#all the times they understand each other perfectly
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jane-the-geek · 22 hours ago
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Here’s a quick review of the amazing opening of Arcane season 2:
Vi seems to be struggling with her identity / Loss of identity
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Vi is wearing the tank top that I believe is the one she wears under her enforcer uniform. That’s the outfit she’s wearing throughout the opening.
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Jinx, who was hiding behind, rises and steps into the light—maybe a way of showing that she’s grown symbolically, that she’s now 'bigger.'
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Ekko with his shadow resembling a clock winding back time.
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Caitlyn is shown in her turtleneck (also what she wears under her enforcer outfit ? ), With a curtain to suggest a stage, she takes a deep breath before stepping into the light with a fake smile. Honestly, if I analyze it, we can say without much risk that she's in inner conflict, that she has to step into the spotlight and is showing a different face from how she really feels.
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There’s so much to say about the other scenes, but others will handle that perfectly; I have a special focus on CaitVi (😂). Here they are again in the same outfits—the turtleneck and tank top. It’s an interesting way to present them, and there’s a lot that could be said, which I won’t go into, but I wanted to point it out. Cait and Vi are more vulnerable in these outfits; it’s very intimate, as are all the shots with them in this opening. We’re really in deeply intimate territory.
The looks are very intense, filled with hatred or something else? (my poor babies).
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At first, I thought they were kissing, but now I think they’re fighting. They could be kissing or strangling each other in that shot; it’s hard to tell. In both cases, it’s very interesting because this little backlit scene with its colors is very intense. And, as I read elsewhere, very lesbian flag.
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And Caitlyn is still struggling, with her shadow looking like the Evil Queen, I think (lol 😆). And the effect on her hands gives the impression that she has blood on them.
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And I really like this shot because that's my Caitlyn; she has the look of someone who’s realizing, who understands. And maybe she’s coming back to her senses? So, there you have it—just my initial thoughts. I was so awestruck by this new opening that I just had to watch it again and again.
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solvicrafts · 2 days ago
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This is a hard truth that a lot of people don't want to hear, that there needs to be a balance between holding men accountable for their behavior, pointing out injustices that they benefit from, and at the same time encouraging them to learn and grow.
And this goes for any group of people, really, but especially so for young men right now.
I was saying this shit back before the 2016 election and really pissed off a lot of people for daring to argue that we should encourage our allies instead of shaming and alienating them.
"Yes, absolutely, people should support our civil rights because it's the right thing to do, but a lot of people genuinely do not know how much of the world is structured to prop them up at the cost of bringing others down."
I'm going to say something possibly really, really controversial here, especially in the wake of THIS election:
Most people are capable of being empathetic, understanding, and logical, but if you are going to engage with them then you have to have the maturity to commit to reaching them.
At one of the places I worked previously, there was this security guard who worked a few nights at the end of the week who was honestly one of my best friends there. He was a well-educated, very devout Christian man around my father's age, and he was black. For context, I am a young Irish-American liberal Hellenic Polytheist.
We actually got along far better with each other than I did with all of the hippie woo neopagan people I knew there, and he with the Christians there. And that's because we were not only both well educated within our belief systems, we were also really good at meeting in the middle and extending social grace and understanding to each other. We found that our core principles were perfectly aligned, we just didn't always arrive to our conclusions in the same exact ways.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, he was reluctant to get vaccinated, and when we talked about it I was the one person who got through to him. And he told me so. He told me outright, after he got vaccinated, that it was my voice that changed his mind.
I did not do that by shaming him over all of the people he might kill if he caught COVID and spread it. I did not do that by attacking his intellect or scientific literacy. I did not do that by threatening his financial security and pointing out that companies are letting people go for not getting vaccinated.
I did it by acknowledging his beliefs and concerns (especially as an older black man, given this country's history), and agreeing that he absolutely has valid reasons to feel the way he does, but by letting him know that my position on this subject was one of caring about his well-being above all else and letting him know when I got vaccinated and where, and how the process went for me.
Look, shaming CAN be effective in some limited scenarios, and I've done that, too. I've shamed quite a few people on public transit for refusing to let disabled elderly people sit. I am very much guilty of telling a woman that her imaginary friend does not need a seat of their own so that a guy who fell over getting on the bus could actually sit the fuck down.
But when it comes to bigger picture social issues, it's so much better to try to reach people and establish dialogue FIRST. And I know that that is asking a lot. For many of us, it goes against our very instincts.
At the local farmer's market last week, I had a man come up to me in a MAGA hat and I was absolutely braced for a fight. Instead, he eagerly showed me pictures on his phone of the garden he was cultivating. He was almost GIDDY about his plants, about the wildflowers and the pollinators and the fruit and the trees. That man was reachable. He was not there to attack me for being a queer woman. He was there to bond over how cool plants are and had no idea what he was really signing up for.
It's so much easier to condemn people broadly as monsters, and I know it feels much more satisfying and rewarding in the moment. I've done it, too. I was downright obnoxious about it when I was younger. But this is not the kind of behavior that leads to long-term societal growth.
The more we cut off and alienate people, the easier it is for them to fall prey to indoctrination. Exposure and social engagement is our biggest weapon against bigotry and THAT is a major reason as to why the Republican party wants to destroy public education.
I have had an immense uphill battle with some of my closest male friends in trying to keep them from falling down the alt-right pipeline. It's been a nearly two decade endeavor in a few cases, but I have seen those men in my life gradually improve and become well-rounded, empathetic, and educated men.
I guess what I'm saying here is, if you have a man (or ANYONE for that matter!) in your life who is showing early warning signs and/or you believe is susceptible to the MAGA movement, please think about what I've said. It's so much harder to approach them from a place of understanding than of anger and I get that, but at the end of the day, one of those is going to be much more effective at changing their viewpoint.
Lastly, if you find yourself in a situation where you are trying to engage with someone who thinks very differently than you do, here are a few tips and some examples:
1. Acknowledge their viewpoint.
"I understand where you're coming from"
"I think I see why you think/feel this way"
Or even just asking, "I don't really understand, can you explain how you arrived to this conclusion/viewpoint/opinion, etc.?"
2. Offer them an olive branch.
"I see what you're saying, and actually, I think you will find that our opinions aren't too different from each other's."
"You have a point about this, and if I could just build off of that, here is where I am coming from."
3. Address their concerns
"Yeah, you're right, our taxes are already way too high, but if we didn't have to raise them at all and could, instead, take a hard look at how they are already being spent?"
"Wolf reintroduction absolutely could be a problem for farmers if it's handled poorly, and you're right that city people don't understand that as intimately as you do, but what if I told you there's a way we could work this out to your benefit, too?"
4. Thank them for listening! (even if they didn't magically change their opinion right away, you never know)
"I'm glad we had this talk, thank you for hearing what I had to say."
5. Reassure them that you listened, too! (even if YOU didn't change your mind)
"I can't say you've changed my mind, but you've given me something to think about."
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I couldn't have said it better myself.
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bc-jpeg · 2 days ago
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Thoughts on Grumbo?
I would kill for them. I think they might be the biggest hyperfixation ship in my life, I don't remember this level of insanity with any other fandom before.
I guess it’s not that visible from me, because I prefer to keep my socials blogs kinda clean from rebloging stuff*, AND I don’t draw them so often because I have so much projects on me and no time, it’s kinda sad.
honestly, if I had started, there would have been a huge lecture about grumbo, they have had so much going on for several years, and all the details fit so perfectly into an incredibly interesting dynamic that includes not only the interaction between the two of them, but also the essence of each of them, some character traits, daily habits, traumas and etc.
I'm going to say something that really upsets me. the problem of grumbo's non-popularity is very much based on the fact that their ship does not lie on the surface. it’s not as accessible as other popular ships in this fandom, and this is extremely painful, considering what their history really is.
grumbo are built on much bigger things than just silly interactions between characters that you might notice in episodes, even bigger than scripted lore moments on hermitcraft and life series. everything goes from their very first collabs to this day for several years already, and some micro fragments/clips from their videos are simply NOTHING compared to the context of the whole story. and just a disclaimer: I'm talking about the characters here, not about real people, the whole story only falls on their characters.
I often see that people may not understand grumbo’s ship dynamic at all simply because they watch only one pov (mostly grian). in this case, I beg you to watch both povs, you miss a lot if you watch only one person. in general, you can also watch third-party people with them! last life grumbo are also built on martyn's pov, for example.
I am so happy that their story started spinning again at the end of the hc s9 due to mumbo’s return, now in hc s10 + WHATEVER IS GOING ON in life series (especially in life series, because mumbo has NEVER had such possessive moments about grian before).
“forget the cactus ring, the desert i'm stuck in is sahara”
* I often reblog things from @mwapollo because he can put everything into right words MUCH better than me, especially when we discussing it all on a daily basis together, so we literally have the same vision about grumbo. I just really want all of his thoughts to be seen in this fandom. ykw I would turn it into shout-out, GO TO @mwapollo’s blog I DARE you. if you’re a grumbo fan, his blog is my first recommendation to go to.
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myownwholewildworld · 3 days ago
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THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE
↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover
main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖
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11 ABY
“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.
In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.
And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.
Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.
The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.
Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.
You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.
“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.
“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”
“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.
You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.
You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.
You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”
It didn’t matter anyway.
You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.
“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.
When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.
“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.
Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.
“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”
“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.
“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.
“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.
You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.
You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.
“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.
“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”
“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”
Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.
“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.
The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.
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19 ABY
Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.
The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.
There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?
It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.
Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.
Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.
Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.
Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.
Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.
Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.
Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.
With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.
Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.
No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.
You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.
The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.
Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.
Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.
“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.
Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.
“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.
If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.
Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.
You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.
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“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.
Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.
A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.
With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.
It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.
He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.
Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.
“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.
The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.
“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.
Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.
He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.
“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”
“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.
The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.
Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.
Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.
With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.
He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.
The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.
He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.
And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.
Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.
Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.
The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.
The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.
Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.
The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.
Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.
Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.
Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.
“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”
That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.
He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.
Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.
“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.
You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.
“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.
“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”
“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”
While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.
You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.
“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.
In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.
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What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.
Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.
The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.
It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?
With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.
“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.
You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.
You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.
Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.
By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.
But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.
You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.
Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.
However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.
“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.
“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.
Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.
“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”
“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.
“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.
“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”
“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”
“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”
His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.
“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.
You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.
“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.
“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.
“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.
You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.
The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.
“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.
You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.
“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.
“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”
You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.
“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.
He shrugged again, unbothered.
“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.
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The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.
Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.
“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.
“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.
“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.
The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.
Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.
“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.
Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.
With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.
“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.
You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.
He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.
“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.
“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.
Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.
“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.
“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.
Unsettling.
“Then follow me.”
Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.
The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.
If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.
Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.
Oh well.
He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.
The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.
Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.
The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.
Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.
“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.
You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.
“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.
His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.
The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.
The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.
And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.
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When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.
You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.
With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.
You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.
Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.
Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?
“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.
“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.
“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”
Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.
He didn’t answer.
You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.
Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.
“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”
In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.
And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.
“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”
Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.
And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.
Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.
A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.
“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.
Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.
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“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.
“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.
“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.
Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.
Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.
“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.
If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.
“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”
“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.
“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.
Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.
I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.
They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.
“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.
Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.
The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.
Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.
“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.
From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.
“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”
“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”
“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.
“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.
“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”
And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.
You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.
“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.
If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.
“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.
He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.
“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”
Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.
“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.
Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.
“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.
“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.
You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.
“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.
Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.
“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.
Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.
“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.
“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.
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Nine weeks later
You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.
You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.
Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.
The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.
And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.
The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.
“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.
“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.
“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”
“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.
“Oh, shit! You’re right!”
How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.
In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.
“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.
Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.
You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.
After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.
“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.
The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.
There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.
“What does it say?”
He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.
“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.
“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.
Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.
“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”
“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”
“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.
“Why?”
You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.
“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.
“How did you break it?”
“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.
You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.
“Alright, alright.”
You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.
“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.
“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”
“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.
Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.
You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.
“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.
“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”
The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.
You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.
Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.
Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.
Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.
Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.
“Let’s go, now! Move!”
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In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…
With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.
That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.
You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.
The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.
Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.
Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.
“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”
When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.
The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.
And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.
Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.
His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.
Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.
“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.
He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.
You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.
“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.
“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.
“Were you touching yourself?”
“Mhmm,” you nodded.
“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.
“Yes,” you cooed.
“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.
You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.
He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.
You whimpered, annoyed.
“Please, Mando―”
“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.
“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.
You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.
First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.
When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.
The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.
You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.
Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.
The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.
Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.
You glanced up at him confused.
“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.
It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.
“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.
You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.
It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.
You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.
“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.
“Here I am, take what you need.”
How altruistic of you.
His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.
Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.
Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.
Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.
“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.
He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.
That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.
When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.
“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”
“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.
His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.
His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.
You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.
“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.
Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.
“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”
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Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.
The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.
But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.
It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.
As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.
Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.
Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.
Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.
With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.
He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.
“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”
He had to see for himself.
The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.
An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.
As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.
The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.
Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.
Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.
Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.
He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.
Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.
The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.
Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.
Until you meet your Maker once more.
That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.
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“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.
You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.
You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…
“Had stuff to take care of.”
You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.
“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”
You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.
An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.
Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.
“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.
You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.
Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.
Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.
The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.
When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.
“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”
Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.
By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.
“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.
You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.
“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.
“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.
You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.
Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.
You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.
“You found it?”
“Yeah!”
You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.
The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.
“Let’s go back then.”
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“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.
You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.
“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”
“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.
He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.
Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.
“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.
“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”
And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.
He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.
“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”
“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.
You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.
“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”
Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.
You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.
Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.
You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.
“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.
The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.
With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.
“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.
You nodded vehemently.
“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”
“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.
“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”
A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.
“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”
“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.
“Good,” he curled one finger at you.
You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.
“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.
Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.
“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”
“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.
Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.
This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.
Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.
Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.
The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.
“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.
“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.
That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.
Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.
“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”
With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.
One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.
“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.
You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.
Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.
“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.
You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.
He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.
His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.
Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.
You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.
“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.
You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.
“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.
“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.
Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.
Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.
The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.
You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.
“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.
You panted, gathering your thoughts.
“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.
“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.
And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.
“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.
“Huh?”
All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.
“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.
Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.
Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.
So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…
“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.
You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.
Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.
“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.
His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?
“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”
Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.
You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.
“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”
“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.
His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.
You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.
“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.
Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.
A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.
Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.
You’d never let him go.
When the fuck did that happen?
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“How long does winter last here?”
“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.
He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.
And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.
It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.
“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”
Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.
But instead, he shrugged.
“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.
He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.
The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.
“What the hell are you―?”
Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.
“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”
This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”
Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.
The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.
Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.
“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.
You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.
“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.
Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.
What the fuck had just happened?
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You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.
Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.
Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.
You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.
“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.
You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?
No, he wouldn’t have.
With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.
Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.
“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.
You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.
“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”
“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”
Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.
Great, fucking great.
“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”
“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.
“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”
Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.
“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.
“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.
If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.
“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.
“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.
“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.
“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.
What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.
Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.
Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.
You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?
A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?
Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.
Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.
This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.
You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.
Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.
What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?
Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.
His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.
Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.
You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.
Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.
With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.
“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.
His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.
You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.
Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.
He still looked like Din, but… not really.
The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.
Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.
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The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.
He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.
Because it was.
“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.
He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.
Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.
The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.
Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.
“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.
Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.
You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.
Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.
“Din,” you mewled.
He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.
Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.
The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.
He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.
So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.
“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.
A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.
His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.
You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.
Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.
The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.
“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.
His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.
Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.
Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.
The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.
He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.
Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.
The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.
He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.
“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.
The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.
As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.
What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.
A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.
Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.
“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.
A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.
Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.
He felt sick to his stomach.
“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.
Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.
“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”
“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.
The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.
Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.
Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.
“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.
Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.
And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.
“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.
He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.
Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.
You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.
“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.
Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.
His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.
But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.
He really was exhausted.
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You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.
Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.
Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.
Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.
“I can do it,” his words slurred.
“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.
Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.
There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.
I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.
Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.
“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.
Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.
You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.
Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.
He decided for you.
“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.
He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.
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The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.
A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.
Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.
“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.
His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.
“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”
The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.
“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.
“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”
“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.
“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”
Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”
Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.
“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.
“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”
Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?
“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.
“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”
The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.
And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.
“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”
“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.
“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.
“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”
Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?
You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.
“Maybe the curse is fading?”
“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”
You nodded.
“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”
You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.
Yes, you could get used to this.
Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.
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It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.
Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.
There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.
And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.
And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.
That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.
You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.
You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.
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In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.
None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.
“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.
Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.
“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”
“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.
He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.
“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.
The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.
Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.
His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.
“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.
“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”
“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.
The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.
Nau’ul nodded.
“How long have you had this?”
“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”
“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.
Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.
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You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.
“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.
When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.
He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.
“What’s the matter, Din?”
“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.
The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.
Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.
“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.
“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.
Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.
“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”
Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.
“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.
You nodded.
“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”
He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.
Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.
“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.
He chose you.
Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.
Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.
Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.
Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.
You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.
“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.
You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.
“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.
You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.
“Are you okay? Is he dead?”
A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.
Ashton.
Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?
But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.
Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.
So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.
The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.
You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.
Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.
“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.
His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.
“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”
“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.
You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.
As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.
Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.
An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.
When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.
“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”
Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.
“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”
Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.
“Noted, cyar’ika.”
Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.
The wind carried some words you barely made out.
“Maker met.”
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Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.
Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.
You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.
Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.
He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.
You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.
Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.
“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.
You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.
“For you, I just might, Din.”
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@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove
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icarusredwings · 2 days ago
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Getting deep into the x men fandom means seeing ships I don't agree with, so I don't interact, seeing posts that mischaraterizes one of the deepest charaters possible, so I don't interact, Seeing people actively say things that are blatantly wrong, so I don't interact.
Getting a large following is also kind of frustrating (Im not complaining I love you guys!) But I've had to block 2 people already today because they keep leaving rude replies to my comments on OTHER peoples posts or purposly come to my blog to tell me that how I view a charater is wrong. Had someone tell me that the stuff that happens in MY au is dumb because "that would never happen" like yeah bud. The writers at Marvel are too much of cowards for it to happen, hence why i'm here.
So my thing is... if im chosing not to interact with all of this- why is it still on my feed?
I feel like the more I ignore it the more I see and I do not wish to be the type to block someone simply because they make one post about a ship that personally isn't my cup of tea.
Also- I think Im starting to see the different sides of extremes, especially when it comes to one specifc charater.
Logan.
I have seen dozens of lovely stories, lovely rants, lovely head canons about this man-
But something that feels weird (to me at least) is people who are 45+ yelling at people who aren't even 18 that their story/headcanons are trash because they've "been enjoying Logan for 40+ years" as if this gives them any right to tell a 17 year old that they shouldnt write a charater how they see them.
It's also weird to me that there seems to be two sides.
Logan IS an animal and that's perfectly okay.
Or
Logan ISN'T an animal, and everyone who headcanons him as animalistic is fetishizing his mutation and are insulting him.
I get not liking a certain trope, but sir, that person is young enough to be your child. You have to accept that we all grew up with different versions of each charater. I Personally didn't grow up with any and get the luxury of indulging in all sorts of media all at once- therefore getting to see him from multiple sides and pictures.
I completely understand if you grew up with the original series and are upset to see that kids are headcanoning your stone cold angst biker man as wearing bow clips and 'making biscuits' on a pillow while watching gilmore girl with his boyfriend, and wearing pink fluffy hello kitty pants and a tight shirt that says "Milk"
I completely understand if you grew up with the movies and see him as a sexy gruff hot buff man and you love to write lots and lots of steamy x reader about him.
I completely understand if you LIKE logan wearing hello kitty pants and don't agree with the idea of him being a dark edgelord, lone wolf charater.
Do you know what I don't understand? Fighting over a charater when different timelines have been canon since the 80s. The Time Variance Authority (TVA) first appeared in Thor #372 (October 1986) which means ALL of your logans are the correct logan. Just not all the same.
Do I think Wolverine Orgins Logan would wear pink hello kitty pants? Nah.
Do I know that Deadpool and wolverine Logan is a whole different universe then Orgins Logan? Yes.
That's why people tag different logans and different aus. So what is all the fuss about?? What happened to the more the merrier?
Theres so many different versions of comic book logan, too, so don't even go there.
Feel free to ask my personal opinions but as far as I stand I could never be foolish enough to seriously go into someone elses post and genuinely be upset at them for how they perceive a charater. I get second hand embaressment when ever I see ANYONE doing it.
Thanks for coming to my ted talk. I don't care if I lose followers for this. Let the door hit you on the way out. There aint no reason to be harrassing folks.
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lilycelebi-side-blog · 2 days ago
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We don't usually get this personal on Tumblr dot com. This'll be once in a blue moon:
We are technically disabled (less disabled than the people around us at home, but nonetheless, technically disabled, at one point diagnosed and receiving resources and accommodations from our school).
We are neurodivergent and are a DID system.
We caretake for a physically disabled person who could not go without us at the moment, along with her husband on and off.
We are a trans guy, approved for one surgery, seeking one other in the future.
We are the "bureaucrats" they want to target and replace with their own people, threatening our job, which is our only way out of a still-abusive home (albeit less so than in the past -- more just... lingering emotional pain and daily yelling/jabs in the background, nothing serious). This job is our dream job in social climate, flexibility, remote/work-at-home status, and literally everything else. It is also our first real career. It means so much to us....
We are a bunch of things they do not want to exist -- and we are lucky there aren't more. We could be part of many other groups of people that hold these same fears, or much, much worse ones. They have us and many, many others on their agenda for elimination.
Let me tell you, if they take our rights, job, and resources away, we will fight like hell. It's the only choice left. We especially need to exercise the privileges we've been extended.
What that fight will entail, we do not know yet. What we do know is that we exist now, and we must continue to exist. Existing in itself is fighting back. Existing in itself is rebellion against everything they want to target. It is the first step in any level of resistance.
We did everything right, everything that was laid in front of us that we were told from birth to do -- we didn't fail or make a single mistake, no matter how much pain and adversity it took. We were perfectly obedient and met gargantuan, superhuman demands and expectations. This life has been an extremely painful but worthwhile journey of growth that we are grateful to have been given the opportunity to have lived, despite -- and, controversially, including -- all abuses endured.
They do NOT get to target us, persecute us, or steal the resources we worked extremely hard for -- we WILL live. We MUST live.
Please, people, live! We need to band together and have each other's backs. We need to unite, especially in spirit. It is the first step to whatever comes down the line.
We understand your feelings of apprehension, tension, hopelessness, helplessness, loneliness, disappointment, anger, frustration, mortification, and many more. Channel these high levels of energy toward living -- living stubbornly, vehemently, in the corner of their eye.
We need to defend the right to exist, the right to freely express ourselves (especially the outcasts, weirdos, and freaks!), the right to celebrate our differences and diversity, the right to have community solidarity, and the right to claim resources we have rightfully earned, and we can first do that by continuing to exist.
Thank you, Salem, for the words of encouragement.
We will, for once, be courageous and make a real post/reblog. We very, very much fear posting opinions too openly on the internet, but now is the time. It is the least we can do. This is what pride is about.
I said this months ago but I'll say it again: if you're transgender you HAVE TO LIVE
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reason-with-the-underdog · 3 days ago
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body swap au
a bodyswap au for hkvthm would be really sexy bc imagine them both being reasonably competent enough at each other's highly specialised jobs to be able to "pass" for a few days
plus you KNOW they'd react so differently to the situation:
alhaitham in kaveh's body unanimously decides to call in sick on all of his ongoing commissions so he can get a solid week of sleep to make up for the crazy sleep debt he's feeling (and also to give kaveh's body a caffeine break bc the caffeine withdrawal jitters are NOT it yo)
kaveh in alhaitham's body spends one day in office being very helpful and easy to find (which scares the rest of the office btw) before being reminded by panah that the mahamata has a generous PTO policy
kaveh graciously accepts, partly out of "i need to figure out what's going on here and if alhaitham's ok" & also out of sheer novelty (bc small business owners like him dont get paid time off...)
which means that alhaitham and kaveh are both at home, officially on leave. so now what?
well, alhaitham in kaveh's body discovers that even though he's incredibly tired (again, the sleep debt), the insomnia very much won't let him. he's grumpily counting desert constructs in his mind with all the curtains pulled shut and soothing instrumental music playing on the record player and still. sleep does not come
meanwhile kaveh in alhaitham's body hears that alhaitham paused all his projects and is just like "nope i refuse" especially because he's actually feeling pretty great right now. so kaveh plans to keep working on those commissions anyways so he can meet the original deadlines
....except he discovers to his disgruntlement that alhaitham's body demands an afternoon nap right after lunch. it doesn't even matter that kaveh in alhaitham's body drank coffee, he's sleeping even if he doesn't want to
and worse, he wakes up refreshed... and ready for a run??!? wtf (kaveh has asthma, he has never woken up feeling like he wanted to run ever)
anyway one of kaveh's clients is super pushy and insists on a meeting with kaveh
so a very grumpy alhaitham in kaveh's body shows up & reads them the riot act (he knows the law, the client's property deed was improperly filed & the resulting delay is not kaveh's responsibility)
meanwhile kaveh's dealing with sensory overload bc wdym that textures are loud?? :(
somehow this all results in the same way they always seem to end up, alhaitham and kaveh napping together in the living room, piled up on the same divan despite having three perfectly good couches to use
and now they understand each other a bit more, but also they're both pretty grateful to be switching back into their normal bodies
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chelledoggo · 3 days ago
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given the state of... things... i wanna really dissect the ending of episode 2 of TADC.
old news, yeah. but... i think the message of this scene hits harder in this time.
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obvious spoiler warning below the cut!!! (also religion CW since i share a Bible verse at the end.)
so by now you probably know the ending all too well.
Pomni made a new friend in Gummigoo, hoping to help him find a better life in the circus... only to watch him be unceremoniously blasted into confetti by the well-meaning but completely tactless Caine.
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and of course Pomni is understandably traumatized, going into absolute hysterics.
Caine, the oblivious godlike AI in charge of the show, believes he was just keeping things safe and in order, and shows no real empathy as he teleports himself out of the situation.
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Pomni just stands there. dissociating. confused. God only knows what thoughts are going through her mind right now.
the ever-nurturing Ragatha, who's made it her mission to make sure everyone else is as happy as possible, tries to step in and raise Pomni's spirits.
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of course, none of this is of any consolation to Pomni. like... how could it be? she watched her friend (presumably) die.
it's like those who believe in an afterlife watching someone die in front of them. even with that little bit of hope and comfort that you may one day see them again, that can't erase the horror you bore witness to.
Pomni stands there unresponsive. Ragatha feels helpless to comfort her.
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Zooble approaches, letting Ragatha know that they've finished preparations for Kaufmo's funeral...
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Ragatha turns to Pomni and extends an invitation.
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this is enough to bring Pomni out of her traumatized stupor.
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Ragatha explains the custom that the circus crew developed themselves. whenever a friend abstracts, they hold a "funeral" service to honor them.
now Pomni never knew Kaufmo. he abstracted just before Pomni entered the circus. they never had a chance to meet.
and yet Ragatha still invites Pomni to mourn him along with the rest of the humans.
Ragatha realizes that hopeful platitudes won't really do anything at this time. so instead she opens to her new friend a safe space to grieve.
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Pomni accepts the invitation. she stands before the "casket" of a perfect stranger, unsure of what to think.
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Ragatha takes her place next to the casket, allowing herself the rare opportunity to express vulnerability around the people she usually puts on a brave face for.
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Pomni watches and listens as each of these people she'd only met yesterday share their eulogies for Kaufmo.
they share their experiences. their happy moments with their abstracted friend. and, most importantly, they share their grief and anguish.
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Pomni obviously can't relate to any of these stories of Kaufmo. she never knew him.
but that's not the point.
the point is that she's witnessing the camaraderie of the humans in a way she never could before.
she's witnessing them in a vulnerable moment where they can break their goofy facades. and, more importantly, she's witnessing just how deeply these people love and care for each other.
brotherhood doesn't always take the form of trying to fix everyone's pain and cheer each other up. sometimes brotherhood is simply allowing those you care for to feel their feelings without judgement, and to hurt along with them.
and that's when it hits Pomni for the first time.
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she's Not Alone
i think this scene hits harder after... recent events.
it's okay to feel the way you feel right now. it's okay to be anxious, scared, angry. it's okay, for right now, to feel... hopeless.
hope will come eventually. but oftentimes grief has to come first.
and that's okay. it's in the moments of communal despair that the seeds of hope are planted.
times of fear and suffering are inevitable. a perfectly happy outcome can't always be guaranteed. but comfort exists even in grief.
so take your time.
hope has no deadline. rest assured that it WILL come eventually, but don't rush or force it.
rest.
feel your feelings.
find those who can lament with you.
find those who need you to lament with them.
we should let ourselves hurt together today. and then we can hope together tomorrow.
"Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep." - Romans 12:15 (NRSVUE)
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rosenotactuallyquartz · 2 days ago
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“when i was thinking of pink/rose i thought of it being a cautionary tale about what can happen when someone has dangerously low self esteem, and also the kind of environment that can create that situation.” — rebecca sugar, q&a the art of steven universe
"on the flip side, [rose & greg] enable each other. she never unpacks what scares her about her past, and neither does he. — rebecca sugar, end of an era
every now and then, i come across some steven universe fans who like rose and they glorify the end of her life.
they say something like,
“by the time rose gave up her physical form, she was in a good place. she made peace with herself and her past. she was in a stable loving relationship and they communicated their decisions perfectly!”
rose is my comfort character & she’s also the character i relate to most. i can understand why someone would have this take because i think this is what they want to believe about rose. they don’t want to believe that the last few years of her life were as complicated & tragic as they were.
in reality, she became incredibly withdrawn before she made a decision to end her own life. she can love the life that she created with all her heart & she can be extremely self destructive at the same time. that’s an ongoing theme for rose. there were also many conversations that she never had & yes, those conversations were important.
her life, all of her relationships, and how she felt about herself… all these things were not in a very good place when she died
that’s also why we see the characters go through a lot of the things they go through! they discover things about rose, they process them, & then they eventually find closure. to really see just how complex rose’s character is, as well as understand her loved ones, i feel like we have to face the harsh reality of what things were like when her life ended. things were terribly communicated & again, not in a good place. there was no closure, really. steven’s parents genuinely loved him and wanted him to exist, that’s the positive side of things, but on the other side there’s many problems that are rarely talked about because they really are extremely dark.
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redge · 3 days ago
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Things I read on the internet that's a declaration of hate for Kana and my reaction (hoping I feel better after typing them all out)
"Kana makes everything about herself"
Did she want to be an idol? Did she want to be a center girl? (Girlie don't even know what a center girl is hahahaha). In Tokyo Blade, did she want the spotlight? That one time Kana wanted anything for herself is when she told Aqua her new dream. She did not even have a graduation concert. She did not have that movie that director told her about. In 137, she was praised for being a handy actor that can uplift others and improve herself and was described as "lacks opportunity" and many chapters after that, she still did not have an opportunity for herself. Kaburagi said they'd sell her as genius actor but that was not addressed anymore. So where is that she makes everything about herself when nothing was sbout her anyway? Not the idol career. Not as an actress. Not as a human loved back by the one she loves. She did not become anything she ever wanted so really how was this all about her? No I really want to know, how did Kana make everything about herself? Like I am really curious where this is coming from ah why do you hate Kana so much? 🥺
"___ best girl compared to Kana who only cries all the time"
Why can't we just go with the "____ best girl." period. Why do you need to put down a character to praise another character I am genuinely curious. I mean my favourite character has always been Kana but not ever did I hate on Akane or Ruby or anyone because why would I when all these characters have different stories of their own? And why do these girls need to compete with each other anyway?! Who's giving out the crown and sash? What's the point??? Your favourite is the best girl for you. Okay! Other's favourite is best girl for them. Okay, too! That's perfectly normal so why are you fighting each other I do not understand 😭
"despicable for slapping a corpse"
Kana slapping Aqua was something that belonged to them. No one knows that conversation except Aqua and Kana (and us, the readers). Miyako's reaction was very valid because she does not know anything about that conversation. Which is why when Kana told that to the dead Aqua, Miyako's reaction wasn't angry anymore. Miyako was in tears. I honestly would have killed Aqua twice if I were Kana really so a slap is nothing compared to the emotional wreck being in their lives brought her. Kana deserves to be slapped for hurting a corpse yes I agree but Aqua deserves that slap too for thinking that him dying is the great solution to whatever problem they're trying to solve.
"Kana is useless"
And what a heartbreak that is. Kana is perservering, patiently working on all the things she want to happen and absolutely nothing went her way. Kana is a representation of someone that tried and tried patiently but everything she did just made her feel useless. She grabs every opportunity, creates opportunity for herself but she is never enough. If killing one's self was a contest, I'd definitely compete Arima Kana as candidate. I would even forgive her if she just goes feral all of a sudden with all of the things that happened to her. She's useless, you say, but was that her fault?
"Kana does not deserve to be happy"
and why not? I say everyone in Oshi no Ko deserves to be happy. So why deny that to Kana?
But really. Why is she getting so much hate?
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morganski-19 · 2 days ago
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I love Josh Russo so much, he gave Buck something he really needed to hear.
Because what he told Buck was completely true, Buck was able to realize his sexuality and come out in a world that was far more accepting. Tommy for a long time was in a place where he had to hide. He talked about his father being a lot like Gerrard, then he was in the army, and then at the 118. It isn't until he leaves that part of the fire department, right before Buck joins, that he can live the life he was meant to.
Buck was spiraling about Tommy being engaged to Abby because he was focusing on the wrong type of pain. Tommy was using Abby as cover, and admitted that he felt guilty about it when saying she deserved better. He needed to hear what it was like before, to understand why it's so much better now.
Josh said that perfectly. He knows what it was like in the "pre-glee" world, where lgbtq+ couples weren't shown on tv, and being in a lgbtq+ relationship had much more stigma than it does now.
While that doesn't absolve the pain that Tommy put Abby through, it puts it in much needed context. We can't use our traumas to justify hurting others, but Tommy seemed remorseful. He knew that this was a scar that he had to carry, and Buck needed to hear that.
I also find it interesting how this is the second storyline we've had in the show of a gay character being engaged/married to a woman before coming out and breaking it off. It goes all the way to Michael in season 1, something that got dealt with in a similar fashion. Athena was rightfully mad at Michael, not only for how he handled things, but also because she felt betrayed. However, they were able to forgive each other and become friends.
It's something that I admired 911 for doing when I started watching the show. When someone you thought you knew and loved comes out with this big secret, it can hurt. But there was still that love, and that can create a beautiful friendship. I don't think Buck was in love with Tommy, that was made pretty clear in his reactions in this scene. However, it continues to show the different paths people of the lgbtq+ community go through with their discovery.
I also need more of Josh's backstory like yesterday. He needs more screen time, and I think (maybe with someone else *cough* Eddie *cough*) he can have a very similar conversation.
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impending-day · 16 hours ago
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ive taken the time to assign each limbus company sinner with an attunement from the arcane ascension series! i know theres probably like. zero people who care but i had fun so im gonna share my reasonings
yi sang - illuminator
faust - analyst
don quixote - architect
ryōshū - swordmaster
meursault - shaper
hong lu - illusionist
heathcliff - cloudcaller
ishmael - wayfarer
rodion - mesmer
dante - chronomancer
emil sinclair - purifier
outis - commander
gregor - shapeshifter
full explanations under the cut! :3c
yi sang - illuminator
mana types : water, light
composite mana : peace
faust - analyst
attunement function : creates beneficial passive effects such as resistance to mental corruption and magical attacks
i would think she gets this after the whole n corp thing and cherishes it a whole lot. maybe she is double attuned with an enchanter attunement, making her more likely to pursue the inventor path, but tbh idk if thats necessary, given the illuminator attunement is from caelford [which is known for being technologically advanced].
mana types : umbral, mental
composite mana : secrets
don quixote - architect
attunement function : gathers knowledge relating to sensory information and understanding how things work on an intrinsic level
for faust, it was either a diviner or an analyst attunement. i went with analyst though, since diviners focus on gathering raw intel while analysts do in-depth analysis on the fly more often. and i also like how the compound mana type is 'secrets' mana, i feel like that fits her very well, considering her in limbus and her source novel.
mana types : umbral, perception
composite mana : dreams
attunement function : imbue power into objects that are stronger than permanent enchantments, but only last a few days
thanks to canto vii just dropping, i think this one fits nearly perfectly! maybe she would be double attuned; i can see her also having one combat-focused attunement too. dream mana, temporarily enchanting objects... it all fits so nicely...
ryōshū - swordmaster
mana types : fire, enhancement
composite mana : dawn
attunement function : enhance the abilities of weaponry as well as enhance physical strength
for ryoshu, it was either soulblade or swordmaster. up to change depending on how her canto goes. i do like the fire mana, though. fits her ego nicely. i just wanted something to do with her sword tbh
meursault - shaper
mana types : earth, enhancement
composite mana : density
attunement function : manipulate solid material into different shapes at a moments notice
i was less certain on this one tbh, mainly because we dont have meurs canto yet, and i dont know that much on him personally. havent done any meursault deep dives. but i think the whole 'shaping solid material thing' could work really well for his fighting style, especially if he had a hand-marked attunement. shapers prefer having free hands to fight im pretty sure. oh and him having density mana is kinda funny to me sorry not sorry
hong lu - illusionist
mana types : light, perception
composite mana : sight
heathcliff - cloudcaller
attunement function : creates large scale illusions, complete with sound and direct mental effects
again, no canto for hong lu, so data is extremely limited. i also dont know his source work at all. im just going off whats already been said, like his whole 'illusion' theme and his jade eye [hence the sight mana type].
mana types : air, water
composite mana : rain
attunement function : create weather events and insert spells into them
did somebody say wuthering heights... no... oh well he has the wuthering heights attunement. thats my whole reasoning. storm boy gets storm attunement
ishmael - wayfarer
mana types : air, mental, transference [tertiary]
composite mana : communication
rodion - mesmer
attunement function : long distance communication and teleportation; tertiary mana type is granted earlier than other attunements
i added transference to the description cause wayfarer is the only attunement with near immediate access to it. the rest take a while to build up to. anyways ishmael gets wayfarer mostly for the whole compass theme. i couldve given her wavewalker but i didnt feel like that fit her very well. and i think this attunement would mess with her head a bit. imagine she couldnt communicate with the pequod crew despite her communication focused attunement, but somehow she felt they were still out there... i just think thats a cool gimmick i could play with
mana types : death, perception
composite mana : madness
attunement function : alter the memories of others to make the user seem like a background character or less important than they actually are
forever cursed to be a background character! in every mirror world!! this one is so cruel but i love it. forced to always be forgotten and overlooked due to her attunement... sorry girl but i gotta stay somewhat canon with it
dante - chronomancer
mana types : perception, transference
composite mana : time
attunement function : unknown, only theorized
i really love this one tbh. out of all the sinners, dante is the only one to have a restricted/theorized attunement! the rest are all regularly found within the world. and it makes sense with limbus lore, too; dantes head is a singularity! so even if the chronomancer attunement isnt real, if limbus company was within the world of arcane ascension, theyd probably do something similar to the god-beast attunement project and just. make the chronomancer attunement themselves.
emil sinclair - purifier
mana types : fire, light
composite mana : purity
outis - commander
attunement function : neutralize mental and physical attacks, can also do decently at giving single-target fire or light attacks
two functions for the two-faced creature... on one hand he can stop damage from affecting him so much, on the other hand he can dish out a lot of damage. didnt want him to be too attack-heavy or support-heavy, because he does Both, and i thought this would be a nice compromise. also kinda references kromers whole 'puritan' thing which i think is cool.
mana types : fire, umbral
composite mana : war
attunement function : increase the range at which spells can be cast
the functionality isnt something i think fits her too much? but then again no outis canto to reference. anyways i chose this one cause it has war mana! war mana!!! for the war criminal! i think she would thank me for this /j
gregor - shapeshifter
mana types : earth, perception
composite mana : alteration
attunement function : create contracts with nonhuman creatures in order to change the users body to reflect the creatures
this is how i make the bug arm canon btw. literally chose this just so the bug arm could still be canon. turn into a bug boy. turn into a bug.
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rainbow-sunshine-unicorn · 2 months ago
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I’m still thinking about how particularly poignant it was for Kate to say this to Anthony
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Especially when you juxtapose it against this
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Here is a man who believes that the family he loves, and has devoted his life’s work to, doesn’t love him back. That they, in fact, despise him. Every single one of his siblings, and the only living parent he has left, all of them hate him.
It’s just so bleak, because he’s not just saying that they don’t love him, but also because he implies that they don’t understand the way he loves, the way he has devoted himself to them and he doesn’t know how else to love.
Then you have Kate telling him that she loves him so very much that she cannot bear it.
And she says this immediately after he expresses his love in a way he knows how to. Not as an “I love you” in words, but in saying that her home is also their child’s home, her culture is also his culture. That he’ll learn, that he wants to spend time and effort to learn about her home and history and teach it to their child. It’s very much an act of devotion.
Kate understands this. She understands how much he loves her. His way of loving is easy for her to understand.
And, she loves him back. She appreciates the way he loves her, it makes her love him even more, till it’s almost too much to bear.
Can you imagine what such a declaration means to a man who believed that he was doomed to be despised by the very people he loves because of the way he loves. He believed that his expression would go not just unreturned but unnoticed because he didn’t know how to translate it to his family.
And here comes Kate, who shows him that he doesn’t have to translate anything, because she speaks the same language. She understands the love he’s expressing and she returns it.
To be truly loved is to be known and no one knows or loves Anthony better than Kate.
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jahanmp4 · 2 months ago
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Jericho : "Sir Marius, I mean this in the most respectful and polite way possible, but you already got one curse. Perhaps... Let us... Bear some curses so you don't have to, that's the point of friends !"
Marius, yelling : " I CAN BEAR MORE !"
Jericho "Why don't... you let your friends shoulder a little bit of your burden ? Let the world do its own spin !"
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angelnumber27 · 5 months ago
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It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.
#I fucking hate having bpd#while I’m at it I don’t understand the fuckin audacity some people have to say they love you and do horrible things to you#I feel so stupid#I feel so stupid for believing all the lies#but I was so in love and put him on such a pedestal that I just allowed it all.#thinking about someone constantly and grieving over them and knowing they’re perfectly fine and to them you don’t exist#I’m still in such a state of grief and I don’t understand why time hasn’t healed#it honestly feels like it’s gotten worse w time#I just torture myself but I can’t help it my brain wants me dead#it’s so painful I feel so fucking stupid#being abandoned with no closure by someone who’s your entire world#for someone they were unfaithful to you with multiple times (I don’t even know how many and dony want to know) immediately#like that was the plan all along#he took our cat hundreds of miles away and I don’t even know if he still has her or if she’s still alive and I miss her every day#I never loved someone like that and it feels like the heartbreak is actually physically killing me#i spent 1/5 of my entire life with him#I was my prettiest and had the best body at the time and I wasted it on someone who didn’t appreciate me#not wasted. it wasn’t wasted. we had some incredible times together#I’ll never be that beautiful again#and now idk what do so bc i can’t decide which is worse: being alone and isolating or loving deeply and ending up horribly hurt all over#it’s all just so upsetting.#and I feel so stupid for allowing it all#he knows more about me than anyone and he made me feel like he loved me so much sometimes and then did horrid things and it’s so fucked up#nobody read this I’m so embarrassed and horribly broken#it traumatized me so much there was so much abuse and pain idk if I’ll ever recover#I deserved it but it still hurts my heart#I was so mentally ill and sick I know it had to have been miserable to be around me#there are so many things only he understands and knows about me and I need to talk about them I j wanna b able to b there 4 each other#but that girl is so beyond insecure and controlling so. if I want to talk to who fuckin gets me I’m just fucked#why lead someone on like that for years knowing you’re going to abandon them the second it’s convenient
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liquidstar · 8 months ago
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a friend who'd wait :)
#im posting this very late because i was sort of weary of how it came out and ended up messing w it until it was like 4am oops.#and i have plans tmrw so... oh well! i did my best and ill put it out while i can!#and i tried to make the scene match barnard's colors lol#finn's ocs#finn's art#i know i said id do more sillay stuff with the simpler screentone only style but i had a couple more of these in me#and this is the first piece im making thats like an actual part of the story too rather than just setting stuff for fun#i wanna write something to go with it too but for now ill just sort of briefly explain the context in the tags here:#barnard has a pretty bad case of OCD and his compulsions have made it difficult to make friends in the past#he was never outright bullied or anything but people just didnt really have the patience to deal with it#he has compulsions that include stuff like walking through doors until it feels right and needing things to be perfectly aligned#which in group settings has lead to people having to wait for him to finish his rituals and join them#they might find it tolerable at first but eventually they grow impatient and hes just... not invited to stuff anymore#but juno is a newer member of the guild who ends up frequenting the same library. hes also kinda a little weird#and they dont become fast friends or anything but just sort of naturally spend time in the same place#though they never plan meetups they eventually fall into a routine. around the same time theyd just both be at the library#and read next to each other. and maybe talk a bit. and eventually they end up walking back to the guildhall together#since theyre going to the same place after all. and juno always waits for barnard outside the door#eventually barnard asks if this bothers him. juno kinda just tells him 'of course it does' without any malice or anything. just a statement#barnard is surprised and apologizes and juno says not to. but the next day juno doesnt show up at the usual time.#barnard assumes hes committed somekinda more by bringing it up. he ends up staying there late reading to get his mind off it & not ruminate#but when he leaves juno is in fact still waiting for him down the hall (see pic) having collected a bunch of books literally abt ocd#he fell asleep bc barnard stayed later than expected. and hes an eepy guy generally. and also one very bad at expressing himself#but now barnard gets that juno's 'of course it [bothers me]' had the implication of 'but its worth it' which no friend has previously done.#and from the interaction juno was also able to understand that this isn't something barnard just does for the hell of it so. he studies.#and checks a bunch of stuff out because he thinks it could help his friend too (theres ocd workbooks and such- i remember working w them)#and thats the point where they became more ''friends'' than ''pleasant library acquaintances''#from there on they also do get into juno's problems. whole other bag of worms. but this specific scene is more about bernard from his pov#sorry about when i said briefly explain. i lied </3#but compared to the whole sequence im picturing its brief so shhh
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