “What’s her business here?” She chuckles, “Business? Oh, well, there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say. She doesn't strike me as a log runner.” Mando then places down a few large credits on the table and the proprietor is delighted, “Well, thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka just for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

You smile and thank her as she walks away, only to spot that the woman sitting by the corner had seemingly vanished. Mando stands up alarmed by the fact and swiftly says, “Keep an eye on the kid.”

You nod in agreement and watch as Mando disappears through the curtains leading outside. Your own broth and the child are served soon after, but you can't shake off the feeling that something is amiss. The child hasn't used the Force to communicate with you or even tell you his name yet, you sense a commotion coming from outside. The child hops down from his seat, taking his bowl with him, and you follow him as he leads you to the curtains.

You peek through and see Mando engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a woman. The two grapple with each other, throwing punches and kicks before finally holding each other at gunpoint. You and the child watch in amazement, impressed by their skill and tenacity. Mando notices you both and looks back at the woman, "You want some soup?"

The four of you return to the common house. You sit in between the child and the Mandalorian, listening intently to the woman who introduces herself as  Carasynthia ‘Cara’ Dune, “Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly Ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They'd send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, and suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for.”

“How'd you end up here?” The Mandalorian asked, as Cara slowly takes a good look at you, “Let's just call it an early retirement… Wait, were you part of the–” You cut her off before she could out you, “A long time ago, yeah… but it doesn’t matter, I couldn’t stay.” 

Cara’s eyebrows furrowed, “They’ve been looking for you.” Your eyes look downwards as you quietly replied, “I know.”

A brief moment of silence passes by the table and Cara cleared her throat, “Look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That's why I came at you so hard.”

Mando gruffly replies, “Yeah, that's what I figured.”

Cara moves to get out of her seat while saying, “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” 

You watch as the ex-shock trooper leaves, and her empty bowl of soup on the table, feeling disappointed at the missed opportunity to connect with someone in this peaceful place. The Mandalorian tilts his head in your direction, his voice husky as he said, “Well, looks like this planet's taken.”

As the night wears on, you find yourself sitting on the ramp of the Razor Crest with the child on your lap, keeping him company while the Mandalorian works on repairing the ship. The air is filled with the buzz of insects, and the only source of light comes from the two lamps illuminating the Mandalorian's silver beskar armor.

Watching him work with precision and skill, you suddenly blurt out a question that's been on your mind, "If you could go anywhere in the galaxy, where would you go?" His movements momentarily falter, caught off guard by your inquiry. For a while, there's only silence as he continues to work on the ship.

Just as you're about to apologize for asking, he finally responds, "Mandalore." Your confusion is evident on your face, and he elaborates, "I was a foundling. The Mandalorians rescued me, took me in." As he speaks, you feel the weight of his words and the depth of his emotions, the threads, and wisps of dark grey and blue enveloping you and leaving you breathless.

As you continue to play with the baby, you feel the Mandalorian's eyes on you through his vizor. You turn to look at him and catch his gaze before he quickly looks away, back to the repairs. It’s his turn to question you, "If you could go anywhere in the galaxy, where would you go?" and you can't help but wonder if he's searching for something beyond just a destination.

You consider his question for a moment before settling on an answer, "Home." You feel a pang of homesickness wash over you as you say it, but it's the truth. You don't know where home is yet, but you hope to find it someday.

Mando turns to face you, his helmet still covering his face, but you can sense his attention on you. "Where is home?" he asks, his voice quiet yet curious. You shrug your shoulders, "I don't know yet. Maybe it's out there, waiting for me to find it."

As the baby chitters and coos, Mando watches you with a strange warmth in his chest. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, and he's not quite sure how to process it. But watching you play with the child, seeing the way you care for him and make him smile, makes him feel something he's not used to - hope.

The peace of the moment was abruptly shattered by the sound of a repulsorlift speeder approaching. You alerted the Mandalorian, and he assured you he would handle it. As two men approached them, one of them began speaking, "Excuse me."

You watched as the Mandalorian addressed them with an uninterested tone, "There something we can help you with?"

The men hesitated before one of them spoke up, "Uh, yeah. Raiders."

"We have money," the other added.

The Mandalorian scoffed, "So, you think I'm some kinda mercenary?"

The men exchanged a worried glance before the younger one spoke up, "You are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?"

"It is," the Mandalorian replied curtly, moving to the other side of the panel and using his large frame to herd you away from the two men. You felt his arm wrap around your waist protectively as you carried the child with you.

The men continued to stammer, "Sir, I've read a lot about your people... Tribe. If half of what I read is true..." The other one quickly cuts his friend off, “We have money.”

"How much?" Mando asks, his voice stern and unyielding.

The two men exchange a worried look before the younger one steps forward. "Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen."

The older man chimes in, "Krill. We're krill farmers."

You sense and feel their anguish and distress over the situation in their village. The villager holds out a bag of credits and pleads with Mando, "Please, it's all we have. We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in."

Mando takes the bag of credits but shakes his head. "It's not enough."

The villager's face falls. "Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is."

"I know it's not enough, good luck," Mando replies, his voice final.

The two villagers look crestfallen as they move aside, defeated. As you ascend up the ramp, you can't help but turn your head towards the two men, feeling guilty for not at least trying to help. With a pleading look in your eyes, you silently urge the Mandalorian to consider their request.

"Come on," the older villager says to the younger. "Let's head back."

The younger one protests. "Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere."

Mando turns to face them, a hint of compassion in his voice. "Where do you live?"

"On a farm," the older man replies. "Weren't you listening? We're farmers."

Mando presses on. "In the middle of nowhere?"

The younger man nods. "Yes."

With a deep breath, the Mandalorian considers their request. He looks at you, and you nod your head in agreement. “Good,” he says to the two men. “Come up and help.”

As they follow you into the Razor Crest, you can feel a sense of relief wash over you. Though you don't know what lies ahead, you know that you're doing the right thing. All of you carry different sizes of crates and supplies, loading them onto the repulsorlift speeder and the child quietly sits, observing all of you move around.

You hear the rumble of the Mandalorian’s voice through the modulator of his helmet as he said, “I'm gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits.”

“You gonna ask Cara for help?” You asked as you loaded a small crate of supplies and Mando nods, “I’ll be right back.”

You sit beside the Mandalorian, holding the baby tight against your chest as the speeder glides through the forest. The yellow glow of the lamp illuminates the path ahead, casting flickering shadows on the trees. Across from you, Cara looks skeptical.

“So, we're basically running off a band of Raiders for lunch money?” she says incredulously.

Mando turns to her, his helmet reflecting the light. “They're quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked, that's a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we're a deterrent. I can't imagine there's anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn't handle.”

Cara nods in agreement, but you can feel your eyelids getting heavy. You lean against one of the crates with the child in your arms, feeling the Mandalorian's warmth beside you. As he stretches his arms and legs, he tilts his helmet up, searching for a comfortable position.

Your tired eyes flutter closed and you sink into a peaceful sleep. The stars twinkle above you, and the speeder's gentle hum lulls you into a deep slumber. You don't notice the Mandalorian's initial rigidity as your sleeping form curls into his, but after a long look at your peaceful face, he relaxes and allows himself to doze off as well.

SORGAN, THE VILLAGE, 9ABY, – MORNING

You awaken to find yourself lying on top of Mando's chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. As you open your eyes, you notice that the sun is already high in the sky, casting a warm glow over your surroundings. Mando stirs beneath you, muttering something unintelligible.

"We're here," he says finally, his voice low and gruff.

You feel the cool touch of his beskar armor against your cheek, contrasting with the heat of his body. You blush, feeling the blood rush to your face, and apologize for your unintentional intimacy. Cara, who's been watching you both, gives you a knowing look.

Despite the embarrassment, you can't help but feel a sense of comfort and safety in Mando's presence. Cara smirks knowingly as Mando quips, "Looks like they're happy to see us." The children of the village rush to greet you and the child as you disembark from the speeder, their laughter and cheers filling the air.

You're led by one of the villagers to a barn where you'll be staying for the time being. Omera, the woman who prepared the lodging, welcomes you both in. "I hope this is comfortable for you two. Sorry that all we have is the barn."

You glance at Mando, concerned that he won't have the privacy he needs. "I can bunk with Cara in the meantime so you can have your privacy," you offer. Omera looks between you and Mando, "Are you not… together?"

Before you can clarify, Mando cuts in, "It's fine. She’ll stay with me and help me keep an eye on the kid." You're skeptical, but he simply hums, indicating his certainty. "This will do fine," he adds.

As Omera clears her throat, you notice her eyes lingering on Mando with a hint of admiration, and the jealousy inside you twists uncomfortably. "I stacked some blankets over here," she says, gesturing to a corner of the barn.

Mando thanks her before kneeling down to unpack a few of his things. You watch him, lost in thought as you gaze out the window. Suddenly, you hear small footsteps and Mando quickly spins around, his body tense and alert. You whip your head to the source of the sound, spooking a young girl standing at the doorway.

"Whoa, it's okay," you say, trying to calm her down.

Omera moves to the doorway, slowly revealing the young girl, “This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers.” She then looks at her daughter lovingly, “This nice man and lady are going to help protect us from the bad ones.” Winta looks to both of you, “Thank you.” Mando nods in acknowledgment as you give the young girl a soft smile. “Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room.” Omera said, leading her daughter away from you two. 

You place the child in his wooden crib that had been provided by the people of the village. As you both unpack your belongings, the Mandalorian remains quiet and distant. You notice his reluctance to get too close, but you can't help but be drawn to his presence.

You break the silence by asking, "So, where did you learn to fight like that? You know, with all those fancy weapons?"

He glances at you briefly before replying, "I've been trained since I was a child. It's part of being a Mandalorian."

"Wow, that's really impressive," you reply, admiring his dedication to his craft.

The Mandalorian grunts in response, his attention focused on organizing his weapons. You decide to try again, "What about you? Where did you grow up?"

You see a flicker of hesitation in his movement before he answers, "I was an orphan. I don't remember much of my childhood."

You nod, understanding his desire for privacy. But you can't help but feel a pang of curiosity. "It must have been tough, growing up like that," you say softly. "Did you have anyone to rely on?"

The Mandalorian pauses, his hands stilling on his weapons. "No one," he replies flatly. "But I had to learn to rely on myself. It's the way of our people."

You sense a deep pain and loneliness in his words, and your heart aches for him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "But you know, you don't have to be alone all the time. Sometimes it's good to have someone you can trust by your side."

You meet the Mandalorian's gaze, his helmet hiding any trace of emotion. He seems guarded as if waiting for you to reveal more. "And what about you?" he asks, his voice low and curious. "Why are you here?"

You take a moment to consider how much to disclose, knowing that there is more to your presence than meets the eye. You finally decide to offer a vague response, "I'm not really sure. Maybe I'm also running from something... I'm just not sure what. But something drew me to Nevarro and then to you… and the child. I guess it felt right to be here."

The Mandalorian nods, seeming to accept your answer, but you sense that he knows there is more to the story. You wonder if he suspects that you possess a connection to the Force, something that you have been keeping hidden from everyone, including yourself.

You feel a sense of relief that he didn't question you further, knowing that you couldn't reveal your true purpose for being there just yet. You glance out the window, lost in thought, and catch a glimpse of the setting sun. It reminded you of the prophecy that was spoken about the Force, but you quickly push the thought away, not wanting to reveal too much to the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian nods slowly as if considering your words. "It's not safe out there," he warns. "You should be more careful."

You chuckle. "I can take care of myself, you know. And besides, I have you to protect me now, don't I?"

He doesn't respond, but you can sense a hint of amusement in his posture, completely relaxed and open. Despite the Mandalorian's initial reluctance, you find that he has a dry sense of humor and sharp wit, and you can't help but be drawn to his enigmatic persona. It's a small victory, but it's enough to make you feel hopeful. Maybe he's not as closed off as he seems.

You suddenly hear Omera’s voice by the doorway, "Knock, knock." Mando turns his head to face the door, and you nod to let him know it's okay to let her in. "Come in," he says, his voice steady and calm.

Omera enters the room with a tray of food in her hands, followed by her daughter Winta. She sets the tray down on the table and walks over to the crib where the child rests. Winta looks up at her mother with hopeful eyes, and Omera nods her head in encouragement.

"Can I feed him?" Winta asks, looking up at Mando.

Mando turns to you, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he responds with a soft "Sure."

You watch as Winta offers the child a mushroom, which he happily munches on. After a moment, she turns to Mando and asks politely, "Can I play with him?"

Mando looks at you for an answer, and you smile and nod your head. He sighs and says, "Sure."

He gently picks up the child and sets him down on the floor, cooing softly to him. You watch as Omera gazes at him with fondness, and you feel a twisted and sickening feeling in your stomach. It sits like a rock, weighing you down, and you feel as though you're standing on the edge of a drop-off, or at the summit of a great mountain.

As Winta leads the child out of the barn, you notice Mando's protective nature kick in as he steps forward and hesitates, "I don't think…"

But Omera places a calming hand on his chest, interrupting his thoughts. You turn away, trying not to intrude on their moment. You hear her reassure him, "They'll be fine."

Mando still seems hesitant, repeating, "I don't…" before Omera firmly reassures him once more, "They'll be fine."

You can feel the tension in the air and look down at the wooden floor, feeling a sense of unease. In a quiet voice, you speak up, "I'll go keep an eye on them and make sure no one gets hurt." You quickly leave the barn, not wanting to see the possibility of having something to lose.

You step out onto the grass, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. As you make your way toward the children, you can hear their laughter and playful screams in the distance. You see Winta and the child running around in circles, the little one stumbling and giggling as he tries to keep up with her.

You stand off to the side, keeping a watchful eye on them. It's hard to resist the urge to join in on the fun, but you know better than to draw any unwanted attention to yourself. As you watch, you can't help but think about the danger that seems to follow the child everywhere he goes.

You sit on a bench a few meters away from the Mandalorian, lost in thought as you watch the children play. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow across the landscape. You sigh contentedly, feeling a sense of peace at this moment.

Meanwhile, the Mandalorian is sitting alone at a table, his helmet resting beside him. He watches the children with a soft expression, savoring the moment. As he eats, his gaze drifts to you, sitting on the bench. He takes a deep breath, his thoughts turning to you.

Unbeknownst to you, the Mandalorian is watching you. His heart beats faster as he takes in your features, admiring your beauty from afar. He wonders what you're thinking about, what's going through your mind.

For a moment, he considers walking over to you, but he decides against it. He knows he can't reveal his face to you, and he doesn't want to risk exposing himself. So he remains where he is, silently watching you and the children play.

You, on the other hand, remain lost in thought, unaware of the Mandalorian's gaze upon you. You take a deep breath, feeling content and at ease in this moment of peace and quiet.

As evening falls, you, Cara, and the Mandalorian swiftly track down and analyze the trail left by the raiders. Little did you know, the Mandalorian's keen senses were also keeping tabs on your every move. He switches to his infrared vision and presses a few buttons on his left bracer, “About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot. And something big sheared off those branches,” he observes, pointing to the missing chunks of the tree.

You and Cara follow the Mandalorian closely, unaware that his eyes are also scanning your form from a distance. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, causing you and Cara to look up and see a huge print on the ground. “AT-ST,” he declares, and you curse softly under your breath, realizing the gravity of the situation.

The Mandalorian's voice breaks through your thoughts, “Imperial walker. What's it doing here?” Cara shakes her head, unsure, “I don't know. But this is more than I signed up for.” As you look ahead, you witness the aftermath of the walker's destruction - a vast clearing of trees completely demolished and torn down. You're completely speechless, and a sense of dread settles in as you realize the danger you're all facing.

You make your way back to the village, feeling the weight of the impending news you have to deliver. Mando calls for a town meeting to announce the situation, and you stand in front of the crowd. He begins, “Bad news. You can't live here anymore.”

The murmurs of questions and concern immediately fill the air, and you look at the Mandalorian in disbelief, though you had expected worse. “Nice bedside manner,” Cara comments, causing Mando to retort, “You think you can do better?” She shrugs, “Can't do much worse.”

Cara steps up, raising her voice so the farmers can hear her, “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.” Mando moves to lean on the wall behind him, holding his left arm with his right hand, and quietly observing the people around him.

A farmer reminds them, “You took the job.” To which Cara replies, “That was before we knew about the AT-ST.” Another asks, “What is that?”

Cara looks at them pointedly, “The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us.”

Protests immediately erupt as they beg for your help. Eventually, Omera speaks up and pleads, “Please. We have nowhere to go.” Cara chirpily replies, “Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller.”

One of the farmers responds, saying that his grandfather seeded the ponds, and his companion adds that it took them generations to build this village. Cara nods, “I understand. I do. But there are only three of us.” To which one of them replies, “No, there's not. There's at least 20 here.”

Cara shakes her head, “I mean fighters. Be realistic.”

As the farmers plead and Cara stresses the impossibility of fighting the AT-ST, you feel overwhelmed by the multitude of emotions emanating from the crowd. Fear, desperation, anger, hopelessness, and determination all blend together, causing your powers to spiral out of control. You try to focus on breathing and grounding yourself, but the colors in your vision continue to scatter, blurring your sight.

You lean against the wall for support, trying to steady yourself. The room feels like it's closing in on you, and you can't help but feel the weight of the situation. The farmers have built their lives and livelihoods in this village, and they have nowhere else to go. It's up to you and your companions to find a solution, but the odds are stacked against you.

As the tension in the room escalates, the Mandalorian surprises everyone by speaking up. His words hang in the air, daring the villagers to consider the impossible. You can't help but feel a glimpse of hope as he says, “Unless we show them how.”

As the Mandalorian begins to teach the farmers how to fight and shoot, you step away from the group, needing a moment to collect your thoughts. The air around you is thick with tension and uncertainty. You feel the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders.

You walk towards the edge of the village, away from the chaos and noise. The world around you is peaceful, yet melancholic. The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, a reminder of the beauty that still exists amidst the chaos.

As you stand there, the wind brushes against your face, carrying with it the whispers of hope and despair. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind of the overwhelming emotions.

You pick up a staff from nearby, feeling its weight in your hands. The sun beats down on you, casting a golden light that dances across the grass, and you take a deep breath, ready to practice.

You start with simple movements, twirling the staff in your hands, and feeling the wind whistle through the hollow center. As you continue, your movements become more fluid and more natural, and your mind quiets as your body takes over. You lose yourself in the dance of the staff, swishing it back and forth, striking against imaginary foes.

With each movement, you feel your muscles stretching, your body growing stronger. You can feel the power coursing through you, and you close your eyes, savoring the sensation. For a moment, the world falls away, and you are alone with your staff, in perfect harmony.

But as the sounds of the villagers practicing with their blasters and rifles reach your ears, you remember the urgency of the situation. You open your eyes, feeling more focused and determined than ever before. You take a deep breath and start practicing more elaborate moves, twirling the staff overhead, sliding it across the ground, and striking at invisible enemies.

You continue to practice until the sun begins to dip below the horizon, and the sky turns a deep shade of purple. Your body is slick with sweat, and your arms ache, but you feel invigorated. You know that with each movement, you are preparing yourself for the fight ahead, and you feel more confident than ever before.

As you make your way back to the barn, your heart beats with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Your hand reaches for the satchel, fingers fumbling as you open the flap. Inside, the lightsaber hilt gleams with a soft, pulsing light that seems to call out to you. You grasp it firmly, feeling the power of the Force course through your veins.

For a moment, you pause, taking in the weight of the weapon in your hand. This is what you have trained for, what you have waited for. You know that you will need to use it in the coming fight, and the thought fills you with both excitement and fear.

Finally, you pocket the hilt and emerge from the barn, scanning the crowd for Cara. When you spot her, she wastes no time briefing you on the plan. You listen intently, the words washing over you as you visualize the steps in your mind. Eventually, the two of you look for Mando, knowing it’s almost time to leave.

As the Mandalorian and Omera speak by the house, you couldn't help but notice the intimacy in their conversation. They stood so close, their faces mere inches apart, and their voices low and gentle. It made you wonder if you were good enough, if you could ever be as strong and capable as Mando, or as graceful and alluring as Omera.

You watched as Mando turned to leave, his helmeted head facing away from Omera. She lingered there, her eyes following his retreating figure with a mix of admiration and sadness. As you watched this scene, you felt a twinge of jealousy and inadequacy. It was as if you were an outsider looking in, a witness to a connection that you could never fully understand or be a part of.

Cara nods to him that they needed to leave. You walk away from them, towards where you were supposed to hide, not wanting them to see the sullen look on your face, needing to shake the feeling off and focus on the task at hand. The villagers were counting on all of you, and that’s not something you take lightly.

In the midst of the village's collective anticipation, time slows to a crawl. The sky above transforms into a particular hue, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene. You stand amidst the gathered villagers, a mixture of anxiety and determination knotting your insides. The atmosphere is charged with a blend of urgency and impending confrontation, the air heavy with a sense of destiny that you can't quite escape.

As the minutes tick by, the weight of the moment presses down on you. The instinct to seek shelter wars with the fierce readiness to stand your ground. Amidst this inner turmoil, a strange paralysis grips you momentarily, as if the very ground beneath you has rooted itself, making each step an arduous effort.

Then, in the distance, relief washes over you like a cool breeze as the figures of Mando and Cara emerge into view. Their forms dash towards the makeshift barricade that you and the villagers have constructed, a symbol of your collective resolve. Amidst the swirling emotions and the pulsating energy of the moment, Cara's voice pierces through, a beacon of command and assurance, “This is it. Once that thing steps into the pond, it's goin' down.”

From the distant heart of the forest, an eerie symphony of creaking trees accompanies each ponderous stride of the AT-ST, its colossal frame sending shivers through the earth itself. The very ground trembles beneath your feet, a testament to the immense power this machine wields. Amid the tension-soaked air, the mechanical titan's eyes, ablaze in a menacing red hue, fixate on your position. Cara's authoritative voice cuts through the unease, “Weapons ready.”

With a resolve that refuses to waver, the villagers heed her call, seizing their arms with a mixture of determination and fear. You grip your quarterstaff firmly, its cool surface a reassuring anchor in this storm of impending conflict. The rhythmic thuds grow louder, the impending doom drawing closer. Amidst the anxiety, the Mandalorian's voice, a steady murmur, reaches you, “Just a few more steps.”

Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, but just as the monstrous machine teeters on the brink of submerging into the pond, a sudden, jarring halt freezes its movement. A collective breath catches as hope and dismay collide. “It stopped,” Cara's voice rings out, the disappointment palpable, and you can't help but release a quiet curse of frustration.

The AT-ST's ominous features illuminate as its piercing lights cut through the encroaching darkness. In response, Mando's stern command ripples through the group, “Get down. Get down.”

A burst of violence shatters the relative calm. A fiery blast erupts from the AT-ST, obliterating a nearby house into a shower of debris and destruction. Omera's anguished cry pierces through the chaos, “Caben. Stay there!”

“Hold your positions!” Cara commands and you await the oncoming chaos.

A beat passes and you spot the klantooinians raiders charging through the fields and you hear Cara shout, “Open fire.”

Amidst the chaotic symphony of blasters roaring and explosions resounding, your thoughts keep returning to the Child and the other children, tucked away in a hut for safety. The clamor of battle seems almost distant compared to the nagging worry that gnaws at your core. But suddenly, a chorus of voices rises in unison, snapping you back to the present turmoil.

Mando and Cara remain engrossed in the fierce firefight, their blasters blazing as they relentlessly confront the marauding raiders. You bide your time, observing the ebb and flow of the battle, waiting for the opportune moment to make your move. “We gotta get that thing to step forward,” Mando's words cut through the din, met with a silent nod of agreement from you. Cara's response follows suit, determination etching her features, “I'm thinking.”

Your gaze shifts from the AT-ST to the gap that separates it from the pond, then back to the determined figures of Mando, Cara, and the villagers, united in their struggle to defend their homes and lives. They're fighting against the odds, wielding resilience in the face of adversity. It's a hand they didn't choose, yet they're attempting to rewrite the cruel script forced upon them.

With a determined exhale, you voice your plan, “Well, I’ve got one. Cover me.”

Mando's urgent cry pierces the battlefield, “Wait!” But your feet are already in motion, pounding towards the imposing AT-ST. Klatooinians attempt to thwart your advance, but your actions are driven by purpose. The AT-ST's mechanical gaze fixes upon you, unleashing a barrage of blaster fire. Swiftly, you deflect the first onslaught with your staff, the sheer force of it causing the weapon to fracture.

Disregarding the broken staff, you retrieve the hilt of your saber from your side. A single motion ignites the weapon, its vibrant hum slicing through the tumultuous air. A momentary hush descends upon the battlefield as the radiant purple glow pierces the darkness, a beacon of your will amid uncertainty.

Seizing the moment, you propel your legs into swift motion, closing the distance between you and the towering AT-ST with resolute determination. The machine responds with a rapid barrage of blaster fire, its crimson bolts lancing through the air toward you. But your reflexes are honed, your connection with the Force guiding your every move. The blaster bolts meet their match in your deft saber strikes, the vibrant blade intercepting and redirecting the onslaught with precision. One of your well-aimed deflections strikes true, the blaster bolt rebounding off the reflective surface and impacting the window of the AT-ST. An immediate burst of flames engulfs the interior, setting the machine's innards ablaze.

Closing in on the colossal mechanical menace, you keep your focus sharp. Your fingers clasp the hilt of your saber with unwavering determination, the hum of its energy reverberating through your hands. A fierce battle cry escapes your lips as you direct the blade toward one of the legs of the AT-ST. The searing edge of your lightsaber bites into the metal, and with a surge of strength channeled from within, you cleave through the mechanical sinews that keep the monstrosity upright. The air sings with the screech of metal yielding to your power, and as your blade severs the last connection.

Amidst a chorus of groans and creaks, the colossal machine succumbs to its own weight, a symphony of destruction that heralds triumph within the tumultuous disarray. The very ground shudders beneath the force of its fall as it crashes into the abyss of the deep trench. Unexpectedly, the Mandalorian surges forward, a grav charge in hand, and drives it into the heart of the walker's chassis. The device emits a beeping signal, and then he seizes your hand, urgency driving his movements as he pulls you with him. Together, you plunge into the pond's embrace, immersing yourselves in the watery depths just before the AT-ST succumbs to the explosion that fractures it into fragments.

Stripped of their mechanical support, the Klatooinian raiders who remain flee into the shadows of the forest, their bravado shattered in the wake of defeat. Around you, the villagers erupt in exultation, triumphant cheers filling the air like a melodic affirmation of the strength they've discovered within themselves. 

In the watery sanctuary, your breaths come in ragged gasps, echoes of the fierce battle still resounding within you. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, the weight of the fight making itself known. Yet, a tender touch upon your cheek stirs you from your fatigue-induced daze. You turn to find his gaze upon you through the opaque visor, and beneath its cold exterior, you sense something unexpected—a question, an unspoken curiosity, an almost vulnerable inquiry.

His voice, normally so brusque, is a gentle breeze against your senses as he inquires, “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

His words hang in the air, an invitation to open up, to be real, to let him in. For a moment, you're paralyzed, the fear of being truly seen like a tangible thing. Your lips part, the urge to speak rising, but the words remain trapped, caught between the weight of vulnerability and the yearning to connect.

Yet, he doesn't seem to need your words. His hand, clad in smooth leather, finds yours in a firm yet gentle grip. The touch, the connection, is a promise that whatever unspoken truths linger will find their way into the light. And for now, as your fingers interlace, you both find solace in shared victory, the unspoken understanding between you more profound than any words could convey.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER…

SORGAN, THE VILLAGE, 9ABY,  – AFTERNOON

"Wow, that's so cool!"

"Are you a Jedi?"

"Can we see the lightsaber again, please?"

With the dawn's gentle embrace, the village emerged from slumber, and before Mando even stirred, you found yourself encircled by a swarm of eager young faces. Tiny hands reached for yours, their chorus of pleas and questions creating a symphony of innocent curiosity despite the weeks that have gone by of answering their queries.

In their midst, you shared stories and secrets, laughter and gasps of amazement, as their wide eyes absorbed your every word while you held the child. It was a long night's rest that had rejuvenated your spirit, and stepping outside the hut, you became an instant magnet for the village's exuberant youth.

Through the playful haze, you caught sight of Cara, Omera, and Mando engaged in conversation by the hut. His helmet's visage glinted like a sentinel beneath the sun's warm embrace, his figure a silent sentinel stationed against the wall. Amidst the cacophony of youthful delight, you juggled their queries with practiced ease, attempting to distill the complex realities of your experiences into tales they could grasp.

As you spun your narratives, the sunlight painted glimmers upon your skin, and your peripheral senses detected a familiar gleam. A glint of Mando's helmet, a silent yet potent presence observing from a distance, stirred your awareness. Amidst the ceaseless laughter and relentless inquisition, your gaze inadvertently gravitated toward the corner of the village square, drawn by an unspoken connection that lingered between you and the Mandalorian.

Omera emerges from the hut's threshold, her gaze pivoting to Mando as she inquires softly, "Can I set you something in the house?"

He pauses for a moment before answering, "Uh, thank you. Maybe later."

A subtle smile graces Omera's lips as her attention shifts to you and the child. "She and the kid are very happy here," she observes, an undercurrent of warmth threading through her words.

Mando's response carries a quiet affirmation, "They are."

Omera's smile widens, and her raised eyebrows convey an unspoken sentiment. "Fits right in."

Meanwhile, Cara, the no-nonsense warrior, interjects with her characteristic bluntness, her voice carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity, "So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?"

Mando offers a succinct reply, his tone unchanging behind the helmet, "No. You just can't ever put it back on again."

Cara's retort is laced with a wry grin, "That's it? So you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young Jedi, and raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?"

His visor-hidden gaze narrows thoughtfully, a silent response that hints at a complexity he's unwilling to divulge. The beat of silence stretches before he speaks again, changing the subject, "You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back. It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on."

Cara's gaze flicks between you, the child, and Mando, a sardonic edge to her tone, "Would not wanna be the one who's gotta tell them."

Mando's statement carries a mixture of conviction and conflicted sentiment as if he's wrestling with his own decision. "I'm leaving him here. Both of them. Traveling with me, that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe. They have a better chance at having a life."

As Mando's resolve wavers under the weight of his choice, Cara offers a sage observation, taking a sip of her spotchka, "It's gonna break their hearts."

Seeking perhaps to steel himself against the impending heartache, Mando responds with a hint of resignation, "They'll get over it. We all do."

A sudden, familiar weight settles in your chest, like the ominous gathering of storm clouds on the horizon. It sends shivers of unease coursing through you, prompting a quick scan of the surroundings for Mando and Cara as if you could physically warn them of the disquiet simmering within you.

Standing up, you cast a glance back at the children, your young charges engrossed in their activities, oblivious to the turmoil now churning inside you. As if propelled by an invisible force, you start walking away from the innocence of their laughter, the gnawing sensation in your gut demanding your attention.

Only a few paces beyond the tranquil krill ponds, your gaze locks onto a scene that wrenches your heart anew. Omera and Mando stand together, distanced yet intimately close, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. It's a tender tableau, one you were never meant to witness.

Omera's fingers curl around Mando's armor, a slow and deliberate gesture, as she begins to lift his helmet. You swiftly avert your eyes, the sting of tears threatening to surface. You pivot away from the scene, your steps leading you toward the child, an attempt to ground yourself in something pure amid the swirling emotions.

The weight in your chest intensifies an inexplicable heaviness that tugs at your soul. The tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, a mix of frustration and sorrow. You silently chide yourself for feeling this way – Mando was never yours, his heart and his choices his own. So why, against all reason, should you be caught in the clutches of this tumultuous emotion?

A sharp crack pierces the air, a blaster bolt splitting through the tranquility of the forest clearing not far from where you stand. In an instant, your protective instincts surge to life, igniting your lightsaber and positioning yourself in front of the child and the others. Panic ripples through the group of children, their cries a jarring contrast to the once-serene atmosphere.

Your focused gaze darts toward Omera, a swift nod exchanged between you, an unspoken understanding passing like a current. As she moves to shelter and reassure the children, you pivot on your heel, determination propelling you toward the source of the disturbance.

Emerging from the shadows, your lightsaber casting a determined glow, you encounter a scene of finality. Cara stands over the lifeless body of a Kubaz bounty hunter, blaster in hand, her expression a mixture of readiness and relief. The confrontation ended as swiftly as it began. The Mandalorian strides forward, his presence materializing at your side, the crisp sound of his boots on the forest floor. 

A somber resonance fills the air as the lifeless form meets the forest floor, and Mando's sturdy boot nudges the body, revealing the insistent blinking of the tracking fob. The device emanates an eerie glow, a digital reminder of an unrelenting pursuit. Cara's voice slices through the weighty atmosphere, demanding answers amidst the tension.

Her inquiry hangs palpably in the air, the silent acknowledgment that danger remains close, relentless in its pursuit. Mando's response is terse yet laden with gravity, his words encapsulating the dire reality that they all now face.

As the gravity of the situation settles, Mando carefully places the tracking fob onto a weathered rock, a symbol of the imminent threat that looms over the child. The weight of the knowledge rests heavily upon them all, and Cara's astute observation underlines the inescapable truth that now binds them.

In the midst of the chilling realization, Mando's voice carries a resonance of acceptance, his words a stark recognition of the inevitability of the conflict to come. A flicker of resolve paints his expression, his gaze unwavering as he crushes the tracking fob beneath the heel of his boot. The sharp sound of the device's demise echoes in the forest, a defiant act of defiance against the relentless pursuit of those who seek to harm the innocent.

The sting of departure hung heavy in the air, a palpable ache that mirrored the heaviness in your chest as you methodically packed your belongings. The room you had called home for a brief moment seemed to resonate with memories, each corner a repository of emotions now interwoven with the essence of Sorgan.

Before stepping away from the threshold, your gaze swept over the room one final time, as if etching its image deep into your memory. The village buzzed with activity, the collective efforts of the villagers and Cara aiding the Mandalorian in loading his supplies onto a repulsorlift sled. In the midst of this orchestrated movement, you silently began to load your own belongings onto the sled, a quiet moment amidst the whirlwind of departure.

Cara's voice cut through the busy air, “Are you sure you don't want an escort?” His gratitude resonated in his reply, speaking with the same reserved sincerity that defined him, “I appreciate the offer, but we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest.”

“Until our paths cross,” Cara's words held a weight of camaraderie, her outstretched hand an emblem of the bonds forged during their time together. Mando's gloved hand met hers, a brief yet impactful connection, his own voice echoing her sentiment, “Until our paths cross.”

As the village seemed to gather around for their farewells, Omera's gratitude radiated as she approached Mando, words unspoken yet deeply felt. Beside her, Winta bid a heartfelt goodbye to the child, sealing the moment with an embrace that carried the purity of youthful affection. Her gaze then turned to you, arms wrapping around you in an embrace that spoke volumes of gratitude and the unspoken connections that had formed in this place.

With each step taken toward the waiting repulsorlift sled, the inevitability of departure weighed heavily upon you both. Seated side by side on the sled's back, the village began to fade from view as the repulsorlift carried you away. The faces of the villagers, once so vivid, slowly merged into the tapestry of your memories, their waves of farewell etched into your heart as you embarked on the next chapter of your journey.

Amidst the backdrop of transition, a simmering tension took residence between you and the Mandalorian. The weight of unspoken thoughts and emotions hung heavy in the air, cocooning your interactions in a heavy silence. A palpable shift in this silence marked your decision to finally address the unspoken, your voice carrying the weight of honesty, "You were going to leave me here with him, weren't you?" The words emerged, a tentative bridge between the chasm of thoughts that had separated you.

The Mandalorian's response was measured, spoken with a characteristic directness that defined him, "It isn't safe being with me." His words echoed, revealing a truth steeped in his understanding of the galaxy's harsh reality.

Your own response held a mixture of wry humor and vulnerability, a glimpse into your own perceptions, "I think I have you beat there." His tilted head met your words, an unspoken query that hung in the air, waiting for further elaboration.

The weight of unspoken revelations hovered, waiting for the right moment to find their way to the surface. Mando's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, measured yet laden with curiosity, "So you're a…"

The sentence hung unfinished, your heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears as you paused his words with your own, your admission cascading into the open, "I'm not... I’m not a Jedi. I never completed my trials, nor was I sworn in. I possessed the training, but I never reached the end." The quiver in your voice betrayed the underlying emotions, a turbulent sea beneath a fragile surface. "I didn't intend to keep this from you or lie. I… I was scared."

His head tilted, a gesture of silent acknowledgment, urging you to continue. "Scared of me," he interjected, his words more a statement of perception than a question.

With your gaze unwavering, you gently dismissed his assumption, the connection between your eyes and his visor palpable. "No, not of you," you affirmed, the confidence in your tone unwavering. "I was scared of losing you, of losing both you and the child." Your voice, though steady, carried the weight of a vulnerability you had kept hidden. "Nevarro offered refuge for me to escape and to serve, a sanctuary from a cryptic prophecy that remains uncertain. My intention was to help you, to protect the child. But I understand why you would have left me here with the kid. I wouldn't put it past you."

The air held a renewed tension as the unspoken reverberated in the stillness. It was then that you offered a choice, a path back, a way to erase the uncertainty, "I can still go… if you want me to." Your words carried a hint of apprehension, manifesting in the slight fidget of your fingers with your clothes. "You can just drop me off near the town and I can…"

The Mandalorian's swift response was a resolute negation, a declaration that shattered your expectations, "No."

His words hung in the air, a statement that caused your gaze to lock onto his, a mixture of surprise and anticipation coloring your expression. Your unspoken question trembled in the unspoken, and his next words were a simple, unwavering assurance, "You're not staying here."

The silent exchange spoke volumes, a shared understanding held in the unspoken spaces between your gazes. Time seemed to pause, a fleeting moment that held the promise of uncharted possibilities. "But I thought you…"

"I… I was wrong," he confessed, his admission fraught with a rare vulnerability. "I thought it was safe here, for you and the kid. So you can have a life… without me… but it seems as if… it's better for you to stay. I’d like you to stay."

His words hung in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the complexity of his decisions. You blinked, your thoughts a maelstrom of emotions you struggled to articulate. The Mandalorian cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that preceded his unexpected twist, "Besides, I need help with the little womp rat."

Your reaction was instinctive, a smile that tugged at your lips and a laugh that bubbled from within. Unbeknownst to you, your laughter held a transformative power, stirring something within the Mandalorian that had long lain dormant.

As your head tilted back and your laughter filled the space between you, the Mandalorian watched a silent observer of the joy your presence brought. In that ephemeral moment, something shifted within him, a recognition that the bond forming between you was unlike anything he had ever known. And as he witnessed your smile and heard your laughter, a seed was planted - a seed that hinted at a future where, amidst the galaxy's uncertainties, there could still be space for connection and a lifeless solitary.

END NOTES:

The bitch is back on that Pedro Pascal fic writing grind. IDK IF THE PACING IS PACING PROPERLY??? I THINK IT IS?? I DUNNO?? I second-guess myself all the time when I’m writing. Also sometimes it’s as if I black out and wake up with over 10k words and I’m like– alr that makes sense to me! OK BYE IMMA WRITE CHAPTER THREE NOW MWA MWA!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil

[whimsylueur]

Who are your top 5 ships and do you have any theme songs to go with them? (Your taste in music is pretty spot on! Like Queen of Hearts by Juice Newton??? Literally Pleasant/Sorrows lyric for lyric)

HAHAHAHA THANK YOUUU WOW! I have to say, I’m already in the works for drawing a scene with a similar concept, you know how in Resurrection when Skug is performing Heroes by David Bowie for Xena? (Stares wistfully into the distance, whispering) Hell yes.

I’ll use this opportunity to just write my ideas and mayhaps I will drop a couple doodles at a later date. This is a mighty interesting ask, cheers for that.

Here we go:

1. Skulduggery Pleasant/Valkyrie Cain: DUHH. Now, I could give you a playlist, but I’m merciful. So there will be three, and oh God just trust me on these ones guys. Edit: there will be four

2. Serafina Dey/Mevolent: This genuinely is my favourite ROMANTIC ship. Guys they would cross dimensions to be together :( that’s almost on par with Valduggery. And yes, I know they’re goth as fuck but,

I will not explain further.

3. Tanith Low/Ghastly Bespoke: THEY DESERVED TO BE HAPPY. (Shaking fist in Dublin’s general direction)

This song for sure would have been playing if they got their reunion scene from Cassandra’s vision in Last Stand of Dead Men. All I’d add, have a building blow up in the distance behind them and everything would have been perfectly epic.

4. Vaurien Scapegrace/Thrasher: I am vehemently opposed to their lack of involvement in Phase 2, I love that they’re okay and living peacefully together with Clarabelle but maaaan >:^(

5. Valkyrie Cain/Militsa Gnosis: Easily a great ship. Miss Gnosis was laying it on fucking thick and I have nothing but respect for her grind.

Bonus: Temper Fray/Kierre: I know they didn’t get much “screen time” but it was so alluring to me, I can’t believe how instantaneously I was invested. Good job, Landy, I’m hooked.

[nicstylus]

Val and Skug in Batman and Robin outfits? Time Drake obviously, not Dick or Jason.

I tried to find a good reference pic but they're all fighting stuff so this is the best I could find.

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-android-cubot&sca_esv=585519558&sxsrf=AM9HkKk6E7d5UPrDpOv93r_JHPzx6XGyOA:1701062178212&q=batman+and+tim+drake+robin&tbm=isch&source=lnms&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi-3v22tuOCAxVVUkEAHdk8DBkQ0pQJegQIBxAB#imgrc=Mzg7QE774J-nHM

Not what I had in mind when I said outfits but why tf not lmao

Estimated doodle time: 13.5 songs on my playlist

[bluseum]

The song with Five Names by Will Wood

I have many thoughts about skug for this song so yeah, rate it /lh (I will not explain)

so i’m not the biggest Will Wood fan (sorry LGBT) and i think that BLACKBOX WARRIOR is indisputably his best song.

this song is good though! I was surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did. I like a lot of the instrumentation choices too and the drum part is hard as fuck with a commendable guitar solo.

Will Wood songs are very much for fans of musicals. not really me. but I liked this song a bit - solid 7/10

[nandemonaiwow]

Hiya, Im messaging regarding your MAP, specifically Part 24.

In your rules the script says that Part 24 lasts till the Skug meets Centipedes however, In your storyboard it shows that Part 24 ends at the Dropwig.

So does Part 24 last as the script states (With 2 "No, a good song never") or as the storyboard?

Another more general question, its not in the rules but I thought I'd just check; We can mess with the perspective of the shot so long as it follows the Skugs design and script right?

I noticed that script and storyboard are different too late, so now Part24 last as the script says.

About perspective. You can do whatever you want as long as it follows designs and script (you are totally right)

[blacklyte]

if the outskirts threat song is survivor singing, what do you think all the other slugcats sound like? i think hunter sounds like the superstructure threat theme. growling

Ohhh neat question. Conveniently asked me this while I was listening to the soundtrack lol!!! Hm.

I think monks would be garbage wastes threat tune.

For the downpour skugs it may be a tad harder…here’s what I think they would be

Arti- That low growl in both metropolis threat themes

Gourmand- whatever the hell is going on with the warble parts of the sunken pier theme

Riv- funny woop sound in lttm threat music

Spearmaster- wouldn’t rlly have any bc . Yknow. But if it did have a mouth I think the warbly sound in pipeyards threat would fit

Saint- the faint silly noises in the background of frozen festival

[honeydjarin]

Don’t Blame the River

din djarin x reader

When the weight of the galaxy gets to be too much, your clan of three takes a break from running

genre: fluff with the smallest sprinkling of angst

word count: 2,500

a/n: I am filled with the desire to run away from everything with din djarin

The sun streaks down between round leaves, dappling the long grass and the water below—flecks of summer swirling in a constant dance. Each time the slow breeze picks up, the leaves rustle and flutter, like little wings preparing to take flight into the clear blue sky. This planet is beautiful. Its days are long and still, a quiet place that seems to always be running a little slower than the rest of the galaxy. The sunsets are almost as pleasant as Naboo’s and the climate is just as temperate, but it lacks the dense population that the Mid Rim planet supports. 

Your traveling companion called it “a real backwater skug hole.” It’s not the first time he’s referred to a planet as such and this is just one of the many you’ve traveled to with the Mandalorian. It’s the perfect place for you to lay low for a little while. Unlike many of those other planets, this one lacks the darker underbelly that comes with smuggler outposts and residents hiding from either the fractured pieces of the Empire or the control of the New Republic. Only small villages and farming communities call this planet home. 

This is a place you could linger. You could let time wash over you without worry, not forgetting the terrors in the galaxy but allowing them slip away from the forefront of your mind. This is a place where you can take a moment just to breathe. 

It’s warm here, but not overbearingly hot. The summer heat is made soft by a slow breeze. The strange trees with their near circular leaves and pale, smooth bark cast shade that further protects you from the sun’s rays. Song birds hide in the branches above, chirping with gusto so that their calls might catch on the sweet air. 

Your Mandalorian leans back against the thick trunk of one such tree, keeping careful watch despite your isolated location. The stand of trees where you’ve come to rest is not so far from the clearing where the Razor Crest sits. You can almost imagine the glint of the sun off the worn durasteel through the shivering branches, as if squinting would bring it into the edge of your vision. You face the vigilant bounty hunter, a bubbling stream at your back, as you feed the child in your care fresh berries and still soft bread that you’d bought from one of the scattered settlements on the planet.

It’s not often that you get to eat fresh food. When most of your days are spent in hyperspace, eating ration packs is a necessity. Food doesn’t usually keep long enough for you to risk bringing it with you across the galaxy—you never know when you might need to make a quick exit from a planet, and keeping a store of bland ration packs means you will always have the nutrients you need during your travels. Because of the rarity of such treats, you can’t help but pop a few berries into your own mouth as the kid eats, savoring the tart juices on your tongue. 

Your Mandalorian simply watches, unable to take his helmet off in your company and unwilling to risk leaving you and the kid alone on an unknown planet, even though there are no settlements close enough for someone to stumble across the three of you.

You wish that he could join you, or at least take a moment to eat by the Crest, but you respect his creed and concern for your and the child’s safety. He may be giving up a meal to keep guard by your side, but even he seems more relaxed than usual on this distant planet.   

When the child finishes his meal, he stumbles towards you, seeking more food. His large, petal-like ears flutter slightly in his excitement, unaware that you have nothing left to offer him—not now, after he has already finished a full meal, at least. When you fail to provide him with any more fruit or bread, he pats your side, his berry stained hand leaving behind a small, three clawed print on the thin fabric of your clothes. It’s a perfect imitation of his hand, the purple mark unbroken by any creases or folds in the fabric. Despite the risk of the print staining, a laugh bubbles up from your throat, spilling out and drifting up into the air with the birdsongs.

You slip off your boots, setting them to the side before stepping towards the cool stream. Purple flowers with bright yellow centers pop up along the bank, and you do your best not to step on them as you drop into the stream, not minding the water that soaks into your clothes. It’s a warm day, after all, just warm enough to find comfort in the cool rush of the current. The water is surprisingly deep, coming up just above your knees as you stand near the purple painted bank, the flow tugging at the fabric around your legs. 

You reach out for the child and he toddles quickly towards you, likely anticipating more food, a wide grin tugging around flat teeth. You scoop him into your arms, held up above the water. He allows you to wash his hands with the stream water before brushing breadcrumbs from the folds of fabric over his stomach.

“All clean,” you state, before setting him free into the long grass once more. If the blades stood straight you imagine they would be as tall as he is, his small form stumbling often as his feet catch the blades.  

You watch his green form retreat towards the man that has become his father by creed, but before he can reach the Mandalorian, he gets distracted. A flittering insect with iridescent wings moving just slow enough for him to chase catches his interest, and a game begins, the insect unknowingly playing a part. 

You push off from the bank, avoiding the flowers once more, and float away from where the shade of the trees protects the water from the sun and into the center of the narrow stream. The ever attentive Mandalorian will certainly keep a close eye on the child’s games. You sink down to your shoulders, the water tugging at your clothes and hopefully washing out the berry colored handprint. The sun warms your cheeks deliciously.           

“Don’t get swept away,” the bounty hunter warns, but there’s little worry in his tone. The current isn’t strong enough to warrant any real fear, the water flowing only fast enough to tug at your clothing and nothing more.

“I won’t,” you comfort. The dark T on your Mandalorian’s helmet angles towards you for just a moment more. He doesn’t speak again, just gives you a small nod before looking back towards the child, watching little green hands stretch for delicate wings just outside his reach. 

You sit back in the clear water, watching pale silt and pebbles get kicked up by your bare toes before drifting away in the gentle tug of the water. You didn’t realize just how heavy your worries had become until you arrived on this planet. It’s just a short reprieve, you can’t really stay here for too long without the risk of the galaxy collapsing in on you all at once, but for now you can rest easy. You can’t help but hum quietly, a cheery tune, oblivious to the smile tugging at your companion’s lips beneath his beskar. 

Even below the surface of the water, the sun warms your arms and chest. You wish there was some way that you might be able to share this feeling with your Mandalorian, to allow him to feel the wonder of a mild sun against bare skin and the balm of fresh water. But the only way for him to fully experience such things would be to remove his armor, something which you would never ask of him. 

He’s relaxed now though, muscles eased from tension, head leaned back against the bark of the tree behind him. The only indication you have that he is not asleep against the tree is the occasional distressed “Don’t eat that!” followed by the child’s laughter. 

For the Mandalorian, the shade is a better place to rest when wearing so much metal, and the breeze is just strong enough to permeate the fabric of his clothes, helping to cool him down. This has been a much needed break for him as well.    

  Eventually, after a long moment of soaking, the water begins to feel just a bit too chilled for comfort. The sun is still high in the sky, and while it doesn’t fully reach the bank of the stream where your little group has come to rest for the afternoon, it still warms the air with enough heat for you to not mind drying off in the shade cast by the round leafed trees. 

You make your way back towards your little group, standing once more when you reach the boundary where the shade darkens the water, hoping to adjust to the temperature of the air before you have to fully leave the water. 

Even though the water is clear enough to see to the bottom of the stream, to pick up the details of every pebble and trapped leaf scattered along the bottom, you don’t watch your feet as you step. This proves to be a mistake. 

While most of the streambed consists of the soft layer of beige sediment, dense enough to hold your weight but soft enough to move as you step, the large, smooth faced rock that your foot lands on is not so forgiving. 

It takes less than a second for your weight to shift, only having enough time to let out a squeak before you plummet back into the water. It’s not deep, the water shallow enough for your head to be completely above the surface if you were to sit on your knees, but your feet are pulled up too high from the fall and your head seems more inclined to stay beneath the water than above it. 

You take in a mouthful of the stream when you try to take a breath of air, swallowing it wrong. Your lungs seize before reacting in full force despite no water really getting inside them, leaving you coughing and sputtering. You don’t hear the splash in your panic. You’re too focused on trying to overcome the coughing fit so you can catch your breath once more to notice anything else entering the stream. 

Two arms help pull you gently to your feet, leaning you against solid armor, but not trapping you. Your Mandalorian, ever vigilant, was by your side as soon as you’d fallen.  

“Hey,” he starts, “can you breathe?” A warm hand comes to brush lightly across your cheek. You don’t know when he took his gloves off—it must have been while you were swimming, a small and simple way for him to enjoy the perfectly warm air on his skin when everything else must remain hidden—but you're glad for the comfort the bare flesh of his hand provides.      

“Din,” you croak, voice still waterlogged. 

Even in such a state his name feels like honey on your tongue. It’s so rare that you get to speak it while planetside, the lack of privacy and risk of strangers overhearing force a false distance between you two in the presence of others. But now he holds you close to him, giving you support even when the water flows from your skin onto his armor and clothes beneath. 

You briefly wonder if any of the water spilling from your cheeks onto his chest is tears rather than remnants of the stream, an unwanted response to the sudden fright more than anything else, but you realize it doesn’t matter—he would hold you this close either way. 

You can feel his gaze on you through his dark visor, his eyes burning into your own even if you can’t see them. His arms pull you closer to his chest, preventing your legs from giving out and dumping you back into the water. Your own fingers cling to the muscle of his biceps, taking comfort in the heat that seeps through his clothing. He’s as warm as the sun had been on your cheeks just moments ago. 

You take a second to clear your throat before speaking again.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Just a little startled—accidentally swallowed some water on the way back up.”     

His sigh crackles with static as it passes through his vocoder, Din’s whole being losing tension in his relief, and he presses the crown of his helmet against your own forehead, blocking everything else out.  

“Good,” he whispers, nodding slightly causing your own head to shift with him. “Good.” 

You would stay like this longer if you could, catching your breath and letting the last of your coughing fit run its course in the safety of your Mandalorian’s arms, but the child in your care is even more prone to accidents than you, something you can’t risk around the stream. 

He steps up onto the bank first before helping you up as well, keeping your hand in his the whole time in case you slip once more. Then, even when you’re standing on solid ground beside him, Din doesn’t let go. He guides you back to the place where you spent much of the day, simply enjoying each other’s company.  

The child lays on his back in the tall grass, having tired himself out with food and games. A little thought niggles at the back of your mind, reminding you that the purple stain of his small hand is what led to you venturing into the stream in the first place, but it seems just as little of a concern now as it did when it first happened. The kid’s dark eyes watch the round leaves above, occasionally flashing a deep, warm brown when the sunlight does manage to filter through all of the leaves. They’re half closed, and soon he will be napping. It’s rare to see him so relaxed.   

The Mandalorian sits down at the base of his tree once more, pulling you down with him and keeping you pressed into his side despite his clothes getting soaked as a result. You supposed the damage was already done when he dropped into the stream to assist you, keeping you so near in his worry. He is solid beside you, but even here, tucked so close in his side, you can feel how his muscles have released the tension that almost never fully leaves. He leans his head back against the tree once more, his own form of rest. 

You find your own eyes are heavy, not quite on the brink of sleep, but ready for your body to rest as well. Now that the fright from your fall is gone, your left feeling sun drunk and drowsy, yet perfectly content. Your Mandalorian shifts, wrapping his cape around you to help warm you and to keep the afternoon breeze off your drying skin. 

You can’t help yourself, you lean up and press a kiss into the curved cheek of his helmet, the closest you can get to his real cheek for now, before settling back into his side. You can enjoy this place for a little while longer. 

____

@unmitigatedsuperiority you were right, this is a star wars blog now. please forgive me!

[lassieposting]

SP Characters & First Dates

Because. There's not a lot of imagine/preference type content in this fandom and I think that's a bit sad actually? I like seeing this lame shit in other fandoms. Embrace the trash.

Become one with the cringe.

Ghastly is an old-fashioned romantic who loves the simple things in life. He'd invite you over for a fantastic homecooked meal - suggestions welcome - and an evening of good conversation. If he doesn't know your alcohol preference he panics and picks up a selection just in case. He mostly wants to talk about you and your life, not him and his magic. He offers to drive you home or get you an Uber when you decide it's time to head out.

Dexter's ideal first date is usually along the lines of quadbiking, or abseiling, or camping together - if you suggest an outdoorsy activity, it nets you extra enthusiasm. It's very casual - you roast snacks on a campfire and share some beers, and he'll keep you entertained with amusing anecdotes about his adventures. He's very chilled out and he'll be upfront that sex is on the table if you want it, you know where his tent is, but no pressure.

Skug is classy and likes to impress, and throwing money around is his love language, so your date is probably at like, the opera, or the ballet, or an art gallery - somewhere he can make use of the Hot Voice to lean in and quietly translate particularly poetic lyrics or point out that all the paintings in this room resemble you, have you noticed, because 300 years ago your features/figure/hair type were the absolute height of desirability - with an expensive dinner afterwards. He picks you up, pays for everything, and makes sure you get home safely afterwards. He'll get kind of flustered if you invite him in for a nightcap, but it's a flattered kind of flustered, and he won't turn down someone he's clicked with.

Saracen has an awful lot of money and likes to gamble, so he'd probably suggest an evening at the high rollers' table in a fancy casino. He'll teach you to play all the games - who cares how much you lose as long as you're having fun? It's only money - and claim he's your good luck charm. He's actually just able to see the other players' cards and advise accordingly, but if you ask he'll tap his nose and say he knows things.

Erskine is a lunch guy rather than a dinner guy, and he likes to lounge. He'd prefer a cozy booth at an upscale café than a walk in the sunshine, and an afternoon relaxing on the beach tops...literally anything Dexter would come up with. He's very charming and affable, but he likes to keep things casual - discussing heavy topics like What He Wants In A Relationship are a bit much a bit too soon for someone with this many trust issues. He has Strong Opinions about wine, and he'll enjoy introducing you to different flavours and scents. He'll probably leave before you do though - his job is time-intensive and he doesn't really get guaranteed off hours where nobody can call him and claim he's needed in the office.

Larrikin is fun-loving, full of energy and the world's cheapest date. He likes to bar-hop, will always get up to do karaoke (and sign you up for a duet while he's at it) and will start grinding on you once he's had a few drinks and "his jam" (any song he enjoys) comes on. Honestly it's entirely possible you didn't even arrive with him - he's so comfortable with people that he'll just casually attach himself to someone he likes and whoops, you're on a date now. He enjoys drinking games like 20 Questions or Two Truths, One Lie - anything with a fun aspect to it. He's almost alarmingly upfront about what he likes and what he's looking for, but like, he's gonna have and be a good time anyway, even if you're ultimately not compatible.

Shudder is shy, introverted and not great at talking about himself, so he likes going to educational places like aquariums or zoos, somewhere there's a distraction so that he feels less like he's under a microscope. He actually knows a lot of pointless fun facts, which make for good icebreakers, but he prefers to listen while you do most of the talking - though, if you ask him questions, he's happy to answer them.

Mevolent is a public figure and under a lot of scrutiny, so he'll usually send a servant to unobtrusively invite you to some private activity - like a nice long country ride. He's a bit awkward, but if you bring up a subject he loves, like books or sigils, he'll get really enthusiastic and chatty and kind of tell you 8495737 new things about The Thing. Bickering with him is actually a good thing - he's used to getting whatever he wants whenever he wants it, and he's fascinated by someone who can tell him no, or that he's wrong. He'll thoroughly enjoy a good debate. (He's also very tall. He knows. He's literally waiting for you to comment on it. If you make it the entire date without telling him how tall he is, he'll like you a lot more.)

Nef is classy in his own world's way, but he's had to adapt a lot to life with few resources in Roarhaven, so he's a lot more open to trying new things that he would've turned up his nose at 50 years ago. He'll trail around a museum with you or go watch a - preferably horror, he's living vicariously these days - film at a drive-in, and he'll even let you cuddle into his side if you get spooked. But he'll also start helpfully explaining that this is all very unrealistic, the onscreen killer has terrible flaying technique, the actor hasn't researched this at all. So, you know, swings and roundabouts. He's an odd combination of 17th and 21st century manners - he'll still offer you his arm while you're walking, but he'll also absolutely try and get in your pants by the end of the night.

Vile - because he's canonically dateable now - is a challenge, because you have to do most of the work. He can be won over, and a little part of him that misses affection even wants to be, but he's massively traumatised and he's not going to come around easily to the idea of opening up or having A Weakness again. He's not a talker, so he's happiest with someone else carrying the conversation, but he can be drawn into a chat more easily if it's not about him. He likes to get out of the city and burn off some excess magic - a refreshing full-tilt gallop across open ground, or a makeshift shooting gallery where you can toss targets for him to hit with shadows in mid-air. Talking to him about anything that's not the Faceless Ones is appreciated too - it's tough sometimes, being a nonbeliever surrounded by zealots. A conversation where he isn't told at least once that the gods will burn his bones is a good conversation. (Or you could always, you know, fight him.)

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Always kiss me goodnight

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Content:  Pining, kissing, mention of food, oh no there’s only one bed,   helmetless Din (but it’s dark), baby Yoda is an adorable tiny terror

Word count: ~2200

Note:  I swear I was only going to write one Pedro character fic. Has this   kind of thing been done a million times? Yes. Am I doing it once more?   Also yes. It’s self-indulgent hours and this little love letter to our favorite space dad and his green baby has been nagging at my mind since I  first watched the show.

Tagging the people who asked (If anyone wants to be tagged or un-tagged in any future fics since it seems  I’m well and truly back on my bs just say the word): @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @beccaplaying

———————————————

Fatigue has caught up with the little green child now that his belly is full, and crankiness along with it. The Mandalorian has been known to lovingly  call his adopted son a womp rat, but when the baby gets overtired, a rancor is more like it.

This time, you can hardly blame him. The three of you have spent the better part of the day traveling, finally landing on this backwater planet late in the evening. With some searching and a small fortune in credits, Din managed to find a safe, out-of-the-way place to stay, leaving you and the child to eat and settle in while he went to scout the bounty’s location for the next  day’s work.

As the child’s fussing gains momentum, you hustle to the small sink in the corner of the room.

“We’ll wash your face and go straight to bed,” you promise him, letting the   water warm before wetting a cloth and wringing it out thoroughly.

In the mirror, your own face looks as exhausted as he obviously feels. The bed in question is little more than a pallet with a mattress and some  blankets, but it might as well be a royal welcome at this stage of the game.

Despite your gentleness, the baby erupts in an indignant whine as you wipe the cloth over his face and ears. “I know, little love,” you soothe while he struggles in protest. “Almost done.”

He quiets when you scoop him up into your arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy head. You hum bits of a song from your childhood, rocking him from side to side, and his little face crumples with a yawn. His tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your tunic and his head goes heavy on your shoulder, but still he fidgets, making pathetic little sounds in the direction of the door.

“I know,” you murmur again, still swaying on the spot. “He’ll be back soon.”

You’ve grown to love the child and you know he’s fond of you, but as far as   he’s concerned Din is the one who hangs the stars in the sky. He’s always a little agitated when his father is out of sight, and truth be told, so are you.

“I know what we can do,” you say. “Let’s make a plate for your buir for when he comes back. Don’t you think that’ll be nice for him?”

Neither you nor Din are sure how much the child actually understands, but you don’t let it stop you talking to him. If nothing else it makes you feel a little less alone in the long hours when Din is hunting his quarries.

His drooping ears twitch upward with this suggestion. He watches with interest as you lay a plate with some of the fresh fruit, bread, and stewed meat Din bought from the innkeeper for your supper.

“There we go. Now then, bedtime for little ones.”

You turn to survey the sleeping area with a stab of nerves. The minuscule size of the room isn’t a challenge -- the Razor Crest has made you an expert in living in small spaces -- but the lone bed is a wrinkle you hadn’t expected.

Din, ever pragmatic, had been quick to point out that it was plenty big enough for the three of you, and it was only one night. He was right, of course.

Still, you’d never been so grateful for dim lighting, sure that your secret longing for the Mandalorian was written plainly on your flustered face.

You couldn’t have said exactly when your feelings for Din Djarin had strayed  into dangerous territory. Somewhere in the months of traveling with him, caring for his child, helping maintain his ship, reminding him to eat, and tending the worst of his wounds your initial wariness turned to admiration, admiration to fondness, and fondness to something alarmingly like love.

It’s a fool’s errand.

For all his kindness to you Din is an island of a man, set apart from the world in  his shell of beskar and the even more unyielding armor of his creed.  Even if his heart is big enough to encompass the child, you don’t dare to hope there’s room for you too.

And now this bed -- this one kriffing bed -- sits there mocking you and all your silly fantasies of you and Din and the child being a real family, bound together by love instead of convenience.

You turn off the light overhead, leaving only the small, sickly lamp at the table to light Din’s way to his supper.

The mattress is clean and the blankets are a bit threadbare but soft, and the baby only has the energy to grumble a little when you lay him down on the side closest to the wall and tuck the thickest of them around   him. Yawning widely, he stretches out a hand toward you, fingers grabbing at the air.

The gesture warms your weary heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie down beside him and face away from the table, mindful that Din will need privacy to eat. The little body shuffles closer to you, curling into your shoulder, and a surge of fierce affection pricks your eyes with tears. You wrap your arm around the baby to hold him close as the full brunt of the long day overtakes you.

“Good night, little love,” you say around a yawn, just as your eyes fall closed.

***

You wake with a start. The windowless room is pitch black, and in the absence of any landmarks your brain races to orient itself.

At your back, the child’s soft, snuffling breaths. A well-worn blanket draped over you and a slightly lumpy mattress beneath.

The inn, you remember in a flash.

At your front...something warm and broad and solid. You’ve nestled into it  in your sleep, one arm thrown over it, your hand grasping soft fabric. A familiar, comforting scent surrounds you, a scent you cherish from laundry days and the cramped quarters of a small ship.

Oh, Maker.

You clearly slept through Din coming back and getting into bed, and now you’re wrapped around him like a second set of clothes. The rush of blood into your cheeks flames so hot you worry he must feel it through the base layers he’s wearing to sleep.

Shrinking into yourself, you begin to pull away, as stealthily as you can. If you  can just get back to your own side of the bed and brazen it out in the  morning, maybe he’ll never be the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, you  release the handful of his shirt you’re holding and move your arm from where it’s resting across his chest...

In the darkness, a hand encircles your wrist.

Oh, Maker.

You’ve watched Din wrestle enough uncooperative bounties into the carbonite   chamber to know you’re not getting away from him if he doesn’t want you to. But his grip on your wrist is light, gentle. His thumb rests on the place where your pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird, whether from embarrassment or his closeness you’re not entirely sure.

“Din.” It comes out barely a whisper, sabotaged by the sudden dryness of your mouth. You swallow hard and try again. “Din, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s all right.”

His voice is a revelation. Free of the modulator’s rasp, it’s warmer, richer, somehow softer and more resonant at the same time. You’ve never even been in the same room with him when he has his helmet off, and the realization that he’s right there, a breath away, is dizzying.

Silence stretches before he speaks again, more quietly. “It’s...nice.”

Your brain fails you entirely. “Oh.”

You search desperately for something more intelligent to say, but his thumb is drawing feather-light circles over the soft skin of your wrist and your pulse is thundering in your ears. Those touches, so delicate from a man so strong, blur your thoughts like liquor and drag a confession from your lips before you can bite it back. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

You wait, blessing the darkness that swallows your shame,  and hope he’s not going to tell you to pack your things and find a job in this bleak little skug hole for when he leaves you behind.

Instead, you feel the mattress shift and know he’s turned toward you.

The sudden fear of breaking Din’s creed is overwhelming, even in the dark. Instinct has you squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that white specks float behind your eyelids.

“I can’t see you,” you say quickly. “I promise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves from your wrist across your palm, uncurling your fingers to map each one in turn, trailing up to the tips and back down again. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone’s bare skin.

He sighs, which is nothing new, but this one doesn’t sound exasperated. It sounds almost...content. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Beautiful girl. I thought so the first time I saw you.”

You’re overcome with a wild, childish urge to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

His praise gives you a rush of courage to ask for something you’ve only dreamed of. “Din...can I touch you? Is it allowed?”

His only answer is to cradle your hand in his, bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Stubble prickles your palm as your fingers slowly trace his scruffy jawline and the thick column of his neck, savoring the feel of him. His hair is soft, long enough to curl at its nape, and when you comb your fingers through the tousled strands he makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat. It reverberates through your body like a bell, making your head swim with the thrill of affecting him.

You only just resist the urge to suck a mark into the spot where his pulse races under his warm skin.

Your greedy hands move on to discover a strong brow and the curved bridge of a prominent nose. A mustache frames lips that are more plush than you imagined, a note of sensuality in an angular, warrior’s face.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are?” you ask, fingertips traveling over his cheekbone.

“Brown.”

Brown. You see them in your mind’s eye, soft and dark, expressing all the   things he doesn’t say out loud. Stroking his lower lip, you repeat his own word back to him: “Mesh’la.”

Din’s mouth twitches under your fingers. “You can’t see me.”

He has no idea. His body warming yours and the sweetness of his voice   calling you beautiful is everything you’ve ever wanted and thought yourself unworthy of having, and he thinks you’re only talking about his  face.

You cup his cheek, smile at him, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t need to, Din. I just know it. I always have.”

“You’re so good to me.” His hand catches yours in his large one, his voice   rough with some nameless emotion. “To me, and the baby. All the time.”

“You deserve everything good,” you whisper past the lump in your throat.

He’s caressing your hand again, holding it in place to press his lips to the pad of your thumb. “I want to kiss you, cyare.”

Your exhale is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Please.”

His hand moves to cradle your head as he closes the distance between you. If you were expecting him to pounce, you’re completely unprepared for him to linger, breath hovering over your lips for a long, agonizing moment as he brushes his nose over yours.

You’re almost startled by the first touch of his lips, a little chapped but warm and lush. His mustache is softer than you thought it would be, and so are his kisses, a series of slow, gentle presses of his mouth. Like he wants to do with his lips what you’ve done with your hands, sketching and learning.

It’s only when you slide your hand into his hair again that something inside him breaks. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you to the refuge of his broad chest as he slants his mouth over yours, claiming you in earnest. He’s possessive and tender in equal measure and the tease of  his tongue against yours, his teeth nipping your lower lip, the span of his hand on your back has you drunk on him and whispering his name between kisses like a prayer.

...Apparently not quietly enough.

A little hand scrabbling at your shoulder blade brings you out of your haze. As you pull away from Din the baby is climbing over you as quickly as his short limbs will let him. He wedges himself between the two of you with a delighted coo at Din, hands flailing to find his father’s face.

Din heaves a sigh, but there’s no malice in it. “I’m here, ad’ika,” he says, with unmistakable fondness. “We’re all here.”

You can’t stifle a breathless laugh as the baby snuggles into Din’s arms, making himself comfortable for the night.

Your Mandalorian surrenders good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around you with  the child tucked safely in the middle. He presses a kiss to your forehead before settling on the pillow beside you. “Sleep, cyare.”

Drowsiness is already fuzzing the edges of your mind again, but it catches on the word he’s said twice now. “What does that mean?” you murmur. “Cyare?”

You feel him smile against your temple, one last brush of his lips. “Share my bunk tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you.”

[neims-skeleton-obsession]

major spoilers for deathbringer under the cut

sorr. sorry just thinken about skug post the vile-ening and being. just feeling like absolute Shit, guilt etc and having absolutely no one to confide in and. and just. regret and guilt and being alone and. im so full of feelings.

mitski moment. mmmmhmfngnnng if anyone has coherent thoughts on this please feel free to add. mmgm.

[gootube]

miscellaneous dooles u_u ft. dnd club doodles. we are playing "ghosts of saltmarsh" and it is very fun, i cannot wait for the ocean part of the campaign aka BOAT TRIP

also a chainsaw hand skugs and farrow singing karaoke, i didnt have a song in mind other than the one i was listening 2 at the time (not two trucks)

[pedro-pascal-love]

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Chapter Seven of Blast From The Past

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Rating: 18+

Word Count: 6k+

Summary: Din arrives on Sorgan and helps the townsfolk with their problem but feels like someone is watching him.

Warnings: Slow burnnnn (like really slow), ALL THE ANGST (should you expect anything less at this point?), violence

Song: Home by Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors, Bebe Rexha

A/N: The lyrics for this song fit so well.😭

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Reader’s POV

After Takodana, Din had gone back to Nevarro to turn in and collect more pucks from Karga. The bounties kept him rather busy the last two years until the day he met the Child on Arvala-4. His run-in with the little girl on Takodana had altered his view on children. Before meeting her, he would not have thought twice about turning the Child over to the Imps. However, something inside of him had shifted after that encounter. When he saw the helpless green creature looking up at him with its large eyes, he felt protective over it but knew he would have to hand it over. As a bounty hunter and guild member, his job demanded it, and he was not one to abandon his duty. After all, he had a reputation to keep.

Nevertheless, he felt regret, recalling its terrified face as it cried out to him as he stood there and watched. After he left, he felt remorseful, a nagging feeling pulling him back to the Imperial hideout after he had received his newly forged Beskar armor. He felt undeserving of the payment, especially since the Child had protected him from the mudhorn with its mysterious powers. He knew he needed to go back. And go back, he did.

Now he was being hunted by the disbanded Empire scoundrels, who would stop at nothing to reacquire their prize. He needed to find a safe place for the youngling, knowing he could not risk any bounty hunters, or Imperials, finding either of them, especially after the shootout on Nevarro. He was aware that the Child was important to the fallen regime's remnants, but he was still at a loss as to why.

What made him so special?

The Child sat in the chair behind him as he piloted the Crest, but he sensed the kid was restless. Just as he predicted, it crawled up next to him on the dashboard, watching the stars fly by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it flip a switch, and he let out a sigh, flipping a button on the opposite side of the panel. Again, The Child reached over and flicked the controller in response.

“Stop touching things,” he said firmly, trying not to grow agitated at the little creature. It looked up at him innocently, its ears wiggling about before it reached over, and flicked the switch once again, keeping eye contact the entire time. The ship jolted and began to shake at the action.

Dank farrik!

Din quickly grabbed the Child and placed it on his lap, keeping a firm grip to prevent it from causing any more trouble. He surveyed the Outer Rim systems, contemplating which one would be a secluded enough location to hide at.

The Outer Rim Territories are a pretty safe bet, but which system is out of the way enough that nobody would go looking for us there?

He spotted Sorgan, a planet situated deep within the Outer Rim Territories, the only habitable object in that star system.

Perfect.

“Let’s see. Sorgan,” he said out loud, pulling up the information on the planet. “Looks like there’s no starport, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it’s perfect for us.”

Thank the Maker.

The Child looked up at him curiously.

“You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat?” he asked, not expecting a response from the creature. “Nobody’s gonna find us here.” He entered the coordinates for the Sorgan, and they were off. Once they reached the isolated planet, he found a clearing to stow the Crest, initiating the landing sequence. He felt the ship touch down and pushed a few buttons before spotting the Child reaching for the silver knob.

“Listen. I’m gonna go out there and look around. It shouldn’t take too long,” he said to the creature as he stood up and set it on the pilot’s seat. “Now, don’t touch anything. I’ll find us some lodging, then I’ll come back for you.” The youngling looked up at him, tilting its head, ears slightly moving as if it could understand his words.

“You stay right there. You stay,” he said, pointing his finger at it. “Don’t move. You understand? Great.” Din walked down to the cargo hold and pressed a button, lowering the ramp. He felt a presence beside him and turned, finding nothing until he glanced down. The Child stood beside him, looking up at him with googly eyes, and he let out a sigh.

“Oh, what the hell…Come on.” He began to walk out of the ship, and the Child followed as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Reminds me of that little girl from Takodona.

Din and The Child arrived at a common house where various people were, many of them turning to gaze at the two newcomers, an unusual sight to behold. A woman in the corner was intently watching them, and he took note of her presence. She seemed to be on edge. The two of them went to sit at a table, shortly being greeted by a woman.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one,’ he replied.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” she asked him kindly. He shook his head.

“Just the one.”

“Very well – “ she began to say, and he cut her off.

“That one over there, when did she arrive?” motioning his head to the mysterious onlooker.

“Uh...I've seen her here for the last week or so…” the woman replied, unsure of how to respond to his questioning.

“What's her business here?”

“Business? Oh well...there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say...” He tossed a coin on the table, and she looked down at it, taking a moment before speaking.

“She doesn't strike me as a log runner...well...” she stated and picked up the coin. “Thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka, just for good measure. I'll be right back with that.” She hurried away, and he noticed that the woman, previously watching them, had disappeared. He stood up to leave and tossed a coin at the woman who had returned with the food.

“Keep an eye on the kid,” he commanded. She caught the coin with wide eyes and nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He exited the building and looked around, changing a setting in his heads-up display to find her footprints, spotting them going between the huts, but suddenly ended. He looked around in confusion for a moment before he turned in time for her to kick him in the chest, landing a punch to his helmet shortly after. She went in for another punch, and he dodged it, her fist colliding with the wall with a crack. They threw punches; kicks were landed, both fighting with all their might.

Kriffing hell, she’s strong.

He was thrown to the ground with a grunt. Getting fed up with the fight, he engaged his flamethrower, but she was faster, stepping on his arm to halt his attempt. More punches were thrown, and she flipped him over, and he landed on his back with a thud. They both rolled, hands locked to try and stop the other before they drew their blasters, aiming them at each other. Both were panting when they heard a slurping sound and looked over to see the Child watching them as he sipped the broth. He let out a breath.

“You want some soup?”

He learned that Cara had been a former Rebel drop trooper, having fled her post to hide out in Sorgan. She had thought that he was after her, him being a bounty hunter and all, explaining the reasoning behind her aggressive assault on him. As she left, she informed him that only one of them could hide on the planet unless he wanted to fight again. He let out a sigh and turned to the Child.

“Well, looks like this planet's taken.”

Din prepared to leave, repairing parts of the Crest when two men approached him.

“Excuse me,” one spoke, the other one close behind him.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“There something I can help you with?” he irritatedly asked, wanting to finish his repairs in peace and be off.

“Uh...yeah... Raiders,” came a timid reply.

“We have money,” the other one added.

“So you think I'm some kind of mercenary?” he replied, back still turned to them, continuing his repairs.

“You are a Mandalorian, right?”

“Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor... That is Mandalorian armor, right?” the one with the hat asked. He turned to face them.

“It is.”

“See?! I told him,” the man continued, stammering as he spoke. “Sir, I've read a lot about your people...er... tri-tribe... If half of what I read is true - "

“We have money,” his friend cut in.

“ How much?” not wanting to waste his time if they were not offering a substantial amount.

“It's everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill... We're...krill farmers,”

“We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.” Din faced them as the curly-haired one held up a small bag of coins.

“It's not enough,” he said, turning to walk away, and the two men followed him.

“Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is.”

“I know it's not enough,” came his clipped reply. “Good luck.”

“This is everything we have. We'll give you more after the next harvest,” they pleaded. He opened the hatch, and they stumbled back, startled. They began to walk away, disappointed by his unwillingness to help them. As he walked up the ramp, he heard them talking.

”Come on. Let's head back.”

“Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.” His ears picked up their words, stopping him in his tracks.

“Where do you live?” he inquired, the two men turning toward him at the sound of his voice.

“At a farm,” the curly-haired man replied dejectedly. “Weren't you listening? We're farmers.”

“In the middle of nowhere,” he clarified.

“Yes,” came his confused reply.

“You have lodging?”

“Yeah. Absolutely,” came his reply, perking up with hope.

“Good,” he answered. “Come up and help.”

The two men began to help him load cargo into their cart.

“I'm gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits,” he said, holding his hand out. The man handed him the small bag of coins, and he made his way through the forest, tracking Cara down. He quickly found her, sitting by a campfire, and dropped the coins next to her. Startled, she drew her blaster on him.

“Ready for round two?

They rode through the night until they arrived at the village, the sound of children’s laughter filling the air. The children were cheering at their arrival as they took in their surroundings.

In the middle of nowhere indeed.

The village was nestled in a large clearing, encompassed by trees on all sides.

“Well, looks like they are happy to see us,” he spoke, the children’s cheerful demeanor reminding him of the little girl he met.

Dinah.

He watched as the children approached the cart to greet the Child, and it cooed at them.

“Looks like,” Cara replied with a smile. They hopped off the cart, Din holding his rifle over his shoulder as he made his way to a structure that the men, Caben and Stoke, had pointed him to. As he walked, a strange feeling flowed over him, as if someone was watching his movements. The farmers began to unload the wagon, happy that they were getting help from a Mandalorian. He walked toward the hut and stopped just outside the doorway, seeing a woman tying the rope for the blinds to a beam in the middle of the room.

“Please come in,” she greeted as he stepped in with a crate and set it down. “I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn.”

“This will do fine,” he replied, back turned to her, unloading the contents of the crate.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” she stated, pointing to them.

“Thank you. That's...very kind,” he awkwardly replied, back still turned when he heard footsteps and whirled around. He spotted a little girl just outside the barn, and she backed away to hide. The woman moved the little girl back into view, holding her against her side.

“This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers,” the woman explained. “This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. He nodded at her, helmet tilting slightly, almost appearing not to move.

“Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room.” The two of them exited the barn as he awkwardly stood there, eyes following them. After a moment, he turned to continue unpacking and getting settled, taking a deep breath, the surroundings reminding him of Takodona. Only it wasn’t. For some reason, he could not get the thoughts of his time there out of his mind. The little girl, Winta, slightly reminded him of Dinah, and he thought about how old she would be now.

She would be around five or so now, I think.

She had undoubtedly left an impression on him in their short time together.

A while later, he was cleaning his rifle, and the Child stood in a crib watching him when he heard footsteps, followed by a voice.

“Knock, knock.”

“Come in,” he replied to the woman, who he had learned was named Omera. She walked in with a tray of food, her daughter following close behind her.

“Can I feed him?” the little girl asked, walking over to the Child.

“Sure,” he answered as he turned around. He watched as Winta knelt by the crib, holding up some food.

“Are you hungry?” she asked the Child with a giggle. “Can I play with him?” He let out a breath.

“Sure.” He took The Child out of the crib and set him down, watching as Winta made her exit, the little green creature following her. He rushed toward the door with worry, but Omrea held her arm out to stop him.

“I don't think – “

“They'll be fine,” she reassured him.

“I don't – “ he tried to protest, but she repeated herself.

“They'll be fine. At her words, he retreated into the barn with a sigh. “I brought you some food. I noticed you didn't eat out there. I'll leave it here for when I go.”

“That's very thoughtful of you,” he mumbled, turning away, feeling awkward at her kindness.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“How long has it been since you've taken that off?”

“Yesterday.”

“I mean in front of someone else,” she elaborated, catching him off guard for a moment. Din’s mind began to race with thoughts of you. The last time he had taken his helmet off was with you in the darkness of the Crest. The night the both of you have given into your desires. His heart clenched at the memory, guilt coursing through him. He turned around, standing in front of the woman, and pointed out the window at the children galavanting outside.

”I wasn't much older than they are,” he stated, unsure of why he was explaining this to some woman. Some woman who wasn’t you.

“You haven't shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?” she asked in shock.

“No.” he lied, thoughts of you swirling in his mind. How he wished you had seen his face, even for a moment. He longingly wished he had removed his helmet to glimpse your beauty through his own eyes instead of the visor. “I was...happy that they took me in. My parents were killed, and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied, sadness in her voice. He could tell that she pitied him, and she reminded him of you.

Their caring and compassionate natures are very similar.

However, you were much more outspoken.

He remembered how you would ramble on and on, and he smiled under the helmet at the fond memory. However, his smile quickly faded when he recalled his actions that had tainted those memories.

“This is the way,” he responded, idly watching the Child play, wishing you were there with the two of them.

I wish you were here to guide me through what to do.

Watch over him as a mother would.

Just here with me.

With us.

He knew that under your strong façade you were kind at heart and would fight tooth and nail to help protect the Child as if it were your own.

“Let us know if there's anything you need.”                                                                    

“Thank you.” She left him to his thoughts and meal. Standing by the window, he placed the plate of food and cup on the sill in front of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he once again felt like he was being watched. His senses told him that someone was lurking about, and he grew worried. Looking around the settlement, he did not see anything out of the ordinary. Nobody was looking toward the window, everyone busy with various tasks. He decided that it was nothing and shook the feeling off. In the privacy of the barn, he removed his helmet, placing it next to the plate, and began to eat the meal.

Later that day, Din and Cara made their way through the forest the farmers had told them the raiders came from. He adjusted the settings on his heads-up display and saw the recent footsteps.

“About fifteen or twenty of them came through here on foot,” sharing his observations. He looked around and then up, seeing damage on the trees. “And something big sheared off those branches.” They moved on and crouched down beside a giant footprint, studying the shape.

“AT-ST,” Cara said in a somber tone.

“Imperial Walker. What's it doing here?” he spoke out, not liking this new development.

We were only told it was raiders, not a kriffling AT-ST.

“I don't know. But this is more than I signed up for,” she replied, and he silently agreed with her. He let out a sigh as they made their way back to the village and stood at the front of the barn, waiting a moment before addressing the farmers.

“Bad news. Y'can't live here anymore,” he bluntly stated, not bothering to sugarcoat the reality of the situation.

“What?” Stoke spoke in surprise.

“Why?” Caben asked in confusion.

“Nice bedside manner...” Cara mumbled to him.

“You think you can do better?” he quipped back.

“Can't do much worse,” she responded before turning to address the people. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

“You took the job!” Stoke exclaimed, unhappy that they were told they had to leave their home.

“Yeah!” came Caben’s voice in agreement.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” she replied, annoyed that they had withheld that information from them.

“What is that?”

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us,” Cara retorted, displeasure in her tone. The villagers began to shout.

“Help us!”

“Please!!” “You're supposed to help us!”

”But we hired you!”

”Please!”

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera’s voice spoke over the crowd.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller,” Cara answered nonchalantly.

“My grandparents seeded these pods,” came Caben’s voice.

“It took generations,” Stoke added.

“I understand. I do,” Cara said, trying to calm them. “But there are only two of us.”

“No, there's not! There's at least twenty here!” Stoke threw out.

“Yeah!”

“I mean fighters. Be realistic,” Cara responded with a slight eye-roll.

“We can learn!”

“We can!”

“Give us a chance!”

“Please!”

“I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” Cara stated, remembering the battles she had fought in against those machines. Against the Imperials inside them.

“We're not leaving,” Omera c firmly.

“You cannot fight that thing.”

“Unless we show them how,” Din interjected.

Ah, what the hell?

It’s worth a shot, I guess.

“Show us!”

“Yeah, we can do this!”

It was decided. They would teach the villagers how to fight back against their attackers.

“You got two problems here. You got the bandits, and you got the mech,” he began to explain. “We'll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come outta the woods. And I don't have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion, and she's gonna lay out a plan for you. So listen. Carefully.” He signaled for Cara to take over, and she began to speak.

“Now, there's nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing. So we're gonna build a trap. We're gonna need to dig real deep,” she said, pointing to the edge of the farthest krill pool. “Right here, so that when it steps in, it drops.” The people hung on to her every word, nodded their heads with the strategy. They began to dig in the krill pool, following the two warrior’s directions on what to do.

“The two of us will hit their camp, provoke them. That'll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us,” Cara explained further.

“I'm gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges,” Din instructed the villagers, and they followed his words, beginning to cut down wood and build the barricades. He continued to speak. “I need it high enough so that they can't get over and strong enough so that it can't break through. Okay. Who knows how to shoot?” Omera slowly raised her hand out of the crowd. He sighed and nodded. He began to unpack his arsenal, handing them out to half of the farmers, as Cara started to train the other half on melee techniques. Din stood to the side, watching his half of the villagers lined up and aimed at the targets situated far enough that it would be a slight challenge, but close enough that they would still have a good chance of hitting it.

“Fire!” he shouted, and each of the villagers began shooting haphazardly, missing almost every shot.

Save for one.

Omera.

Her aim was steady and true, her stance solid, as she held the blaster and fired, hitting the target several times. The feeling of being watched returned, sending a slight shiver down his spine, but he shook it off. He did not have time to worry about that right now.

Later.

He turned to look at the woman, a multitude of thoughts flooding his mind as he gave her a slight nod, acknowledging her skill.

She reminds me so much of her, he thought.

Although Omera is a good shot, she is not as good as her.

She could easily make this shot from a much greater distance.

Maybe even clear the entire span of this village with no trouble at all.

His thoughts rampantly raged as he continued with the training, only half paying attention. He shook his head, brushing thoughts of you aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Help the farmers.

You can think about her later when you’re alone, he told himself.

The day passed quickly; everyone was worn out from training and preparing for the inevitable fight looming ahead. Din stood in the doorway of the hut, elbow resting on the side, as Omera exited and stood in front of him. A little too close for his liking, but he could do nothing about it without seeming rude. He had a feeling that the woman held some kind of affection for him, primarily after he had spoken about his past, but he did not feel the same way. He would only ever feel that way for you.

I don’t know why I kriffing told her any about my past.

The only other one I’ve said that to was – his cut off his thoughts, addressing the woman that stood before him.

“The sun is about to set, and we'll be leaving soon. When we return, we're coming in hot,” he stated, and she nodded, gazing at his helmet with warmth in her eyes.

“We'll be ready.” Cara walked up, and the two of them departed for the Klatooinian bandit’s camp. It took them no time to find the camp and stealthily navigated through it to a tent. Inside they found large vats of glowing blue liquid, and he set some charges on the posts that kept the tent up. Cara alerted him to some incoming bandits, and once they entered the tent, the two were able to dispatch them quickly. However, more enemies flooded the tent, and they were forced to escape retreat.

“I hope the plan worked,” Cara said as they ran. They watched the AT-ST come to life and knew that it had. They were leading it right back to the village, just like they planned.

“Go!” Din shouted. “GO!” The AT-ST fired on them but did not land any shots as they continued toward the village. The two of them made it back took cover, poised and ready to go when the assailants arrived.

“This is it! Once that thing steps in the pond, it's going down!” Cara shouted. “Weapons ready!” The villagers followed her command and braced themselves. The people watched in fear as the AT-ST broke through the tree line but stopped short of the pool.

Dank farrik!

“It stopped,” Cara spoke. The machine stood outside of the perimeter and waited. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the enemy’s next move. The AT-ST suddenly flooded the field with a blinding light, and they shielded their eyes. The light swept over their defenses, assessing the area, and then began firing on the huts. People started to panic, some turning to try and run away.

“Hold your positions!” Cara commanded. The Klatooinian bandits appeared from the forest and rushed toward the village. “OPEN FIRE!” Blaster shots whizzed through the air, some hitting their mark, others missing it.

“We gotta get that thing to step forward,” he expressed, trying to come up with a plan to get the giant machine to move.

“I'm thinking….New plan,” Cara said, an idea popping into her head.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Gimme the pulse rifle.” he handed her his pulse rifle, a little hesitant about someone else handling it.

The only person I allowed ever to use it was her.

She looked damn good with it too.

“I'll cover you,” he offered as Cara got ready to jump out of their hiding place. She ran toward the AT-ST and aimed the rifle. She squeezed off a shot, and the AT-ST stepped forward, but still not enough to trigger the trap. While Cara was trying to get the AT-ST to step into the trap, the villagers began to storm forward, engaging the Klatooinians head-on. Finally, Cara landed a shot into one of the windows, and the machine took that last step forward, crashing into the water. Din activated a charge and ran on, throwing the bomb into the cockpit before returning to cover. The AT-ST exploded, and the raiders began to flee, their primary weapon now a heap of metal spread across the area. They had done it. The farmers had won.

A few weeks later, the settlement felt more peaceful than it had before. The fear of attacks was now gone, and the people were grateful. Din leaned against the hut, hands crossed over his body, braced on his belt, Cara sitting adjacent to him. He watched as the Child chased a frog and caught it, trying to eat it, and the children laughed and turned away. Embarrassed, he spat the frog out, and it hopped away. Omera emerged from the barn, handing Cara a drink and the former Rebel took it with a smile.

“Thanks,” she said, slyly eyeing the two people next to her.

“Can I set you something in the house?” Omera asked him, turning in his direction.

“Uh...thank you,” he awkwardly replied, still unsure how to let the woman in front of him know that he did not reciprocate her feelings. “Maybe later.” Omera turned to look at the children, seeing the Child happily playing.

“He's very happy here.”

“He is,” he responded.

“Fits right in.” He said nothing in return as she turned to walk away. His gaze followed her, and he let out an inaudible breath.

I wish you were here with me instead.

Living peacefully, maybe a few children of our own running around.

His thoughts took him by surprise. He had never fully admitted that dream to himself, but watching the Child with the children made him yearn for you. His dreams were one thing, but to think that, almost out loud, was an entirely different matter.

I miss her so much.

“So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?” Cara asked him curiously.

“No. You just can't ever put it back on again,” he answered.

“That's it?” Cara scoffed. “So, you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kids sitting here sipping spotchka?” He did not want to give her the satisfaction of answering that question.

I don’t want to settle down with Omera.

I want to settle down with her.

Only ever with her, but I don’t even know where she is.

His heart tightened mournfully, missing your presence even more.

“You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back,” he said, changing the subject to get Cara off his back. “It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. You might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

“Wouldn't wanna be the one who's gotta tell him,” she stated, looking toward the Child.

“I'm leaving him here. Traveling with me – “ He stopped himself, sadness creeping in at the memory of another time he had left someone behind for their safety, “that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe. Better chance at a life.”

“It's gonna break his little heart.”

“He'll get over it. We all do,” he spoke, wanting to believe his own words. He would never get over what he had done to you, how he had abandoned you, deeming your safety more important than his feelings. No matter how much his heart hurt, he kept reminding himself that it was for the best, but the guilt would always haunt him in his sleep. He stood there for a moment, watching the Child, before getting up and striding to Omera.

“Excuse me. Can I have a word?”

“Of course,” she replied, and he led her away from the others to talk to her in private. He knew that this was going to be an awkward conversation, but it had to be done.

“It's very nice here,” he began, trying to find the words.

“Yes.”

“I think it's clear he's... he's happy here,” he continued.

This is for the best.

He needs to stay here and be safe.

“What about you?” Omera questioned, her eyes filled with affection.

“Me?”

“Are you happy here? We want you to stay. The community is grateful,” she spoke, and he could read between the lines. She was not talking about just the community; she was talking about herself. “You can pack all this away in case there's ever trouble. You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“It would,” he replied, voice breaking, as he thought of you. The prospect of living a quiet life, away from all the violence, the constant running, the danger. He wanted all of that. With you. Omera reached up to his helmet and placed her hands on it, beginning to lift. His Creed forbade him from ever removing the helmet in front of another living being, except for death or marriage, and he knew that he would never take that step with anyone but you.

No.

There is only one person I would ever reveal my face to, and she is not here, Din thought sadly, gently stopping the woman’s actions and shook his head.

“I don't belong here. But he does.” Omera looked at him, eyes now filled with sadness, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words. She was not the one he wanted, and she accepted that.

“I understand,” she said. “I will look after him as one of my own.” He was grateful, but the moment was short-lived at the sound of blaster fire. He turned and pushed Omera behind him, scanning the area.

“Go get the kids,” he commanded, and she immediately complied. He ran to where the sound originated and found Cara standing over a body. More accurately, the body of a bounty hunter. With his foot, he turned the smoldering body over to reveal a beeping tracking fob.

Dank farrik! He thought as he picked up the device.

“Who is he tracking?” Cara inquired.

“The kid,” he answered, clutching the fob.

“They know he's here.”

“Yes.”

“Then they'll keep coming.”

“Yes,” he answered again, short and straight to the point. He gripped the fob in his hand tightly, crushing it, and began to walk back to the village.

“We need to leave,” he said over his shoulder as Cara looked down at the corpse and then followed. The villagers had quickly helped him load his cargo onto the sled, the Child sitting there with curious eyes.

“Are you sure you don't want an escort?” Cara asked, walking up to them as he loaded some crates.

“I appreciate the offer. But we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest.” They needed to get off the planet as soon as possible, and he did not want to risk another possible run-in with a bounty hunter. The village had already gone through enough violence, and he did not want to drag them into another scuffle. One that was because of him.

“Well then,” Cara said, offering him her hand. “Until our paths cross.”

“Until our paths cross,” he repeated, shaking her hand. He watched Winta approach the cart and hug the Child.

“I'll miss you so much,” the little girl spoke. Omera stood beside her daughter, facing him.

“Thank you.” He wordlessly nodded and got into the sled. It began to move toward the forest, and he and the Child watched the people grow smaller and smaller.

Hearing the distinct sounds of a ship, he tilted his head up in time to see one pass over the settlement. The vessel appeared to be leaving the planet in a hurry, breaking through the atmosphere and shooting into space. As they crossed the tree line, Din felt a tug on his heart, like there was something about that ship that seemed strangely familiar—drawing him in. He knew that he had never seen a ship like that before, having an impeccable memory.

So what is it?

Why do I have this feeling?

He thought hard about why he suddenly felt strange when the ship flew by but came up with nothing.

No explanation.

No reasoning behind the mysterious shift in the air when he looked up at it.

His heart sped up at the only thought that came to mind.

Could it have been you?

But how?

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[rina-cyarika-writing]

Home

Chapter Seven of Blast From The Past

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Rating: 18+

Word Count: 6k+

Summary: Din arrives on Sorgan and helps the townsfolk with their problem but feels like someone is watching him.

Warnings: Slow burnnnn (like really slow), ALL THE ANGST (should you expect anything less at this point?), violence

Song: Home by Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors, Bebe Rexha

A/N: The lyrics for this song fit so well.😭

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Reader’s POV

After Takodana, Din had gone back to Nevarro to turn in and collect more pucks from Karga. The bounties kept him rather busy the last two years until the day he met the Child on Arvala-4. His run-in with the little girl on Takodana had altered his view on children. Before meeting her, he would not have thought twice about turning the Child over to the Imps. However, something inside of him had shifted after that encounter. When he saw the helpless green creature looking up at him with its large eyes, he felt protective over it but knew he would have to hand it over. As a bounty hunter and guild member, his job demanded it, and he was not one to abandon his duty. After all, he had a reputation to keep.

Nevertheless, he felt regret, recalling its terrified face as it cried out to him as he stood there and watched. After he left, he felt remorseful, a nagging feeling pulling him back to the Imperial hideout after he had received his newly forged Beskar armor. He felt undeserving of the payment, especially since the Child had protected him from the mudhorn with its mysterious powers. He knew he needed to go back. And go back, he did.

Now he was being hunted by the disbanded Empire scoundrels, who would stop at nothing to reacquire their prize. He needed to find a safe place for the youngling, knowing he could not risk any bounty hunters, or Imperials, finding either of them, especially after the shootout on Nevarro. He was aware that the Child was important to the fallen regime's remnants, but he was still at a loss as to why.

What made him so special?

The Child sat in the chair behind him as he piloted the Crest, but he sensed the kid was restless. Just as he predicted, it crawled up next to him on the dashboard, watching the stars fly by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it flip a switch, and he let out a sigh, flipping a button on the opposite side of the panel. Again, The Child reached over and flicked the controller in response.

“Stop touching things,” he said firmly, trying not to grow agitated at the little creature. It looked up at him innocently, its ears wiggling about before it reached over, and flicked the switch once again, keeping eye contact the entire time. The ship jolted and began to shake at the action.

Dank farrik!

Din quickly grabbed the Child and placed it on his lap, keeping a firm grip to prevent it from causing any more trouble. He surveyed the Outer Rim systems, contemplating which one would be a secluded enough location to hide at.

The Outer Rim Territories are a pretty safe bet, but which system is out of the way enough that nobody would go looking for us there?

He spotted Sorgan, a planet situated deep within the Outer Rim Territories, the only habitable object in that star system.

Perfect.

“Let’s see. Sorgan,” he said out loud, pulling up the information on the planet. “Looks like there’s no starport, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it’s perfect for us.”

Thank the Maker.

The Child looked up at him curiously.

“You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat?” he asked, not expecting a response from the creature. “Nobody’s gonna find us here.” He entered the coordinates for the Sorgan, and they were off. Once they reached the isolated planet, he found a clearing to stow the Crest, initiating the landing sequence. He felt the ship touch down and pushed a few buttons before spotting the Child reaching for the silver knob.

“Listen. I’m gonna go out there and look around. It shouldn’t take too long,” he said to the creature as he stood up and set it on the pilot’s seat. “Now, don’t touch anything. I’ll find us some lodging, then I’ll come back for you.” The youngling looked up at him, tilting its head, ears slightly moving as if it could understand his words.

“You stay right there. You stay,” he said, pointing his finger at it. “Don’t move. You understand? Great.” Din walked down to the cargo hold and pressed a button, lowering the ramp. He felt a presence beside him and turned, finding nothing until he glanced down. The Child stood beside him, looking up at him with googly eyes, and he let out a sigh.

“Oh, what the hell…Come on.” He began to walk out of the ship, and the Child followed as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Reminds me of that little girl from Takodona.

Din and The Child arrived at a common house where various people were, many of them turning to gaze at the two newcomers, an unusual sight to behold. A woman in the corner was intently watching them, and he took note of her presence. She seemed to be on edge. The two of them went to sit at a table, shortly being greeted by a woman.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one,’ he replied.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” she asked him kindly. He shook his head.

“Just the one.”

“Very well – “ she began to say, and he cut her off.

“That one over there, when did she arrive?” motioning his head to the mysterious onlooker.

“Uh...I've seen her here for the last week or so…” the woman replied, unsure of how to respond to his questioning.

“What's her business here?”

“Business? Oh well...there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say...” He tossed a coin on the table, and she looked down at it, taking a moment before speaking.

“She doesn't strike me as a log runner...well...” she stated and picked up the coin. “Thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka, just for good measure. I'll be right back with that.” She hurried away, and he noticed that the woman, previously watching them, had disappeared. He stood up to leave and tossed a coin at the woman who had returned with the food.

“Keep an eye on the kid,” he commanded. She caught the coin with wide eyes and nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He exited the building and looked around, changing a setting in his heads-up display to find her footprints, spotting them going between the huts, but suddenly ended. He looked around in confusion for a moment before he turned in time for her to kick him in the chest, landing a punch to his helmet shortly after. She went in for another punch, and he dodged it, her fist colliding with the wall with a crack. They threw punches; kicks were landed, both fighting with all their might.

Kriffing hell, she’s strong.

He was thrown to the ground with a grunt. Getting fed up with the fight, he engaged his flamethrower, but she was faster, stepping on his arm to halt his attempt. More punches were thrown, and she flipped him over, and he landed on his back with a thud. They both rolled, hands locked to try and stop the other before they drew their blasters, aiming them at each other. Both were panting when they heard a slurping sound and looked over to see the Child watching them as he sipped the broth. He let out a breath.

“You want some soup?”

He learned that Cara had been a former Rebel drop trooper, having fled her post to hide out in Sorgan. She had thought that he was after her, him being a bounty hunter and all, explaining the reasoning behind her aggressive assault on him. As she left, she informed him that only one of them could hide on the planet unless he wanted to fight again. He let out a sigh and turned to the Child.

“Well, looks like this planet's taken.”

Din prepared to leave, repairing parts of the Crest when two men approached him.

“Excuse me,” one spoke, the other one close behind him.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“There something I can help you with?” he irritatedly asked, wanting to finish his repairs in peace and be off.

“Uh...yeah... Raiders,” came a timid reply.

“We have money,” the other one added.

“So you think I'm some kind of mercenary?” he replied, back still turned to them, continuing his repairs.

“You are a Mandalorian, right?”

“Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor... That is Mandalorian armor, right?” the one with the hat asked. He turned to face them.

“It is.”

“See?! I told him,” the man continued, stammering as he spoke. “Sir, I've read a lot about your people...er... tri-tribe... If half of what I read is true - "

“We have money,” his friend cut in.

“ How much?” not wanting to waste his time if they were not offering a substantial amount.

“It's everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill... We're...krill farmers,”

“We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.” Din faced them as the curly-haired one held up a small bag of coins.

“It's not enough,” he said, turning to walk away, and the two men followed him.

“Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is.”

“I know it's not enough,” came his clipped reply. “Good luck.”

“This is everything we have. We'll give you more after the next harvest,” they pleaded. He opened the hatch, and they stumbled back, startled. They began to walk away, disappointed by his unwillingness to help them. As he walked up the ramp, he heard them talking.

”Come on. Let's head back.”

“Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.” His ears picked up their words, stopping him in his tracks.

“Where do you live?” he inquired, the two men turning toward him at the sound of his voice.

“At a farm,” the curly-haired man replied dejectedly. “Weren't you listening? We're farmers.”

“In the middle of nowhere,” he clarified.

“Yes,” came his confused reply.

“You have lodging?”

“Yeah. Absolutely,” came his reply, perking up with hope.

“Good,” he answered. “Come up and help.”

The two men began to help him load cargo into their cart.

“I'm gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits,” he said, holding his hand out. The man handed him the small bag of coins, and he made his way through the forest, tracking Cara down. He quickly found her, sitting by a campfire, and dropped the coins next to her. Startled, she drew her blaster on him.

“Ready for round two?

They rode through the night until they arrived at the village, the sound of children’s laughter filling the air. The children were cheering at their arrival as they took in their surroundings.

In the middle of nowhere indeed.

The village was nestled in a large clearing, encompassed by trees on all sides.

“Well, looks like they are happy to see us,” he spoke, the children’s cheerful demeanor reminding him of the little girl he met.

Dinah.

He watched as the children approached the cart to greet the Child, and it cooed at them.

“Looks like,” Cara replied with a smile. They hopped off the cart, Din holding his rifle over his shoulder as he made his way to a structure that the men, Caben and Stoke, had pointed him to. As he walked, a strange feeling flowed over him, as if someone was watching his movements. The farmers began to unload the wagon, happy that they were getting help from a Mandalorian. He walked toward the hut and stopped just outside the doorway, seeing a woman tying the rope for the blinds to a beam in the middle of the room.

“Please come in,” she greeted as he stepped in with a crate and set it down. “I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn.”

“This will do fine,” he replied, back turned to her, unloading the contents of the crate.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” she stated, pointing to them.

“Thank you. That's...very kind,” he awkwardly replied, back still turned when he heard footsteps and whirled around. He spotted a little girl just outside the barn, and she backed away to hide. The woman moved the little girl back into view, holding her against her side.

“This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers,” the woman explained. “This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. He nodded at her, helmet tilting slightly, almost appearing not to move.

“Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room.” The two of them exited the barn as he awkwardly stood there, eyes following them. After a moment, he turned to continue unpacking and getting settled, taking a deep breath, the surroundings reminding him of Takodona. Only it wasn’t. For some reason, he could not get the thoughts of his time there out of his mind. The little girl, Winta, slightly reminded him of Dinah, and he thought about how old she would be now.

She would be around five or so now, I think.

She had undoubtedly left an impression on him in their short time together.

A while later, he was cleaning his rifle, and the Child stood in a crib watching him when he heard footsteps, followed by a voice.

“Knock, knock.”

“Come in,” he replied to the woman, who he had learned was named Omera. She walked in with a tray of food, her daughter following close behind her.

“Can I feed him?” the little girl asked, walking over to the Child.

“Sure,” he answered as he turned around. He watched as Winta knelt by the crib, holding up some food.

“Are you hungry?” she asked the Child with a giggle. “Can I play with him?” He let out a breath.

“Sure.” He took The Child out of the crib and set him down, watching as Winta made her exit, the little green creature following her. He rushed toward the door with worry, but Omrea held her arm out to stop him.

“I don't think – “

“They'll be fine,” she reassured him.

“I don't – “ he tried to protest, but she repeated herself.

“They'll be fine. At her words, he retreated into the barn with a sigh. “I brought you some food. I noticed you didn't eat out there. I'll leave it here for when I go.”

“That's very thoughtful of you,” he mumbled, turning away, feeling awkward at her kindness.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“How long has it been since you've taken that off?”

“Yesterday.”

“I mean in front of someone else,” she elaborated, catching him off guard for a moment. Din’s mind began to race with thoughts of you. The last time he had taken his helmet off was with you in the darkness of the Crest. The night the both of you have given into your desires. His heart clenched at the memory, guilt coursing through him. He turned around, standing in front of the woman, and pointed out the window at the children galavanting outside.

”I wasn't much older than they are,” he stated, unsure of why he was explaining this to some woman. Some woman who wasn’t you.

“You haven't shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?” she asked in shock.

“No.” he lied, thoughts of you swirling in his mind. How he wished you had seen his face, even for a moment. He longingly wished he had removed his helmet to glimpse your beauty through his own eyes instead of the visor. “I was...happy that they took me in. My parents were killed, and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied, sadness in her voice. He could tell that she pitied him, and she reminded him of you.

Their caring and compassionate natures are very similar.

However, you were much more outspoken.

He remembered how you would ramble on and on, and he smiled under the helmet at the fond memory. However, his smile quickly faded when he recalled his actions that had tainted those memories.

“This is the way,” he responded, idly watching the Child play, wishing you were there with the two of them.

I wish you were here to guide me through what to do.

Watch over him as a mother would.

Just here with me.

With us.

He knew that under your strong façade you were kind at heart and would fight tooth and nail to help protect the Child as if it were your own.

“Let us know if there's anything you need.”                                                                    

“Thank you.” She left him to his thoughts and meal. Standing by the window, he placed the plate of food and cup on the sill in front of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he once again felt like he was being watched. His senses told him that someone was lurking about, and he grew worried. Looking around the settlement, he did not see anything out of the ordinary. Nobody was looking toward the window, everyone busy with various tasks. He decided that it was nothing and shook the feeling off. In the privacy of the barn, he removed his helmet, placing it next to the plate, and began to eat the meal.

Later that day, Din and Cara made their way through the forest the farmers had told them the raiders came from. He adjusted the settings on his heads-up display and saw the recent footsteps.

“About fifteen or twenty of them came through here on foot,” sharing his observations. He looked around and then up, seeing damage on the trees. “And something big sheared off those branches.” They moved on and crouched down beside a giant footprint, studying the shape.

“AT-ST,” Cara said in a somber tone.

“Imperial Walker. What's it doing here?” he spoke out, not liking this new development.

We were only told it was raiders, not a kriffling AT-ST.

“I don't know. But this is more than I signed up for,” she replied, and he silently agreed with her. He let out a sigh as they made their way back to the village and stood at the front of the barn, waiting a moment before addressing the farmers.

“Bad news. Y'can't live here anymore,” he bluntly stated, not bothering to sugarcoat the reality of the situation.

“What?” Stoke spoke in surprise.

“Why?” Caben asked in confusion.

“Nice bedside manner...” Cara mumbled to him.

“You think you can do better?” he quipped back.

“Can't do much worse,” she responded before turning to address the people. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

“You took the job!” Stoke exclaimed, unhappy that they were told they had to leave their home.

“Yeah!” came Caben’s voice in agreement.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” she replied, annoyed that they had withheld that information from them.

“What is that?”

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us,” Cara retorted, displeasure in her tone. The villagers began to shout.

“Help us!”

“Please!!” “You're supposed to help us!”

”But we hired you!”

”Please!”

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera’s voice spoke over the crowd.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller,” Cara answered nonchalantly.

“My grandparents seeded these pods,” came Caben’s voice.

“It took generations,” Stoke added.

“I understand. I do,” Cara said, trying to calm them. “But there are only two of us.”

“No, there's not! There's at least twenty here!” Stoke threw out.

“Yeah!”

“I mean fighters. Be realistic,” Cara responded with a slight eye-roll.

“We can learn!”

“We can!”

“Give us a chance!”

“Please!”

“I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” Cara stated, remembering the battles she had fought in against those machines. Against the Imperials inside them.

“We're not leaving,” Omera c firmly.

“You cannot fight that thing.”

“Unless we show them how,” Din interjected.

Ah, what the hell?

It’s worth a shot, I guess.

“Show us!”

“Yeah, we can do this!”

It was decided. They would teach the villagers how to fight back against their attackers.

“You got two problems here. You got the bandits, and you got the mech,” he began to explain. “We'll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come outta the woods. And I don't have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion, and she's gonna lay out a plan for you. So listen. Carefully.” He signaled for Cara to take over, and she began to speak.

“Now, there's nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing. So we're gonna build a trap. We're gonna need to dig real deep,” she said, pointing to the edge of the farthest krill pool. “Right here, so that when it steps in, it drops.” The people hung on to her every word, nodded their heads with the strategy. They began to dig in the krill pool, following the two warrior’s directions on what to do.

“The two of us will hit their camp, provoke them. That'll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us,” Cara explained further.

“I'm gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges,” Din instructed the villagers, and they followed his words, beginning to cut down wood and build the barricades. He continued to speak. “I need it high enough so that they can't get over and strong enough so that it can't break through. Okay. Who knows how to shoot?” Omera slowly raised her hand out of the crowd. He sighed and nodded. He began to unpack his arsenal, handing them out to half of the farmers, as Cara started to train the other half on melee techniques. Din stood to the side, watching his half of the villagers lined up and aimed at the targets situated far enough that it would be a slight challenge, but close enough that they would still have a good chance of hitting it.

“Fire!” he shouted, and each of the villagers began shooting haphazardly, missing almost every shot.

Save for one.

Omera.

Her aim was steady and true, her stance solid, as she held the blaster and fired, hitting the target several times. The feeling of being watched returned, sending a slight shiver down his spine, but he shook it off. He did not have time to worry about that right now.

Later.

He turned to look at the woman, a multitude of thoughts flooding his mind as he gave her a slight nod, acknowledging her skill.

She reminds me so much of her, he thought.

Although Omera is a good shot, she is not as good as her.

She could easily make this shot from a much greater distance.

Maybe even clear the entire span of this village with no trouble at all.

His thoughts rampantly raged as he continued with the training, only half paying attention. He shook his head, brushing thoughts of you aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Help the farmers.

You can think about her later when you’re alone, he told himself.

The day passed quickly; everyone was worn out from training and preparing for the inevitable fight looming ahead. Din stood in the doorway of the hut, elbow resting on the side, as Omera exited and stood in front of him. A little too close for his liking, but he could do nothing about it without seeming rude. He had a feeling that the woman held some kind of affection for him, primarily after he had spoken about his past, but he did not feel the same way. He would only ever feel that way for you.

I don’t know why I kriffing told her any about my past.

The only other one I’ve said that to was – his cut off his thoughts, addressing the woman that stood before him.

“The sun is about to set, and we'll be leaving soon. When we return, we're coming in hot,” he stated, and she nodded, gazing at his helmet with warmth in her eyes.

“We'll be ready.” Cara walked up, and the two of them departed for the Klatooinian bandit’s camp. It took them no time to find the camp and stealthily navigated through it to a tent. Inside they found large vats of glowing blue liquid, and he set some charges on the posts that kept the tent up. Cara alerted him to some incoming bandits, and once they entered the tent, the two were able to dispatch them quickly. However, more enemies flooded the tent, and they were forced to escape retreat.

“I hope the plan worked,” Cara said as they ran. They watched the AT-ST come to life and knew that it had. They were leading it right back to the village, just like they planned.

“Go!” Din shouted. “GO!” The AT-ST fired on them but did not land any shots as they continued toward the village. The two of them made it back took cover, poised and ready to go when the assailants arrived.

“This is it! Once that thing steps in the pond, it's going down!” Cara shouted. “Weapons ready!” The villagers followed her command and braced themselves. The people watched in fear as the AT-ST broke through the tree line but stopped short of the pool.

Dank farrik!

“It stopped,” Cara spoke. The machine stood outside of the perimeter and waited. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the enemy’s next move. The AT-ST suddenly flooded the field with a blinding light, and they shielded their eyes. The light swept over their defenses, assessing the area, and then began firing on the huts. People started to panic, some turning to try and run away.

“Hold your positions!” Cara commanded. The Klatooinian bandits appeared from the forest and rushed toward the village. “OPEN FIRE!” Blaster shots whizzed through the air, some hitting their mark, others missing it.

“We gotta get that thing to step forward,” he expressed, trying to come up with a plan to get the giant machine to move.

“I'm thinking….New plan,” Cara said, an idea popping into her head.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Gimme the pulse rifle.” he handed her his pulse rifle, a little hesitant about someone else handling it.

The only person I allowed ever to use it was her.

She looked damn good with it too.

“I'll cover you,” he offered as Cara got ready to jump out of their hiding place. She ran toward the AT-ST and aimed the rifle. She squeezed off a shot, and the AT-ST stepped forward, but still not enough to trigger the trap. While Cara was trying to get the AT-ST to step into the trap, the villagers began to storm forward, engaging the Klatooinians head-on. Finally, Cara landed a shot into one of the windows, and the machine took that last step forward, crashing into the water. Din activated a charge and ran on, throwing the bomb into the cockpit before returning to cover. The AT-ST exploded, and the raiders began to flee, their primary weapon now a heap of metal spread across the area. They had done it. The farmers had won.

A few weeks later, the settlement felt more peaceful than it had before. The fear of attacks was now gone, and the people were grateful. Din leaned against the hut, hands crossed over his body, braced on his belt, Cara sitting adjacent to him. He watched as the Child chased a frog and caught it, trying to eat it, and the children laughed and turned away. Embarrassed, he spat the frog out, and it hopped away. Omera emerged from the barn, handing Cara a drink and the former Rebel took it with a smile.

“Thanks,” she said, slyly eyeing the two people next to her.

“Can I set you something in the house?” Omera asked him, turning in his direction.

“Uh...thank you,” he awkwardly replied, still unsure how to let the woman in front of him know that he did not reciprocate her feelings. “Maybe later.” Omera turned to look at the children, seeing the Child happily playing.

“He's very happy here.”

“He is,” he responded.

“Fits right in.” He said nothing in return as she turned to walk away. His gaze followed her, and he let out an inaudible breath.

I wish you were here with me instead.

Living peacefully, maybe a few children of our own running around.

His thoughts took him by surprise. He had never fully admitted that dream to himself, but watching the Child with the children made him yearn for you. His dreams were one thing, but to think that, almost out loud, was an entirely different matter.

I miss her so much.

“So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?” Cara asked him curiously.

“No. You just can't ever put it back on again,” he answered.

“That's it?” Cara scoffed. “So, you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kids sitting here sipping spotchka?” He did not want to give her the satisfaction of answering that question.

I don’t want to settle down with Omera.

I want to settle down with her.

Only ever with her, but I don’t even know where she is.

His heart tightened mournfully, missing your presence even more.

“You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back,” he said, changing the subject to get Cara off his back. “It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. You might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

“Wouldn't wanna be the one who's gotta tell him,” she stated, looking toward the Child.

“I'm leaving him here. Traveling with me – “ He stopped himself, sadness creeping in at the memory of another time he had left someone behind for their safety, “that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe. Better chance at a life.”

“It's gonna break his little heart.”

“He'll get over it. We all do,” he spoke, wanting to believe his own words. He would never get over what he had done to you, how he had abandoned you, deeming your safety more important than his feelings. No matter how much his heart hurt, he kept reminding himself that it was for the best, but the guilt would always haunt him in his sleep. He stood there for a moment, watching the Child, before getting up and striding to Omera.

“Excuse me. Can I have a word?”

“Of course,” she replied, and he led her away from the others to talk to her in private. He knew that this was going to be an awkward conversation, but it had to be done.

“It's very nice here,” he began, trying to find the words.

“Yes.”

“I think it's clear he's... he's happy here,” he continued.

This is for the best.

He needs to stay here and be safe.

“What about you?” Omera questioned, her eyes filled with affection.

“Me?”

“Are you happy here? We want you to stay. The community is grateful,” she spoke, and he could read between the lines. She was not talking about just the community; she was talking about herself. “You can pack all this away in case there's ever trouble. You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“It would,” he replied, voice breaking, as he thought of you. The prospect of living a quiet life, away from all the violence, the constant running, the danger. He wanted all of that. With you. Omera reached up to his helmet and placed her hands on it, beginning to lift. His Creed forbade him from ever removing the helmet in front of another living being, except for death or marriage, and he knew that he would never take that step with anyone but you.

No.

There is only one person I would ever reveal my face to, and she is not here, Din thought sadly, gently stopping the woman’s actions and shook his head.

“I don't belong here. But he does.” Omera looked at him, eyes now filled with sadness, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words. She was not the one he wanted, and she accepted that.

“I understand,” she said. “I will look after him as one of my own.” He was grateful, but the moment was short-lived at the sound of blaster fire. He turned and pushed Omera behind him, scanning the area.

“Go get the kids,” he commanded, and she immediately complied. He ran to where the sound originated and found Cara standing over a body. More accurately, the body of a bounty hunter. With his foot, he turned the smoldering body over to reveal a beeping tracking fob.

Dank farrik! He thought as he picked up the device.

“Who is he tracking?” Cara inquired.

“The kid,” he answered, clutching the fob.

“They know he's here.”

“Yes.”

“Then they'll keep coming.”

“Yes,” he answered again, short and straight to the point. He gripped the fob in his hand tightly, crushing it, and began to walk back to the village.

“We need to leave,” he said over his shoulder as Cara looked down at the corpse and then followed. The villagers had quickly helped him load his cargo onto the sled, the Child sitting there with curious eyes.

“Are you sure you don't want an escort?” Cara asked, walking up to them as he loaded some crates.

“I appreciate the offer. But we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest.” They needed to get off the planet as soon as possible, and he did not want to risk another possible run-in with a bounty hunter. The village had already gone through enough violence, and he did not want to drag them into another scuffle. One that was because of him.

“Well then,” Cara said, offering him her hand. “Until our paths cross.”

“Until our paths cross,” he repeated, shaking her hand. He watched Winta approach the cart and hug the Child.

“I'll miss you so much,” the little girl spoke. Omera stood beside her daughter, facing him.

“Thank you.” He wordlessly nodded and got into the sled. It began to move toward the forest, and he and the Child watched the people grow smaller and smaller.

Hearing the distinct sounds of a ship, he tilted his head up in time to see one pass over the settlement. The vessel appeared to be leaving the planet in a hurry, breaking through the atmosphere and shooting into space. As they crossed the tree line, Din felt a tug on his heart, like there was something about that ship that seemed strangely familiar—drawing him in. He knew that he had never seen a ship like that before, having an impeccable memory.

So what is it?

Why do I have this feeling?

He thought hard about why he suddenly felt strange when the ship flew by but came up with nothing.

No explanation.

No reasoning behind the mysterious shift in the air when he looked up at it.

His heart sped up at the only thought that came to mind.

Could it have been you?

But how?

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

[theunconventionalking]

if yall want a song with strong dead men days skug vibes

[communistkenobi-archive]

fic titles meme

tagged by @hauntedfalcon​! thank you hannah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Look at the most recent 20 (or however many!) fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions below.

this is long so i will put it under a cut ↴

20 most recent fics:

greater griefs (The Clone Wars)

Fields of Ribbon (The Clone Wars)

showing a dancing bird of paradise (The Clone Wars)

It’s Called Diplomacy (The Clone Wars)

Heretical (The Clone Wars)

Rain Again (The Clone Wars)

Half the Sky (The Clone Wars)

A Real Backwater Skug Hole (The Mandalorian)

Satisfy (The Mandalorian)

Happy Hunting (The Mandalorian)

Dinui (The Mandalorian)

Grow Fonder (The Mandalorian)

bad poetry (The Mandalorian)

Distractions (The Mandalorian) 

i’ve been all around this world (The Mandalorian)

Dialectics (Prospect)

You Wear it Well (The Mandalorian)

a faint trembling (The Mandalorian)

Little Laramie (Destiny)

in medias res (The Last of Us)

1. How many are you happy with?

I’m assuming this is just referring to the fic titles and not the actual fic itself, so with one notable exception they’re generally fine.

2. How many are…not great?

i hate that i called bwsh “a real backwater skug hole”. it started as a one shot so i wasn’t picky, but now that its like an actual story it will forever piss me off. I’d probably also rename “Rain Again” to something more significant.

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute?

i put basically no effort into naming smutfic so those were complete throwaways. Usually titles are hard for me so they all tend to be last minute lmao

4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning?

“Fields of Ribbon” popped into my brain before the idea fully formed. “in medias res” was also an easy choice early on, same with “Little Laramie”. with the more thematic/gimmicky fics I write, I tend to get an idea about the title early on.

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems?

lmaooo well “singing a dancing bird of paradise” is from Hot Knife

“i’ve been all around this world” is from New Railroad by Crooked Still

6. How many are other quotes?

“greater griefs” is from the book The Song of Achilles

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork?

I usually pic titles for fics that describe theme rather than plot, so that might actually mean the smut fic titles are the only actual descriptive ones, lmao.

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story?

I really like “Half the Sky” and “Little Laramie”. “Dialectics” is a very pretentious title but it works with the fic and the movie more broadly. 

9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/pov of the fanwork?

“It’s Called Diplomacy” definitely. the whole conceit of the fic is that obi-wan forces everyone to have fun at a fancy dinner party, so although he’s not the main POV character since it bounces around, it’s a good summary of what the actual fic is about and the headspace the characters are in - either being chastised or being the one doing the chastising. 

10. Which is your favourite title?

Half the Sky!! it’s one of my favourite things I’ve written in a while and the title I think summarises it very well (tonally/thematically/plot wise/etc).

Hannah tagged a couple mutuals already so I am tagging:

@jate-kara 

@beskars 

@trillaas 

@woahpip 

@fingergunsmando 

@phantom-of-the-keurig 

@coredrive

@kanouchi

@mariaromanovs

@kotorswtor

@waxedpaperdoor

@likesummerrainn

@mintaequ

@vergildidnothingwrong

@carbonight

@saratogaroad

@acaigawritesstuff

@ladywolvesbayne

@cappurrccino