#so no fic reading or writing until then womp womp

[dokuhan]

I can’t believe I’m going to have to wait until September 2023 to write militant vegan straight edge Mu Qing. 

[mooifyourecows]

I love the humor of your fics! I've genuinely never read a story that does it's humor so well and even after multiple rereads I find myself laughing out loud reading Open Tab for example. What tips would you give for writers who are trying to incorporate humor into the story without it being corny?

Hey, sorry for the late reply, i've been really busy lately with the holidays, womp womp 🥲

My advice is: embrace the corny. Every joke I've made will someday (if not already) be corny to somebody. Some of them have become corny even to me. But that's okay. Corny is good. Corny is funny too. Life is too short to be embarrassed about your writing. Embrace corny.

And what makes you laugh the first time might not make you laugh the fifth time. That doesn't mean it wasn't funny the first four times, right? There are tons of jokes I read back on now and I'm like "oh GOD that's lame" but when i wrote it, and when people first read it, it was HILARIOUS. Humor just wears off a little the more you expect and remember it. I mean sure, there are always going to be those jokes that you think are ALWAYS funny, but they're probably not always funny to other people. They might not have been funny ever at all for some people.

All that matters is if YOU think it's funny. Make YOURSELF laugh and giggle and snort over your stupid, corny jokes. That's what I do. I write something, and if it makes me laugh, I know it'll make someone else laugh. Maybe only one other person, but hey, me and that person are the only people in the world with taste anyway so, bombs away. Don't play to an audience unless you're trying to sell something. Play to yourself and you'll attract like minded people and those are the BEST people to have as your readers. They'll love and support you more than your own dang mom.

And then of course the usual advice i give to people about writing comedy is to consume comedy. Watch some shows/movies or read some books/comics that you personally find hilarious. Really pay attention to why they're funny. If you have to, pause and really break a joke down. Even take notes if that's helpful. Basically treat it like you're about to write a deep dive essay on why you laughed. I know it might seem unfun, explaining the joke, but if you understand comedy, you'll have an easier time writing it. Pay attention to word usage, timing, physical gags, silence, etc. It's all important. But don't be afraid to play around! Comedy is like any art and is meant to be creative and unique to every individual. There are some things out there that people find funny that I can't even pretend to laugh at. And that's okay! It's about taste. Find what you like and try it on.

Personally, I like witty banter. I like humor that is a little surprising and over the top. I like when something is so dumb that you can't help but laugh about it. I like funny characters AND funny situations, but especially funny characters in funny situations. So these are the things I try to include in my writing.

But I also really enjoy contrast, so I like to pair humor with other stuff. Sweet romance, deep emotions, sad drama, etc. If you try to be funny and only funny all the time, you're gonna come off a little desperate and the jokes will fall flat. Ever watch a long running show and have to suffer watching it slowly get less and less funny as the seasons go by because all the nuance is gradually replaced with signature character traits recycled again and again and again until every character is a husk of their former selves? That's what it feels like when you focus too hard on making everything funny. You lose the soul of the writing.

Really pay attention to the things you find funny and try and emulate that same energy. Don't use the same jokes, of course, but try and capture the general vibe of the humor in a way that suits your story/writing style. A lot of the stuff I like to consume is witty banter/outlandish situations/crass euphemisms/puns so those are the things i like to put into my own stories. And hey, sometimes it doesn't work. I've written jokes that make me laugh until I cry but nobody seems to feel the same way and HEY, that's alright. I like it. And liking the stuff you're doing is the most important thing in the end.

Anyway, I hope this is helpful in some way. If you ever want any more advice, feel free to shoot me another ask! I'll try my best 👍

Good luck! Sending you good funny vibes for your adventures into comedic writing 🌈

[hotcocoaandstripedsweaters]

OC-tober Day 10: Kisser in a different time period

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Once again, this has run long--longer even than the last one--so it's under a read more. I just couldn't resist writing a cute little fic cliché with everyone's favorite womp rat.

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

Din Djarin has gotten used to rolling with the weird stuff that comes from having a Force Sensitive kid.

Well, he certainly likes to think so, anyway.

Right up until his kid triggers a lightshow in some old ruins and a young Boba Fett falls out in unfamiliar armor.

“Karking shit hells,” Boba groans, face down on the stone floor.

Din has to agree.

Grogu burbles happily, slapping at the symbol he’d touched on the wall. Fortunately, there are no more light shows.

Boba looks Grogu and smiles, lighter and freer than Din has ever seen. “What’s a tubie like you doing out of the creche?” he asks as he sits up.

Grogu babbles happily, toddling over to Boba and gesturing at Din. Boba almost dismisses him, then does a double take.

“Heyyyyy, Mando,” he draws out the greeting uncertainly, in a distinctly un-Boba-like fashion.

“Fett,” Din greets.

Boba tilts his head in confusion, even as he holds a hand out to Grogu–palm open, relaxed, and not poised to grab. “Sorry, you got the wrong guy. Name’s Kisser.”

It’s Din’s turn to tilt his head. Grogu babbles and slaps at the proffered hand happily.

“Buuur,” Grogu coos.

“Yeah, your buir’s got me mixed up with someone,” Kisser says, nonchalant despite not taking his eyes off Din. “Why’d you bring me here, youngling? Need some help?”

“He likes old Temples,” Din says, as if that explains anything.

Kisser glances around. “Ah, Force Nonsense.”

“You’re familiar with Jedi magic?” Din’s surprised. He doesn’t know many people who sound so confident when it comes to Grogu’s magic.

Kisser laughs and confirms, “Yeah, enough to know most of them will reflexively tell you it isn’t magic. Why? You need one?”

Din shakes his head. “The kid chose to stay with me, rather than his teacher.”

“Aww,” Kisser coos, turning to Grogu, “You really love your buir, huh?”

Grogu shrieks happily, tugging Kisser’s fingers as though to pull him closer to Din.

“Kid,” Din scolds, “Give him a minute.”

“Nahhh, it’s alright,” Kisser waves off Din’s protest, standing in a crouch so that Grogu can drag him over to Din. When Grogu lets go of his fingers in favor of clinging to Din’s shin, Kisser stands. He’s a little taller than Boba is, and younger. He doesn’t have the same scars, and his attitude is completely different as he smiles at Din. “Seems like your kid wants me to meet you properly.”

“Seems so.”

“Think I can head back the way I came?”

“Probably not.”

Kisser sighs, “Thought you might say that.” He opens a panel in his vambrace and taps at some kind of navigation unit. “Looks like we’re out in Mandospace too. You don’t happen to be on good terms with Kryze, by any chance?”

Din shrugs, “We didn’t part on good terms. You know her?”

“Not personally,” Kisser says casually, “But I heard a rumor my General was pretty close with her once upon a time. Thought she might be able to get a call out to him.”

“I got comms on my ship,” Din offers slowly.

Kisser looks up from his nav in surprise. “You sure?”

“Why not?” Din counters, curious.

“Mandalorians don’t like Jedi and Mandalorians don’t like Vode,” Kisser says, confident as though he’s listing simple truths of the universe. “Figured with a kid on board, you wouldn’t want me there.”

Grogu makes an affronted noise and starts crawling up Din’s leg. He snorts and picks up the little womp rat.

“There are a lot of different kinds of Mandalorians,” he says, as though he has always known this and it isn’t at all a recent revelation. He turns to lead the way to his ship.

“You know Jango Fett,” Kisser protests, even as he keeps pace. His tone is light, but the way he glances around for another exit betrays his hesitation.

“Don’t know a Jango,” Din corrects him, “Just Boba.”

Kisser looks startled, “How?”

“He took over Mos Espa on Tatooine.” Din shrugs.

“They let kids take over cities out there?”

“Kids?”

“He’s not even fourteen standard yet, is he?” Kisser protests, doing a quick count on his hands.

“He’s older than you,” Din says, baffled.

“Well yeah,” Kisser scoffs, as if it’s obvious, “But I know some Vode decanted around the same time as him, and they said he ages like a Human.”

Din eyeballs him, “And you’re not Human?”

“I’m a Vod,” Kisser eyeballs him right back. “A clone. Do you not get Republic news out here?”

“Which Republic?” Din says tiredly. There were so many ridiculous little governances since the Empire started shattering, how was he supposed to keep up?

“Which–?” Kisser splutters, coming to a stop in his shock. “The one that standardized Galactic Basic, also known as Republic Basic? The language we’re speaking?? Right now???” 

“I thought that was the Empire?” Din tries to reach back to the history lessons he got before he was adopted by the covert, but it’s too fuzzy.

“Empire?!” Kisser shrieks. Grogu makes soothing noises, a toddler’s imitation of what Din does to calm him down. His adorableness is wasted on the distracted adults. 

Din tilts his head. “They’re the largest single government in the galaxy?”

“The Republic is the largest single government in the galaxy!” Kisser says despairingly. 

They stare at each other.

“Clone like…the Clone Wars?” Din finally asks. He doesn’t really want him to answer.

Kisser, blessedly, doesn’t. “How old is Boba Fett, exactly?”

“Let’s go ask.”

The walk is tense and quiet, but they get back to the ship. When Boba answers the call, Kisser takes one look at him and is gone–armor falling to the floor, letting out a small puff of dust.

“What the hell was that, Djarin?” Boba demands.

“A Vod,” Din says, completely bewildered.

Grogu bursts into tears.

~+~

Day 11

[veliseraptor]

for the fic meme, would love to hear about 😎 and/or 📗

What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

I tend to read mostly canon divergent or canon compliant fics - these days often canon divergent so that my favorite characters get to live (womp womp) but canon compliant is also good for me. I prefer fics overall where maybe one major event or outcome gets tweaked and then exploring the ripple effects of that change; when alterations start to get too drastic such that the characters drift way away from their original context, I tend to get less interested, because as I think I've said before often a lot of what I like about a character has to do with their context and how it shapes/impacts them. change the context, change the character, I'm somewhat likely to be less interested because now it's a different character and that's not what I read fanfiction for. I like fanfiction for exploring different scenarios, or different facets of a character, but the point at which they feel transformed beyond recognition for me I lose interest.

this is why I tend to not read a lot of modern/non-magic aus for fantasy settings (with the weird exception of yi city, still don't know what that's about), but also don't read a lot of genre aus (i.e. sci-fi/fantasy/royalty/etc.). if things feel pulled too far outside of the canon setting/context it starts to feel less like reading fanfiction and more like reading something, well, original - and that's just not the what I go to fanfiction for.

however, that can also go for canon divergent aus if the divergence is significant enough or in a place to drastically change something about a character. it just depends on how likely that change feels to change the character at core as opposed to bringing out a new side of them; it's why I'm not actually terribly interested in aus where Xue Yang is saved/rescued off the streets as a kid, particularly if it happens pre-hand maiming.

there are exceptions, of course! I'm speaking purely in generalities.

Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

puts face in hands. yes, yes I do, periodically I stare wistfully at my own original project and then I get scared off by my nemesis (worldbuilding) and the fact that I have to figure out a bunch of things that are proving difficult to untangle in order to make a premise I really like with characters I'm already very fond of work. I'll - get back to it at some point, or at least I really hope so.

until then I've kind of accepted that this is just kind of what I like to do and I might as well do what I am enjoying regardless of the little hissing voice that tells me I should be trying harder to do my real writing (bleh).

oh I do also periodically enjoy writing overly verbose essays about things. it doesn't happen all that often but I do it sometimes and I enjoy it a fair amount when I can pull my brain together for it

[221bshrlocked]

Fever in my Eyes

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 8.5K (yeesh)

Warnings: Smut and Angst, my two faves. Blindfold. Breeding Kink!!! Things are consensual from both sides but since this is a sex pollen fic, some of you might consider it as non/con so please proceed with caution.

Summary: Felucia was not an ideal planet to track a quarry on and you find yourself in a sticky situation when you lose sight of the Mandalorian for a moment. An unexpected standoff between Mando and the bounty leads to you escaping back to the Razor Crest, unaware of the pollen which seeped into your nostrils and past your skin. What will the bounty hunter do once he realizes what you’re asking of him? And more importantly, is it worth risking whatever relationship he has with you?

A/N: As always, I am shit with summaries. It’s a sex pollen fic yall. I apologize if my smut isn’t as good as it used to be, I am trying. Also, please please please let me know how I did in the comments. This is only my second ever Star Wars fic and I was very reluctant to post it but Pedro Pascal made me do it because I cannot stop thinking of the man so here it is. Seriously, tell me how I did and what I can do to better my writing. There will be more Din Djarin fics to come :) Enjoy. And this is not beta’d!

This was not an ideal situation, but it never was. At least not ever since you took the ‘glorified babysitter’ position offered so graciously to you months ago. A short snort made its way past your lips as you walked through the greenery and recalled how you came into caring for the child currently biting and playing with your necklace. You looked down and smiled at him, not bothering to stop him from chewing down on the colorful jewels because you knew for a fact that if Mando heard you criticizing him over something so trivial, he might scold him and make him pout. Maker, the little womp rat made it so hard to be angry with him, let alone attempt to teach him some proper manners. 

So busy playing with the Child, you didn’t notice when the bounty hunter suddenly came to a halt ahead of you. You walked right into his back and stumbled backwards, apologizing immediately when he turned around and tilted his visor to the side. You’ve grown to learn what each tild meant and at the moment, he was definitely a tad bit annoyed with you. 

“S-sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Smiling awkwardly at the man in front of you, you waited until he turned around before narrowing your eyes at the kid currently giggling at your mistake. It was amazing how often he did that, almost as if he knew he was purposely getting you in trouble for his own entertainment. 

“So you never actually told me why this bounty was so important,” your eyes searched your surroundings and marveled at the lush reaching all the way to the top of the strange trees, barely noticing the way the Mandalorian’s shoulders tensed before continuing to walk towards the edge of the forest. If there even was an edge to this jungle. Maker, this was such a weird planet, it smelled weird, it was too hot and too wet, and you sensed there was something strange with all the exotic plants beneath your feet.

When he didn’t respond, you slowly put the Child down and reached inside your satchel for a drink. As soon as the kid noticed the satchel, he waddled back to you and pulled on your cloak until you brought out his favorite blue biscuits. 

“All I’m saying is, this bounty is weird. Who hides all the way out here anyways? I mean I have never heard of this place-”

“You’ve said that about the last four quarries.” You didn’t expect him to respond and eyed him cautiously, looking between him and the kid who continued to eat his snacks and understood absolutely nothing of what you were saying. A shiver ran down your spine when you noticed the way he put the tracking fob back in his pocket before slowly reaching for the blaster pistol. Reflexes instantly kicking in, you hurried to the Child and snatched him off the ground, shushing his little coos and preparing for the worst case scenario which was always, somehow, what transpired.

Silence filled the humid air and you tried to read the bounty hunter’s body language, knowing very well he was not one to say anything unless it was perhaps a little too late for you. His visor dragged through the dried prints on the grass and before you knew it, he was taking off towards the edge of the purple and pink plants. As you followed him, you felt your throat dry much quicker than usual. Thinking it was just the extreme weather of Felucia, you decided it was best to slow down and wait until the Mandalorian caught the bounty before following his path. He’d even told you once to not follow him if you ever saw him running off because that usually meant he was close to the quarry and wouldn’t need your aid. It was a little insulting in the beginning but you were caught during a shoot-out one too many times and understood he was only trying to look out for you and the kid. 

But not even a full minute passed before you heard a sudden blast sound off from the trees above you and before you could figure out what was happening, a heavy weight landed on top of you, and you watched in horror as the kid flew out of your hand into a nearby puddle. 

Trying your hardest to grab the blaster on your hip, you cried out in pain when you felt talons digging into your arms and twist them back. You didn’t know what else to do, eyes scanning the trees in hopes of finding the Mandalorian rushing towards you. But when you realized he was nowhere around, you looked at the kid and prayed he was alright. When you saw his large eyes blinking a few times before struggling to sit up, you knew there was only one outcome. 

“Make a sound, and I will feast on your organs.” The stench of the creature filled your nostrils and you sobbed quietly at the implications behind his words. Taking one last look at the kid, you took a deep breath and pushed off the ground as hard as you can.

“MANDO!” As soon as you screamed his name, you felt three talons break the skin of your shoulder blades and drag all the way down to your lower back. You felt hot tears roll down your cheeks and hated how distressed the Child looked. Almost on queue, he was standing up and trying to waddle your way, refusing to listen to your little objections as you tried to tell him to run the opposite direction. 

Before you could dwell on the many different ways you were about to die, you heard a large blast sound through the forest, throwing the creature off of you against one of the trees with a loud cracking noise. You looked up just in time to see the familiar glint of beskar coming closer through the greenery and as you tried to stand up, you felt the same weight behind you again, twisting the talons into your hair and pulling you to your feet. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat when you felt the edge of the hunting knife against your throat. Eyes unable to focus on the figures in front of you, you blinked a few times and realized there were too many sensations hitting you. But the one seemingly outdoing all the others was the growing wet patch on your back and you soon felt sharp pain growing against your skin where the strange liquid rolled down your skin. You weren’t sure if it was blood or if it was drool from the thing behind you and a part of you didn’t care because what difference would it make. 

“Should have known you were the only crazy one to come here...come after me.” A slithering whisper made its way past your ears and your knees buckled as you started to feel faint. But then the creature held you up roughly and pressed the knife harder against your throat, warning you against falling to the ground.

“Your problem is with me T'doshok. Let her go.” You vaguely saw the Child walk towards his father, relief washing over you when you knew he was safe once more. At some point, you’ve come to care more for him than for yourself and you were never sure if it was because he was so precious or because of how important he was to the Mandalorian. 

“Aren’t we past formalities Mando? At least do me the honor of saying my name...old friend.” 

Your gaze immediately shifted from the kid to the beskar-clad man standing in front of him. So they knew each other? Why didn’t he tell you? Did he still not trust you to know such matters until now?

“ Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh.” You heard the Mandalorian growl through the visor and even though you didn’t understand what he said, you knew it was anything but friendly. Wait, that meant the T'doshok behind you understood Manod’a. 

A sob escaped your throat when you felt the bounty laugh behind you at the warning. 

“You can’t possibly mean that Mando.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a hint of surprise etched in the voice growling in your ear.

“Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas...believe me.” The conscious part of your brain wondered why he continued to speak in Mando’a. He knew you didn’t understand much of it…

The silence was almost deafening and you weren’t sure what was happening until your boss stepped forward and tilted his helmet to the side,

“Gedet'ye.” The modulated voice sounded strange to your ears. He was only ever this softly-spoken with the Child.

“Well, this is unexpected. In that case-” You didn’t have time to react, watching as the world twirled around you before you fell among the purple and pink flowers you were so impressed by earlier. A strange scent hit your nostrils but you couldn’t dwell on it for more than a few seconds. Willing yourself to stand up, you pushed off the ground as soon as you saw the kid waddling towards you. As soon as he tried to walk behind you, you knew what he was trying to do and picked him up before he could do anything.

“No little guy...you- I can’t...I need to make sure you’re okay.” You could faintly hear the sound of blasters going off for a few moments and by the time you managed to take the gun out of your holster, you saw the Mandalorian standing above an unconscious reptilian creature. So that’s what a T'doshok is…

Slowly making your way towards them, you blinked away the tears and wiped your eyes to try and clear your sight. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” You shivered at the tone Mando was using with you. Dank Ferrik, you must have hit your head pretty hard if you thought the Mandalorian was worried about anyone but the green little thing in your arms.

“I- yes. I’ll be f-fine. Just-” You hadn’t meant to react the way you have but as soon as you felt his gloved hand touch your neck, you jerked away from him and held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer to you. Mando was shocked at your reaction and was glad to have something to hide behind. A few seconds passed in silence and you were still staring at him with wide open eyes and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were afraid of him. It occurred to him that it wasn’t shock that beat at his heart but a deep and twisting sense of hurt. And when he scanned your body language, he could tell you were trembling in front of him and the last thing he wanted to do was to give you another reason to fear him.

“Can you walk back to the-”

“Yes. I’ll- fu...I’ll take the kid.” Before he could say anything else, you were clutching the Child closer to your chest and walking back to the Razor Crest. You searched your mind to try and understand why you reacted the way you have to his touch but couldn’t find anything to explain the sharp pain striking through your insides. It was too much too quickly. Even though it wasn’t his skin, you felt neurons firing simultaneously as soon as he trailed his fingers down your neck. You hoped to the gods he wasn’t offended by your reaction because the last thing you needed was to drive him further away from you.

Barely making it back to the ship, you managed to go up the ladder and put the Child back in his crib in the cockpit before shutting it and locking the door behind you. Scrambling inside your mind for a moment, you turned to the ramp and walked towards the hatch before pushing in the code until it sealed shut. 

In an instant, everything touching your skin was too rough and incredibly heavy. Before you could think twice about it, you were violently stripping out of your clothes, throwing them to the ground on your way to the refresher. As soon as you walked into the small room, you turned on the cold water and sighed heavily as it beat down on your heated skin. 

“Not enough…” Crying to the empty room, you made sure the hot water wasn’t on before leaning back against the cool tiles of the walls. But no sooner than that were you hissing and pushing off of the wall. You completely forgot about the open gashes on your back and the shooting pain was almost instantaneous when you remembered just how large the wound was.

As you dwelled on the last hour or so, you felt your legs give out on you and before you knew it, you were sliding down to the floor. Eyes shutting slowly, you fell to the side and let the cold water run down your form. And as hard as you tried to stay awake, you couldn’t help your mind’s request as it begged to rest. You let sleep wash over you, the last sound ringing in your ear was Mando’s worried voice asking if you were okay.

Back outside, the bounty hunter was fuming with anger, not caring about how oddly violent he became with the quarry. He was never one to beat an unconscious being but something took over him when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. As he pushed his way through the forest, he thought back to the way you looked up at him with those innocent eyes. And he hated himself for the way his body reacted to your fragile body.

“Ni’duraa.” He whispered to himself when he saw the Crest come into view, continuing to pull the T'doshok until he walked up the ramp and onto the ship. It was awfully quiet but he decided to freeze the reptile before he walked around to look for you. Minutes later, he was ascending the ladder to the cockpit, unlocking it and reaching for the crib on his pilot chair. When he opened it and saw the kid cooing in his sleep, he shut it once more and left to look for you. It was strange how he couldn’t hear a single sound. You were normally talkative after a mission, and as he placed his weapons back on the wall, he noticed your clothes lying haphazardly on the ground. Mando sighed heavily as he picked them up, flushing violently when he saw the last two items leading into the refresher. Strange, you were never one to throw things around.

Not wanting to bother you anymore, he placed the clothes on your cot and ascended to the cockpit once more, wanting to leave Felucia as quickly as possible because he knew how the locals became when uninvited guests stayed for too long. As they left the sector, the Mandalorian couldn’t help but question why you were still in the refresher. You’d arrived long before him and it took him a while to navigate through the jungle because of how heavy the bounty was. 

Putting the ship on auto-pilot, he made his way to the refresher but not before noticing a strange scent fill his nostrils. Looking down at his hands, he noticed a bright purple powder covering his gloves and as soon as he brought his hands up to the edge of the visor, he was hit with many different sensations, all of which he could distinctively place back to you. Your honey-scented soap, the orange tea he saw you constantly drinking, the smell of your sweat on a particularly hot day when you tried to fix the ship...

“Fuck…” He swore before wiping his gloves against his cloak and approached the refresher. 

Knocking on the door, he waited a few moments for a response and breathed impatiently when  you didn’t bother to say anything.

“Open up, Cyar'ika.” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly using such endearing words to call for you and when he was met with more silence, he groaned in annoyance before warning you. “If you don’t open the door now, I will break it.” Normally, you would have clapped back with a snarky comment that would get his blood boiling but he knew something was wrong when you remained quiet. Throwing propriety out the window, he kicked the door open and walked in, eyes searching the small room until they fell on your unconscious form under the water. 

“Maker,” kneeling to the ground, his heart clenched when he saw a viscous, black liquid oozing out of the gash on your back. How did he not notice this when you left? Quickly reaching for the left knob, he swore when he noticed the hot water wasn’t even on and almost broke the other one as he tried to switch it off. Why would you take such a cold shower when you weren’t even on a desert planet? Wiping your hair away from your face, the Mandalorian tried to wake you and began to feel anxiety seep into his clothes along with the water cascading down your body when he realized this was much worse than he thought. He took off his gloves and pushed you onto your back, trying his hardest to avert his gaze from your naked skin as he bent down and carried you out of the refresher. 

Opening his quarters, he laid you on his covers before grabbing the anesthetic above him and turning you on your stomach to care for the wounds. As he sprayed your back, he noticed the way you groaned in your sleep and forced himself to attend to the task at hand. He hoped to the gods there wasn’t any poison in the wound before he grabbed the bacta spray and slowly made his way down the skin of your back. He sighed in relief when he noticed your skin slowly shifting and sealing itself, trying to calm his increasing heart rate when he remembered just how fragile and naked you were beneath him. Some sick part of him was attracted to you even in such a state and he wished more than anything for you to be awake and willing to-

This is not how he pictured seeing you for the first time.

When you started shifting beneath him, he kneeled away from you and covered your legs, continuing to care for the wound on your lower back until it started to close as well. By the time he put all the medication back in its place, you were turning around and moaning in discomfort and Mando realized it was because you were probably still freezing from the cold water. Taking off his cloak, he barely draped it on your sleeping form when you pushed it off and turned on your back. He felt the fabric of his pants tighten around his crotch and looked away from you.

“Please...too- too much. I can’t-” He couldn’t understand what you were trying to say and moved to place the cloak on you again, head instantly turning to your face when you smacked the offensive object away from him and began to trail your fingers down your skin. He hadn’t meant to and before he could stop himself, he was watching as your fingers made their way down to your hips before dipping into the space between your thighs.

Maker be damned, how were you so glistening and flushed?

“M-Mando?” His eyes snapped to your face and watched as you spread your legs until he positioned between them. “Mando I need...you. I need you please, this is- it hurts. I can’t...it hurts so much. Please h-help me.” Your voice was filled with dangerous requests, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants when he saw the way you reached for his thighs and dragged your nails down to his knees. 

“Cyare, you don’t know what you’re asking.” He forced himself to keep his gaze on your face and nowhere else. But with every passing moment, the need to look at where he’d dreamt of feasting on for so many nights outgrew his respect for you. 

“Mando...I want you, n-need you...please, I promise I’ll be good. So so good for you, just- oh maker I-”

The small part of his brain that wasn’t ruled by his pulsing cock finally figured out what was happening and he growled as he pushed off of you and out to your cot. Grabbing your shirt, he turned it around and saw the same purple powder that was on his gloves coloring the whole front of your cloak. He recalled back to what happened when he left you and remembered where the T'doshok pushed you before he attacked him. 

Of course. The pollen from the spore plants.

Which meant that-

“Oh fuck.” The Mandalorian felt his insides churn when he realized what was taking place not ten feet away from him, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he knew what could potentially happen to you if your...needs weren't properly met. With reluctance, he made his way back to his sleeping cot and felt his chest tighten when he saw what you were doing.

You were on your side, fingers rubbing furiously at your soaking core and whimpering at the consistent and harsh touches passing through your nerves. But it wasn’t the mess you were making that caught his attention. No, it was the fact that you had his cowl twisted between your thighs and around your back. He watched in awe as you pushed your face into the rough material, taking in deep breaths to try and fill your nostrils with his scent. Taking one step closer to you, his eyes bore into your heated skin and he choked on air when he saw you lick at the hood of the cloak before taking your fingers out of your cunt and replacing them with his cowl. He couldn’t believe his eyes and the thought of wearing it around with your scent sticking to it broke him. 

Mando looked around the ship for a few moments in an attempt to think of what he should do. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he approached your slowly and gasped when he met your eyes and saw the way you were looking at him.

“M-mando! Please...fuck me. I- I need you to...don’t c-care how. I promise I’ll do anything, wh-whatever you want...ple-please.” Chills ran down your spine when you forced yourself to throw the cowl away. Turning around, you laid on your stomach and took a deep breath before raising your lower half off of the covers. As you rested your head on your arm and bit into your wrist, you looked back to the beskar-clad man, silently pleading with him while swaying your ass in the air. 

“Gota'la…” Before the Mandalorian could talk himself out of it, he was kicking his heavy shoes away and making his way closer to you. A part of him screamed that of the two of you, he was the one less affected by the pollen and was technically responsible for whatever transpired next. And he was close to asking you if you were sure you wanted to take this further if it weren’t for the way you reached beneath you and faintly trailed your fingers through your soaking slit. 

“Ad'ika, gar cuyir mesh'la.” He was speaking to himself more than to you and smiled to himself when he noticed your cunt clenching around nothing as soon as his words filled the silence. “Sweet girl, you like it when I speak to you in Mando’a?” You shivered at his tone and found it difficult to respond to him, especially when you could tell he was definitely not looking at you but at the mess you were making on his bed. A loud cry rang through the small room when you felt his hand come down on your backside before squeezing the flushed skin. 

“I asked you a question Cyar'ika.” His deep and modulated voice only made it worse and you found yourself nodding at him before whispering out a low ‘yes.’

“K'olar,” you squealed when you felt Mando twirl your around onto your back before pulling your naked body flush to his still-clothed one. You were about to beg him to just fuck you already when he shoved two of his fingers into your mouth to shush you. You moaned shamelessly around his fingers, whining even louder when you realized you were sucking on his calloused skin and not on the gloves he almost never took off unless he was alone. 

“You’re going to come just like this sweet girl.” Mando manhandled you until you were straddling one of his thighs, growling impatiently when you tried to push yourself away from him. His arm tightened around your waist, pushing you down on the beskar cuisse until you finally understood what he wanted from you.

“C-cold…”

“Be a good girl and drench my armor little one. Let me walk around with the memory of your cunt dripping on me.” His words hit too close to your somewhat aware mind and you chose to dwell on their meaning later. Softly inching your hands onto his shoulders, you fisted your fingers into his shirt to support your weight before dragging yourself against the rugged and cool beskar in between your thighs. As you threw your head back and sighed in pleasure, Mando couldn’t help but squeeze the heated skin of your hip, knowing very well there would soon be fingerprint marks wherever he touched you. 

“That’s it...could smell how much you want me Cyare. Can’t believe you’re in my arms...look at you, using my thighs to get off.” You barely managed to turn your attention to him, lips still enclosed around his fingers and biting down on them the more he shoved them in your mouth.

“Mando I- I need to-” Before you could finish your request, Mando was wrapping the other arm around hips and violently dragging you against his cuisse, looking down to watch as your juices dripped on his beskar armor. 

“What a sight…” He groaned and turned his gaze towards you again just in time to watch you fall apart on him. He marveled at how quickly he brought you to pleasure and figured it must have been the pollen making you extra sensitive to his ministrations. Wanting to stretch out your pleasure for as long as possible, he threw you back onto his bed and pushed your thighs open, not giving you a chance to question him as he shoved two fingers into your cunt and massaged that spongy spot deep inside you. You arched your back and grasped at his arms, barely managing to look at the visor just as he increased pressure and fucked you with his fingers. 

“M-MANdo oh g-gods-”

“Scream my name sweet girl, and only my name.” Had you actually listened to what he said, you would have sassed back at him and told him you didn’t actually know his name. But you couldn’t care less at the moment, digging your fingers into his forearms as you came around his thick fingers, repeatedly praying his “name” until you couldn’t remember anything else.

“Mesh'la...you’re so tight and warm for me...that’s it, squeeze my fingers like the good little girl you are.” Mando watched as you came around his fingers, his eyes not knowing where to look and wishing he could taste the sweat sticking on your neck as you whimpered beneath him. 

He heard it before he felt it, moaning in blind lust as he took in the sight beneath him. Your legs shook violently as you, quite literally, drenched his thighs and blankets with your cum and Mando didn’t know if he wanted to lick you dry or stuff his nose into your pulsating cunt. 

“Sweet fucking darling, look at the mess you’ve made,” you shivered when you felt his fingers leave your slit, blinking hazily and turning to look at where he was staring. When you saw what he was referring to, you quickly covered yourself and tried to move away from him, embarrassment washing over you when you saw the way he was so obviously staring at the wetness dripping down your. But Mando was much quicker than you, grabbing your thighs and pushing them wide open again before laying in between them and dragging his crotch across your sensitive clit. 

“Never hide from me,” you nodded instantly and the Mandalorian would never admit feeling his chest fill with pride at the lust-filled fear he instilled into you with only a few words. Your chest heaved as you continued to look into the visor, almost whimpering when you were met with incredibly dazed eyes and messy hair staring right back at you. It was quiet for a few moments, the only proof that Mando was very much aware of your state being the hardness twitching against your sensitive cunt. 

Mando wasn’t sure what to do with you. He wanted to simultaneously fuck you into the next system and lick every inch of you until you couldn’t take it anymore. “I can smell your cunt Ad'ika...can almost taste your neediness.”

“Ma-mando I- I want you to r-” You felt so naked beneath him, wishing he’d at least take off his clothes before this went any further. Not a single care was given to his helmet and it was out of the question to even attempt and ask him if he could take it off. You just wanted to feel his skin sliding against yours as he fucked you. Nothing else mattered. Just his scarred and sweaty muscles contracting and trailing over your own. 

“What is it sweet girl?” His voice felt like a thousand needles piercing your soul and you didn’t realize where your hands were moving until you felt him roughly grab your wrists and slam them above your head. You could tell there was a shift in the air around you and ceased to breathe when you no longer heard his moans. 

“This is the way.” Those four words hurt you more than they should have. 

“I- I would never ask you to...I swear I just wanted- I wanted to touch you. Not take it off...please I-” Mando felt his heart shatter into a million pieces because somehow, even in your most inebriated state, you respected him. You put him before yourself. And he ceased to breathe when he sat up and watched as you grabbed at his arms and refused to let go.

“N-no don’t go...I need you- d-don’t leave me pl-” Your breathing was erratic and the Mandalorian feared you’d spiral into shock. Without thinking much of his next moves, he grabbed the nearest item of clothing and ripped a small piece of it, returning to rest between your knees and not giving you a choice as he wrapped the band around your eyes and tied it in the back. You trailed your fingers over the band and pulled away instantly when you felt his the hair on his wrist. 

“I’m sorry…” Mando thought of your actions so far and knew in his heart that if there was ever another who’d look upon him, it would be you. Softly taking your hands in his, he pulled them towards his helmet and rested them at the side.

“T-take it off.”

“I can’t...Mando, you don’t have to- I swear I was only-” As hard as it was to say those words, you wanted him to know that he owed you nothing. And you hated how selfish you were being in that moment because the man was trying to tell you something and you were only worrying about yourself and how much your cunt ached for him. You were so close to pushing him on his back and taking your pleasure from him but something told you it would be worth the wait. 

“Mesh'la, I want you to.” You always marveled at how much the Mandalorian could convey in only a few words and shouldn’t have been surprised when you felt just how much he was willing to put his trust in you. Not wanting to scare him, you slowly pulled on the visor until it was completely off, remaining motionless as he took it from your hands and placed it on the floor. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with your hands so you kept them to the side, fisting your fingers into the blankets to prevent you from reaching out and touching his face. 

Mando could tell you wanted to touch him. You even told him yourself. So he made the decision for you and leaned down, passing his lips over your forehead and smiling down at you when he heard you suck in a breath. You gasped when you felt his beard tickle your cheeks. He had a beard. Of course he had a beard. But as he continued to leave kisses over your face, you realized it wasn’t really a full-grown beard. It didn’t matter in the end because he was driving you insane with every small pass of his plump lips near where you wanted him.

As he finally molded his lips with yours, you felt him pull your hands up to his face and lay them on his cheeks, the groan escaping his throat letting you know he enjoyed you touching him as much as you, perhaps even more. The kiss grew frantic the more you explored his naked skin, and you couldn’t hold back the long moan that erupted into his mouth as soon as you felt him suck on your tongue. When you pulled on his soft hair, Mando couldn’t help but growl into the heated kiss, not caring for how rough he was being as he grabbed and squeezed your thighs. 

But the kiss was over as soon as it began and you whined after him when you felt him pull away from you. You felt your fingers ascend to your face but remembered why the Mandalorian blindfolded you in the first place. Not wanting to lose his trust, you pushed your arms beneath your back to prevent any temptations from taking place. Unbeknownst to you, Mando was watching every little muscle twitch on your nude form and he almost devoured you right then and there when he saw you quickly moving your fingers from your face. 

He was amazed by how caring you were even when you didn’t hold any proper level of the right consciousness. Anyone else would have removed the cloth and blamed the pollen. But not you. 

You were special. 

Refusing to waste any more time, Mando made quick work of the beskar armor, not caring about the mess he was making just outside his room. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, smiling when he noticed you shivering beneath his gaze. He was on you as soon as he deposited his long-sleeve and pants, devouring your mouth and digging his fingers into your waist as he rutted against you. 

“Ner-” 

The possessiveness was almost palpable and he surprised even himself at the single syllable. Since when was he like this?

“Mando,” you whispered his name as you wrapped your arms around his back and pulled him flush against you, sighing in relief when you felt the hair of his chest tickle your nipples. Mando noticed your reaction and instantly descended on your heaving chest, biting and licking and pinching at the hardened buds until you begged him to slow down.

“Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. You’re so fucking delicious.” The way he effortlessly switched between his mother tongue and Basic shouldn’t have turned you on this much and yet you were. 

“Fuck me.” Your words were dripping with desperation and the Mandalorian wasn’t able to hold any longer. He wanted to take his time with you, commit every little curve to memory. Memorize what made your breath hitch and what made you sigh. 

But the request ended all of his curiosity and before you knew it, you felt him roughly pull down on his boxer briefs. You flushed when you heard the sound of his hand jerking his cock, mouth falling wide open when it jutted at your inner thighs and you felt how fucking hard and thick it was. 

“What will it be sweet girl? You want me to make love to you,” he paused for a moment and took advantage of your distracted expression, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet slit and biting his lips when he felt you arch against him at the simple yet filthy movement. “Or fuck you like I own you…like you’re mine.”

Hearing him say ‘fuck’ in such a vulgar tone did it for you and you didn’t know what to do with yourself except widen your legs more for him and grab the bed sheets beneath you.

“F-fuck me like you own me Mando...ruin me. Take what you want and- oh maker you’re so- so...fu- please, u-use me however you want. Just- I need your cock. Need to cum on your cock...can’t wait anym-”

Mando was sure he broke you with his words, watching in awe as you begged and begged until you couldn’t breathe anymore. There was no warning, no asking if you were ready for him. There was just your wet cunt teasing him until he couldn’t bear the thought of not being deep inside your pussy.

Resting his head against yours, he took his painfully hard cock in his hand and shoved it past your wet lips, letting out a deep growl as he felt you scratch his back.

“Mando, Mando, M-mando…”

You didn’t find the strength to think of a proper sentence to express what you were feeling so you opted to pray his name over and over again. He was shaking above you and you knew instantly he was trying his hardest not to break you.

“Take what you want- I...I won’t break.” 

Just hearing you say those words to him almost made him cum right then and there. You were returning the trust he gave you and he knew there was no way of putting this moment behind him even if he tried. 

Pulling out until only the head of his cock was splitting you open, Mando bucked his hips violently back into you, whispering the filthiest promises into your ears as he set a rough pace that had you seeing worlds you didn’t even know existed. 

“So, fucking, tight...how are you so wet and tight for me Cyare?” It took you a while to realize you were hearing his voice without the modulator of his mask. How had you not noticed how beautifully sinful it was when he first took it off? You wanted to tell him how much you loved hearing his thick and smooth voice. You wanted to kiss down his neck and bite onto his shoulders. You wanted to push him down and force his cock inside your throat. 

So much. You wanted so much. 

But you couldn’t find your voice in that moment. Not when he was railing into you with such an unforgiving force. 

“Made for me...made to take my cock. Such a sweet fucking girl- ah.” You should have known Mando would not be the quiet type in bed. He was a man of few words during his day-to-day life so of course he would take this chance and spill out his innermost thoughts. But it surprised you nonetheless considering how downright dirty his moans and whispers were. And you were sure he was as filthy, if not more, when he continued to speak in Mando’a. 

With every passing moment, you felt a piece of your heart split from your chest and slowly make its way into his hands. He was branding you, his cock reaching so deep inside you that you were sure you could feel him right below your navel if you only moved your hands against your skin. But you couldn’t afford to let go of him, not when he was using you just as you requested. 

“Mando you...maker, you’re filling me so- so good. I- please, can I cum? I want t- to cum. Been so good for you. Need to-” The chuckle that left his lips was sweet music to your ears until you realized he might be laughing at how pathetic you were. 

“Fucking gods Ad'ika...fill you up? Is that what you want sweet girl? You want me to- fuck, fuck...want me to fill you up with my cum? You’re killing me baby.” His voice was hoarse and he realized his mistake as soon as the words left his lips. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away from him. It was his deeped, darkest secret. He swore he would go to his grave with it. Too often he thought of breeding you, fucking you and fill you up until his cum leaked out of you and you couldn’t move. Too many nights he went to sleep thinking of what it would feel like to wake up with your sweet cunt still wrapped around his cock. What he’d give to ensure not a single drop went to waste. 

Too many days were spent dreaming of giving that little womp rat a sibling to run around with. 

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed by him and he was about to slow down when he felt your hands grab his ass and push you closer to him.

“Want your cum Mando...want you to cum inside me, fill me up until I can’t breathe...oh fuck, until I can’t feel anything but your cum hot and deep inside me. Fuck a baby inside me Mando I- oh oh gods I-” Mando couldn’t hold back anymore, violently pushing his cock inside you and swallowing your moans every time they echoed just a little louder than he preferred. He groaned in ecstasy when he looked down and saw pure bliss etched on your soft features. You clenched around him, thighs vibrating around his hips as he somehow drove into you harder and carried you past the point of pleasure. You didn’t know you were coming around him until you heard him whisper ‘good girl’ in your ears. And it sent a jolt down his spine when he continued to rut against you and fill the ship with the heavy sounds of skin slapping on skin. It was almost painful, the way he didn’t let up and continued to rail into you without a single care. 

“Mine...mine, fucking mine. That’s it sweet girl, feel me. Feel me marking your fucking soul.” He was a mumbling mess at this point and he wasn’t sure if it was because you were panting like an animal in heat or because of the way you desperately licked and kissed and nipped at his neck and lips. 

“Yes, I’m yours Mando. Yours...always have been.”

The heaviness of your words struck his heart instantly, and he shoved his cock so deep inside you he swore he could feel your heartbeat. Mando rested his head in the crook of your neck, biting harder than intended on your shoulder as hot spurts of cum coated your inner walls. You feel a sudden warmth wash over you and dug your nails into his ass as he thrust once, twice, three times before stilling completely. 

The two of you continued to breathe heavily against each other and when Mando moved his knees to get comfortable between your thighs, you unintentionally squeezed his cock and felt him twitch inside you.

“Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika.” It was such a silent comment and you knew this was much different than everything he’d said thus far. Something about his tone told you he was spilling his heart out and you wished more than anything to ask him what he was saying but knew you shouldn’t...wouldn’t. Not unless you wanted him to continue and speak to you.

You were brought back from your thoughts when the Mandalorian kissed your lips, and you felt yourself drowning in his scent when he rubbed your hair and nudged your jaw with his nose.

“Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar.” Slowly, Mando wrapped his arms around you and rolled you over until you were practically sleeping on top of him. The two of you hissed when you felt his cock leave your heat and Mando wished more than anything to spread your thighs and watch as his cum leaked down your thighs. No worries, he’d do that later.

Later…

Oh what he would give for there to be a ‘later’ with you. 

The thought of not being able to have you again snapped him back to reality and he realized there was a very high chance this would never happen again because as far as he knew, this was only a consequence of the pollen.

Not wanting to bother you with his insecurities, Mando pushed your head down onto his chest and rubbed your shoulders, telling you to get some rest and to not worry about anything else. 

Hours later, Mando was waking up to a soft noise emitting from beneath him. As he rubbed his eyes and took in his surroundings, he looked down and noticed you were still very much naked and cold next to him. Pulling the covers over you, he allowed his eyes to feed on your curves before meeting your face. Dread filled his heart as soon as he saw the wet patch on the band around your eyes. 

You must have woken up and realized what happened. A thousand different scenarios flew through his mind and Mando knew that almost each one of them was caused by your regret of sleeping with him. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” When you didn’t respond and sniffed loudly, Mando knew he had to brace for the worst. 

“Please...are you hurt anywhere?” Hearing his pleas was what did it for you and you threw yourself into his chest. 

“Mando I- I took advantage of you. I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t know what was happening...I promise I- please don’t tell me to leave. I can’t leave you or the Child. I- I promise I’ll pretend this never happened. Just- don’t leave me. I can’t bear the thought of living without you...without him.”

Of all the things the Mandalorian thought he would hear from you, those were certainly the last to make the list. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky with you? Not only did you refuse to take the blindfold off when you woke up but you genuinely thought you’d forced him into sleeping with you.

“Cyare, it hurts to see you cry. Come here.” Mando sat up against the cold metal wall, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the covers around you so you weren’t exposed to the cold air of the ship. 

“You didn’t take advantage of me sweet girl. If anything, I- I should be the one apologizing. I was not hit with the effects of the pollen as much as you have been and...and I should have refused your pleas. But you looked so beautiful, Cyar'ika. You prayed for me to have you and I- I was selfish. I was selfish and I couldn’t stop myself from sinking into you. Branding you. Being with you.” To say you were surprised by his words would have been the understatement of the century. 

The Mandalorian wanted you. He wanted to have you. He wanted to be with you. 

“I-I’ve wanted you for so long...spent so many nights dreaming of being with you.” You confessed to him before you could think of the meaning behind your words and you were met with a deep sigh and a kiss on the lips almost immediately. 

“How long Mesh'la?” 

“S-since Tatooine.” 

Mando’s heart skipped a beat at the short yet direct response. He’s only ever been to Tatooine once with you, months and months ago when he needed Peli to fix something on the Crest for him. You hadn’t even been with their group for three weeks then. So busy thinking of all the ways he could have had you since then, Mando didn’t notice how the silence affected you until your fingers twitched against his chest. 

“Mando?”

“That was eons ago.” It was more of a comment than a question and you weren’t sure if he was angry or surprised. 

“Is...is that bad?”

“Bad? No Ad'ika, not bad.” When he didn’t offer more of an explanation, you rested your head on his chest and continued to draw circles on his naked abdomen. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in each others arms but the faint sounds of cooing and laughter snapped you out of your haze and you realized you should probably get up and make something for the kid to eat. Before you could move away from him however, Mando was bringing you closer to him and kissing you again. You knew you could never tire from feeling his lips mold and pass over yours and you welcomed his tongue with as much vigor as you could muster up.

As he pulled away, you smiled at him and wished more than anything to be able to see him smile back at you. 

“Din.”

“Hmm?”

“My name...it’s Din. Din Djarin.” 

Mando could see the exact moment you registered what he just said and he smirked to himself at how pretty you looked when something shocking took place. 

“Din.” You repeated his name silently, afraid this would all be a dream and that he didn’t actually just tell you something that was so important to him.

“You didn’t have to tell me…” You traced his jaw with your fingers and marveled at how oddly soft his beard was. 

“I didn’t, but I wanted to.” Din was silent for a few seconds before he flipped you beneath him and took hold of your wrists before slamming them harshly above your head. “I wanted you to know it, Mesh'la, so you could scream it the next time I fucked this sweet and tight cunt.” 

For a man of few words, he sure knew what to say to get you worked up again.

Translations: 

Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh - I will kill you if you do not leave her.

Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas. - I do not care about the credits.

Gedet'ye. - Please.

Ad'ika - Little one

Ni’duraa! - You disgust me.

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Cyare - Beloved

Gota'la - Maker.

Gar cuyir mesh'la. - You are beautiful. 

K'olar - Come here.

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Ner - Mine.

Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. - I can’t...hold back.

Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika. - I fear you, darling.

Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar. - You are too important to me. I can’t lose you.

[writings-of-a-british-fangirl]

A Lesson In Touch [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Touch Summary: You want nothing more to say your feelings for Din out loud, but words don't come to you or Din easy... Maybe you can express your love in another way. Warnings: A little bit of angst and description of injury, but that's about it Request: N/A

A/N: This is the third and final instalment of "a lesson in" series! ((unless i get inspired to write another part)) Let me know if you have any requests for Din in general!!

A/N 2: Here is a list of people that said they wanted to be tagged for this fic! Hope you like it

@elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey @the-fae-child @zoleea-exultant @captainwanderlust78​ @ihavemyownissuess​

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Tradition PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Touch

Din hadn't quite mastered the art of subtlety when it came to you. He was very thankful for his beskar, specifically his helmet, otherwise he was sure you would've noticed his outright staring. In no way was he trying to make you feel uncomfortable or offend you, but he just felt mesmerised by you in a way that no other being in the galaxy had. Well, apart from his little green son. But, this... This was something different.

        You were something different.

        Ever since you had bought that necklace, the way he felt about you had only intensified. It was scaring him in ways he didn't even want to confront. Thoughts of a relationship, of a family with you began to stir within him. It wasn't realistic- definitely just a day dream. Kriff, he hadn't even been in a romantic relationship before: how was he ever going to treat you right? Sure, he'd dabbled in a few flings here and there... Some he was less than proud of. Although he'd never broken his Creed, he had certainly bent the rules a handful of times; in his defence, he was young, and stupid... And, touch starved. In truth: he probably still was.

        It had been a long while since anyone had touched him with any other intent than to kill him. He was used to the roughness of touch that came with combat: the way his fists hit another, and he was in turn hit, but your soft lingering touches were enough to distract him for the whole day.

        He began to crave them: any excuse to be close to you.

        If only the Mandalorian knew that he wasn't being as subtle as he thought. Even with the helmet disguising his eyes, you could feel his vision on you. At first, you felt self conscious under his gaze. You interpreted it as him glaring at you: maybe you had done something wrong with the kid? Or maybe you had offended him, and he just wasn't saying anything? But, slowly, you got better at reading his body language. It was tough at first, as Din revealed very little personal information about himself. Coupled this with the fact he was usually clad head to toe in beskar armour, you made slow progress. However, over time, you began to pick up on little cues. Soft, small hints that he wasn't glaring... He was looking at you: you'd caught him staring.  

        You were going to confront him about it, initially; maybe even make a light joke of it. You had quickly gone off of that idea. Soon, you decided you liked the Mandalorians eyes on you; you even let yourself believe that he might only have eyes for you.

        And soon, just as he craved you, you wanted more than just his eyes on you.

~~~

The universe had a fucking funny way of answering your inner desires. When you said, you had wanted to feel him, feel his skin on your own, when you had said you wanted to feel his touch, this wasn't what you meant. Kriff. This was getting bad. Din was bleeding badly.

        What had initially meant to be a pretty simple bounty had turned into a rather difficult one. The location Din was sent initially was inaccurate, and then when he arrived at the actual, correct location, it was a trap. His target had friends, and it soon became an ambush. The Mandalorian was still capable of taking them down, but they put up a pretty good fight, and before knocking out all of them, one had managed to stab Din in his side.

        Which lead you to now.

        Din was in your arms. He had stumbled into the Razor Crest, clutching his side with one arm and dragging the quarry with the other. You'd almost lost control in that moment, but you knew you had to stay calm for him. You rushed up to him, and quickly aided him in throwing the bounty into carbonite. Then, you made quick work of laying him down on your make shift medical bench, and asking him where the pain was coming from. Your eyes were wide with panic: he could probably tell. You were terrible at hiding emotions when it came to him, and you'd never exactly done this before. Sure, you'd patched yourself up more times than you can count: but someone else? Someone you cared about? Now that was something else entirely.

        "Din," you cooed gently, trying not to make his pain worse, "I'm going to need to remove some of your armour. Is that okay? Is... Is that breaking your Creed?"

        "I- No," Din huffed out, trying to be kind to you despite his situation.

        "Okay, good... Good... I need you to lay as still as you can okay. I'm just going to..."

        You don't know why you start narrating what you're doing. Maybe you thought it would put him at ease if he knew what was going on. Maybe it was making things worse.

        Gently, you peeled away his armour from his torso, and observed the large cut down his side. You pressed your hand against him, and Din winced in pain. Your hand retracted quickly, and you ran to the first aid kit kept in the Crest. You opened the bag, and began searching around for the bacta patch and disinfectant that you needed. Your heart was beating really quickly, and you could feel Din's pulse getting weaker. His breathing shallowed. You steadied your shaking hands as you brought the disinfectant up to his wound.

        "Din," you murmur, "Are you still with me? Din... I'm sorry this is going to hurt."

        You saw his head nod slowly, and you began cleaning the wound as carefully as you can. He winced in pain and his hand shot up; he grabbed out to you, and his hand was wrapped around your upper arm before you knew what was happening. Despite the situation, his touch (even through his glove) surprised you. Your heart rate began to increase, and your face felt hot.

        "I'm nearly done now," you promise him, "I'm just putting on the bacta patch and then you can rest."

        "T-Thank you, cyar'ika," Din replied, his grip on your arm faltering before letting go.

        You took his hand and squeezed it gently. Din was weak now but at least his wound has been tended to and he wasn't losing anymore blood. It was only now that the worst of it was over, that you took note of the blood across the ship. This would be one hell of a clean up. First, you washed your hands, and then you gently removed the remainders of Din's armour, save his helmet (of course). You unbuttoned his tunic and swapped it out for one that wasn't covered in blood- and one that didn't have a large hole in it. You like to think that he'd appreciate it.

        With the ship finally cleaned, and Din safe, you crawled into your cot beside the child. Your eyes felt heavy as you held the child close to you: you took one last look at your Mandalorian, before finally falling asleep.

~~~

Din Djarin woke up startled. His hand went to his side, at first, and then across his chest, before ending up resting on his helmet. His eyes scanned the room before settling upon you. His eyes softened; in your arms lay his little womp rat. He was safe, and so were you. Din sighed, relieved that you were both still okay.

        His eyes cast down to the pile of armour beside him: you must've removed it after he'd passed out. He recognised that he was now wearing a new black shirt, and that his old, bloodied one was nowhere to be found. His mind didn't have time to wonder where you'd put it, as the sound of him moving off of the make shift medical bench had caused you to begin to awaken. Your eye sight was blurry for a second, before focusing in on Din. He was up.

        He was up!

        "Din! You're awake!" you exclaim, shaking off any sleepy feeling that still remained.

        "Are you alright?" Din asks, stepping towards you.

        "Am I alright?" you repeat back to him, now also finding your feet, "You get stabbed, come home bloody to me -barely standing I might add- and you ask me if I'm okay?"

        Din shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

        "Never mind me: how are you feeling?"

        "I'm... I'm okay. Better now, thanks to you," Din reassured, reaching over to take the child from you now that he had woken up from his nap.

        "Well, I have been told I have an excellent bed side manor," you tease.

        "Oh yeah?" Din plays along.

        "Really! If it wasn't for this whole bounty hunting gig, I definitely would've been a nurse," you assure confidently; although truthfully at this point in time, you have no interest in taking care of anyone else besides your small found family.

        "You would've made an excellent nurse," Din chuckles.

        It warms your heart: hearing him laugh.

        "I thought you were going to pass out quicker than me at certain points, though," Din continues, "But I'm not dead so you must've done something right."

        "Hey now, Mandalorian: in my defence, I was not expecting you to come back covered in blood and barely conscious. Forgive me if I was a little rusty."

        You hadn't realised how close the two of you had become until now. His body was so close that you could almost feel the heat coming from his body. Or maybe it was yours. You weren't honestly sure at this point, but it was making your face heat up. You shyly looked away from his gaze. Seeing him like this almost felt unnatural. You were so use to him fully covered in armour, that seeing him without all the beskar felt like you were seeing him naked. Despite this, you enjoyed seeing him like this: he felt more human to you now. If he was feeling vulnerable at all, he didn't show it. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost say he enjoyed this new layer of vulnerability because it meant he could feel closer... Closer to you.

        "You're forgiven," he murmurs, his voice low, "Am I forgiven, cyar'ika?"

        "Hm..." you hesitate, teasing him for a second, "I will have to think about that-"

        "-Mesh'la, please," he pretends to beg you, smiling under his helmet; Din's eyes remain on you, almost transfixed as you pretend to ponder the status of his forgiveness.

       "Only if you tell me what m- me- mesh'la means," you whisper in a hushed tone, "Or agree to teach me Mando'a. I have to know what you are saying about me."

       "Only good things," Din replies in the same quiet tone, "Beautiful."

       "Beautiful," you repeat back to him, your heart swelling, "Din you are... Me- mesh'la too."

       You expect him to reply: correct your pronunciation, or joke back with you but the Mandalorian has gone silent. Not an uncomfortable wooden silence. No, it was a warm silence. It felt right, and after a second, you adjusted to the new quietness. You imagine neither of you have had a moment like this in a long time. The silences you were use to only echoed with your hollowness, reflecting your loneliness. But this: this felt right.

       Gently, Din leaned his head on your own. Due to the presence of his helmet, he was careful not to be too forceful, but you soon accepted the gesture, and kept your forehead on his.

       A keldabe kiss.

       That's what you would come to know that as. Although it originally started as slang for a headbutt, it soon became a sign of affection among Mandalorians. Affectionate moments with the Creed felt few and far between, so this was a way around that. And, it was one you quiet enjoyed. Even if you couldn't always touch your Mandalorian in the ways you wanted to, in these moments it didn't seem to matter. Despite the Creed, despite everything, there was no true barrier that could separate you and Din Djarin.

       Your foreheads stay together for a moment longer, before separating. You look up at him, and you know -even without words, even without touch- he is yours, and your are his.

[madhyanas]

there can be no oceans

It's only when the Child needs a bath that Din realises his ship doesn't have one.

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): One mention of ‘spice’ as a drug. Set sometime soon after Chapter 4: Sanctuary. No spoilers for S2.

Notes: i! want! to write! more! character fics! so take this. thank you @pettyprocrastination for taking the time to read this beforehand <3

masterlist

———

The Crest wasn’t built for children.

Her walkways are narrow, interiors unpainted. Any room not taken up by essential utilities has long since been repurposed for weapons and munitions storage. There are no rounded corners, no softened edges; there is no baby-proofing to speak of. A capsule of robust, sturdy durasteel hurtling through the galaxy.

As reliable as she is, especially in the hands of Din’s capable piloting, the bare minimum the Crest offers to any inhabitants at all is an absence of jagged scrap metal jutting out to be slashed on. Which is as close to a miracle as he’s going to get, considering his ship’s survived being taken apart and stitched back together again.

Sometimes the visor’s sight catches on a slivered scar. The junction between the cockpit and ladder, the panel next to the hatch. He’ll look at it for a second, bumpy and gnarled, remembering the Crest’s shell scattered in pieces across desert rock. He’ll remember his ship, peeled to bits without mercy. Then he’ll brush his fingers over the soldered mark, and walk away.

But despite everything, the Crest is comfortable; Din can admit that her resilience, outlasting her age, is something he’s grown attached to. And when it comes to the very, very mundane, the kid seems to have pretty good instincts — doesn’t dangle over heights, doesn’t stick his hands into sockets and plug ports. His ship, in and of itself, doesn’t pose a threat to the little one. So long as he’s not left in the cockpit unsupervised.

It’s a minor weight off his shoulders that the kid’s content to amuse himself with that gear knob, occasionally gurgling commentary to Din — who has found “Is that so, kid?” to suffice as proof that he’s listening — and offering a satisfied, toothy grin. This is typically the point that Din feels his mouth pulling up into a crinkling smile, fond and proud.

It reminds him of something Omera told him in passing. Din hadn’t understood the phrase at the time, hadn’t ever needed to apply it in his day-to-day.

“You’re lucky,” she’d said knowingly. “He’s an easy baby.”

Thinking of mudhorns and mudjumpers and the kid’s inability to follow instructions, Din didn’t think it made much sense. He understands it now.

But, no — the Razor Crest, being a gunship and not a nanny droid, was not constructed for childcare. In all honesty, this hadn’t really occurred to Din beyond the obvious.

Until the kid needed a bath.

A bath that his ship does not have.

Din sighs, standing in the refresher doorway and staring at the slim sonic shower compartment. The Child waddles in curiously behind him, leaning on his boot with both arms hugging the ankle. He coos up at Din questioningly. There’s a slight twitch of his ears before he raises his arms. Two chubby fists clench and unclench repeatedly, a familiar demand.

Din promptly bends down to pick him up, angling him face forwards to stare at the offending compartment together.

“It’s a sonic shower,” Din explains. He frowns, wondering how to go about this. The kid smacks his lips idly. “Don’t think it’s meant for kids, buddy.”

Those wide, dark eyes suddenly turn to him with hope, but Din’s already shaking his head. “No.”

The kid blinks, multiple times. Din could swear the little monster’s batting his eyelashes. “No. You still need a bath, you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

In his arms, the kid deflates with a huff. His ears droop so quickly they bat against Din’s chest and quiet grumbles buzz through the cloth of his shirt.

It makes Din smile, part-amused and part-relieved. He’s never been very good at the whole ‘disciplinarian’ thing, especially not with a kid that can move things with his mind. It’s difficult to tell where to draw the line between kind and disapproving. He’s probably leaning more into the former.

“We’ll just have to… figure something out.”

He glances to the left. The sink is built into the wall, a nondescript metal bowl with a drain and tap. Din avoids looking at the mirror above. After so many years under the helmet, it doesn’t necessarily feel surreal. It’s simply odd to have visual confirmation of what he looks like.

The kid squirms in his arms, and Din blinks, slowly placing him back on the ground. He shuffles out of the ‘fresher quickly to whichever corner he’s chosen to play in today, his stuffy brown robe dragging slightly on the ground. Maybe that needs to be looked at.

Din looks back to the sink, figuring something out.

———

For all intents and purposes, the sonic shower is useful. Or perhaps that isn’t the right word, considering it just does what it’s supposed to.

It’s efficient, then. A way for Din to stay clean without worrying about the ship’s current water capacity. Whether it’s actually pleasant or not is another question, but one that’s never been important enough to be asked.

Now, though, Din thinks he’ll need to find a more permanent solution.

The sink in the ‘fresher has its own water supply, true. But it’s enough for Din to wash his hands and shave every few weeks at most. Since the New Republic started cracking down on smuggling circuits, the price of water transportation fit for hyperspace has spiked. A popular medium for diluted spice, apparently. So he’s careful with how much he uses up, wary of the ever-dwindling pile of credits to his name.

He kneels down next to the sink, craning his head to check behind a panel and exhaling sharply with the protesting ache of his neck. It’s a small slot for a liquid tanker, and Din soon realises it won’t be enough to fill a cup, much less the whole basin.

It won’t work.

———

This brings him to the next idea. Somewhat quickly, because the kid seems to have gotten into his head that no water means no bath. That’s probably bad handling on Din’s part.

There are sealed tanks of water stored in a hull compartment. Bulk-purchased and potable, for prolonged journeys and adverse conditions. Tanks that he’s loath to crack open when there’s water available elsewhere.

He lugs one into the fresher, and when he feels his lower back twinge with the effort, he makes sure to bear the brunt of the weight with his legs. Then his knees begin to strain. He sighs.

He passes by the kid on the way, sitting on the floor and gnawing on his metal ball with intense focus and adoration. He looks up at the sound of Din approaching, tilting his head sweetly at the tall canister.

Din takes it as a question, so he answers. “No idea, kid.”

When he does, finally, manage to shove the tank in the refresher and pour as much of it as he can into the sink’s water supply tube, the Child follows. His head turns from the half-empty tank, to Din, and back to the tank. As the ears swish with every movement, like palm leaves twitching and swaying in the breeze, Din watches the gears turn patiently. It’ll click.

Then the kid thwacks a hand on Din’s thigh, and very insistently garbles something with a firm nod. His approval is understood.

Din smiles. Lets it linger on his face, melt in his chest so warmly he can nearly ignore his aching joints. Gently, he places a hand on the little one’s head, rubbing the spot between his ears and eliciting a fond coo. “Thanks.”

———

That good mood doesn’t last very long when the kid realises, eventually, that bath time has arrived.

———

A tragic wail cuts through the Razor Crest.

From where he’s held over the ‘fresher sink, the kid screeches in Din’s hands, kicking his little legs in the air and keeping a vice grip on Din’s sleeves. Even the ears — those huge, petal bat-ears — are wiggling up and down in his efforts to escape.

“Hey,” Din says. He tries for stern, but it comes out mostly tired. “Hey. Stop that.”

The kid is either ignoring him, or just can’t hear it over the racket he’s making. He scrunches his eyes closed with newfound vigour and shrieks so loud it rings in Din’s ears. He winces.

The Crest’s refresher is built into a cramped corner of the hull. Fitted with a sonic shower, privy, sink and mirror, Din’s fairly certain there are graves dug bigger than this.

It’s never mattered before, since Din spends so little of his time in here anyway, but now he’s stuck in a broom closet — a metal one, with solid, echoing walls — with a screaming child.

Din sighs, with feeling. His headache, which hasn’t let up since the jump into hyperspace, throbs heavily behind his eyes and between his ears. For a second, he toys with the idea of turning off the helmet’s auditory sensors.

The kid had more or less been fine at first. From filling the sink to fetching the soap — a standard, unscented brand that Din only really stores for handwashing — to barely managing to tug his robe over those oversized ears. The kid had insisted on doing that last one himself, until he’d stumbled with the shift in centre of gravity and bowled himself over.

He’d been fine, until his stubby, clawed toes first dipped in the water.

It’s remarkable, Din realises as he looks down at the distraught child dangling from his hands. The kid hasn’t really cried for… for anything till now. At the most, Din just gets a dry, unamused look whenever he hasn’t followed the little overlord’s express wishes. Like eating wild frogs off the ground. Womp rat.

Hearing the repercussions now, it might not have been remarkable so much as just lucky. How does one so small have lungs so strong?

“All right,” Din calls. Trying to be gentle yet also heard over the noise at the same time is a challenge, so it comes out somewhat choked.

At his voice, the kid takes a breather. Literally, his round body heaves in Din’s hands, gasping for breath after his tantrum. Din eyes the tear tracks streaming from his wide, dark eyes, and his sniffling little nose. He can feel the kid’s ribcage pushing in and out rapidly beneath his fingers, stretchy like a balloon fitting in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t forgotten how tiny the kid is but — a lump settles in his throat at the reminder.

He feels his face fall. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, unsure of what he’s pleading for but feeling as if he’s wronged the Child anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would upset you so much.”

Whether it’s his tone or the words themselves, something brings the kid to peace. Though still hiccuping, his breathing evens out.

“That’s it,” Din encourages. “Deep breaths.”

He inhales, lifting his head and shoulders slightly with the movement to demonstrate, before lowering on the exhale.

The Child watches him for a moment, blinking wetly, before doing the same. His ears perk up and down with every breath. “That’s it,” Din repeats.

When he’s reasonably sure the Child won’t start bawling again, Din takes a second to rearrange the kid into sitting balanced on his forearm, facing him towards the mirror. With the other hand rubbing circles into the kid’s back, he addresses the reflection.

“Listen,” he starts seriously. The kid looks up, watching the helmet in the mirror’s shiny surface. “I get that you don’t like it. And I’m sorry I upset you. But you need a bath, so we have to figure something out.”

Din swallows, wondering how they’re going to do just that. The kid, in the meantime, clutches the shirt of Din’s sleeve in two grubby claws and starts chewing, not taking his eyes off the helmet for a second.

Just as he’s about to ask the kid to stop, or at least lay off a little so the fabric doesn’t tear, he gets an idea.

———

In the recent past, Din can’t really remember when things last went his way. So he’s almost confused when the third time really is the charm.

“That’s all it took, huh?”

The kid happily ignores him, watching the gear knob through the shallow, mildly-soaped water with fascination. He stares straight down, his ears sticking up like fresh reeds from a pond, enamoured with the sight of his favourite thing underwater. The concentration he uses to roll it around with both hands softens the corners of Din’s mouth.

You’d never guess the little womp rat was raising hell just minutes before.

Fetching the gear knob from outside was a last resort. He’d been grasping at straws, willing to take anything that would calm the kid down.

And it worked. Leading Din to scrub the bar of soap between his hands, trailing suds through the clouding water.

The temperature suits the kid just fine, apparently. With no way to heat the basin, Din had just… waited for it to get more or less lukewarm. Not ideal, not by a long shot. He’d clenched his jaw, uncomfortable and awkward in the face of yet another reminder that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Standing around doing nothing didn’t sit well with him. At one point he half-seriously considered getting the flamethrower out to speed things along.

But the Child, naturally, didn’t seem to mind. He now slaps his hands into his bird-bath pool with delight, relishing in the waves he can create. The pale, fuzzy hairs on that wrinkly head don’t so much as twitch, and Din has to wonder if the kid’s leathery skin has something to do with that tolerance.

A bubble wobbles into the air, fragile and translucent. A dark, watery gaze snaps to it immediately — the kind of precision only reserved for mudjumpers. The kid stills, and the gear knob is momentarily forgotten in favour of biting through the air to catch the floating parlour trick between sharp, pointy teeth.

Pop. Smack on the kid’s mouth. A light burst of soap residue sprays on the kid’s face, and the squeak of a sneeze he lets out pushes him an inch backwards in the basin.

Din can’t imagine how a thing could be that tiny.

“Nice job,” he offers quietly, because a successful hunt is something to be praised. He gives the kid’s face a once-over — with eyes so big, it’s impressive that the soap missed them entirely. The kid whines disagreeably; he evidently doesn’t care much for the flavour. His button nose wrinkles, and he bounces again with a cough.

Din chuckles. The sound rings in time with water sloshing over the lip of the sink.

“Maybe save the hunting for outside,” he advises, patting the kid on the back. The Child looks up at him mournfully, as if to agree, before returning to the gear knob resting by his foot. A new game is begun; shoving the metal ball so that it rolls halfway up the sink’s bowl before returning straight back, like magic. Every metallic scrape brings a new ripple of laughter.

He should be more mindful of how there’s more water on the floor than in the basin, now. But there are always more tanks in the brig.

In a series of excited, comprehensive babbles, the kid begins explaining the rules of his new game to Din, who listens closely. He interjects here and there to show the kid as much, but is otherwise just a spectator to the kid’s lecture.

Then for a moment, without thought, he looks up. Straight ahead, into the mirror. And he almost can’t recognise the sight.

It’s his helmet, obviously. Comforting; beskar gleaming as much as the day it was first given to him. Unchanged. Same height, same clothes.

But his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, baring inches of skin and several wiry scars. The front of his dark, woven shirt is darker still with the water lapping over the sink’s edge, a sodden patch forming over his abdomen. He feels some of it drip onto his boots and the floor. His hands are covered in suds, tenderly but thoroughly scrubbing the edge of one floppy green ear.

The kid, sitting satisfied and unaware with his cherished toy, makes the image look complete.

Din looks at the man in the mirror, giving his son a bath in the sink. He thinks that his image probably needed a reset anyway.

Then, with something caring and delicate fluttering in his chest, he moves on to the baby’s claws. He makes sure to scrub between the fingers.

———

[acourtofsnakes]

Rogue| Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader(F)

Introduction

Summary: So I don’t want to give too much away, but a rough outline - You are Force sensitive, and after being hunted your whole life, you’re not surprised to find another Mandalorian on your tail. What you didn’t expect, was THIS Mandalorian. Nor anything that happen’s after. And so begins a journey of two Rogues (three if you count the womp rat). 

Warnings: I haven’t written it all yet but there’ll be angst (of course), mentions of death/death, fighting, swearing, fluff, injury detail, smut (eventually), fighting aaaand that’s all I can think of for now. 

AN: It’s been years, so I may be a little rusty, and these won’t have been beta read, so apologies in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes. Sometimes my head gets carried away faster than I can type

Rogue Masterlist 

SO. 

It’s been... years since I’ve written, but I’ve been toying with this idea for SO long. Me and my best friend were coming up with idea’s of what it would be like being a Force sensitive and being tracked down by the Mandalorian... and what might happen afterwards. Angst, fluff, drama, tension - of course -, everything you need in a Mando fic. I have the first 4 chapters outlined... I just need to sit down and write. 

So I guess this is just kind of an intro to let you know it’s coming? This bit might not necessarily be in the actual fic but think of it as a taster. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Alone. 

That word had come to change its meaning over the years. When you were a small child, alone meant you were outside, playing in the grass and flowers with your parent’s just a few metres away indoors, within sight of you still. 

A few years later, alone meant being shut away inside your room, windows closed, door firmly shut. 

“It’s for your own safety, honey, you know what will happen… We don’t want this for you, we hate this, but we must keep you safe, my darling.”

You understood, of course. It was your own fault, you didn’t mean for it to happen… But just because you understood, it doesn’t mean you liked it.

A year on, alone changed properly for the first time.

The true meaning of the word hit you like a speeder when you were kneeling in the mess on the dusty ground. 

Blood had soaked your knees, staining your tunic. It had coated your hands, your arms as you frantically shook the shoulders of your mother, willing her to open her eyes, to sit up and hold you. To stroke your hair and tell you it was okay, it was all just a bad dream. To take you home, where you could forget this whole thing. 

It didn’t truly sink in until you heard your fathers strangled scream as he ran around the corner…

And then the sickening hiss and sizzle as the blaster hit him square in the chest. The way he tried to crawl across the ground to you and your mother, but there was a heavy boot planted firmly in his back, a hand yanking his head up and a vibroblade sliced across his throat. 

His blood had coated your boots as you ran to him. 

From that moment on… you were truly alone. No family. No more friends, they had all left when you showed them your power. Such a beautiful, natural thing, being in line with the Earth, the energy that connected all living things. It was rare, meant to be celebrated… 

Instead, it just bought death upon those you loved. 

So, as you ran from the horror scene within the market square, your parents blood baking onto your skin in the hot sun, you buried it. Deep inside, locking it in a box, surrounding it in darkness and keeping it hidden. 

[stars-trash-18]

Home II

I’m thinking of doing weekly to bi-weekly updates since that seems to fit my schedule better. I’m in the process of moving so between packing and getting my house ready to sell I’ll use my spare time to write. Also as many of us know the well of writing goes dry leaving us in a writer’s block.

I hope you enjoy the second installment to this series. Reminder that if you see any errors, or mentions of race or gender to let me know so that I can fix it. I want this fic to be for everybody.

You didn’t speak to them for weeks after that, wanting them to come to you when they were ready. Until Big Blue decided to disturb the peace.

He flew in when you were re-thatching the roof of the barn, you clutched your hat to your head as the wind picked up as he was landing. He sent dirt everywhere and blew several stacks of thatch off the roof, the chickens running around in panic, and Tusker went into an overprotective tizzy. The Tusk Cat circled the man warily with a low growl, but stopped when Paz held his hand out, concluding that the man half the size of a Bantha was no threat.

Paz looked up at you and you swore you could feel his apologetic look as he hoisted a few bundles of thatch into his thick arms. You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t sweating like a TaunTaun on Tatooine. Paz carefully climbed the ramp up to your spot and set the thatch down next to you, lowering himself to his knees to help.

“I’m here to let you know the clan agreed to repay you in labor, a few of us are able enough to help you work the land and the rest have skills that you’d benefit from,” he explained as he tightly weaved the long reeds and grasses together. You were slightly impressed, you had him down as a plain warrior not a craftsman.

“Alright, just know I won’t treat you like slaves, I've helped too many escape so it’ll be fair pay for fair work,” you said as you fixed a few of the strands.

“The most I’ll ask for is basic repairs, some help during harvests, and maybe some help gathering the herd when winter rolls in,” You rattled off handedly , “it might take awhile since it is a big piece of land but you'll have more use than I did so you should work it off in a few years,”.

You glanced up at the giant to see his visor pointed directly at you. You quirked an eyebrow at him as you stabbed a wooden pin into the weave, he flinched slightly at your sudden move and refocused on weaving.

“That’s kind of you more than we can ask for, pretty sure you’re one of the only decent beings left in the forsaken galaxy,” he huffed as you finished one section of the roof. You stood up and dusted your hands on your pants and held a hand out to help him up. He took it and with a grunt pulled himself up .

“If we’re going to be working together I'd at least like your name,” you said as you walked carefully down the ramp, Tusker waiting patiently at the bottom for you. You used him to help balance yourself after walking down at such an angle, leaning some of your weight onto him.

Paz seemed to have better footing than you did because he was able to walk in a straight line down, sending a chicken scurrying out of his path with a squawk of protest.

“Paz, my name is Paz and who has my clan put themselves in debt to?” he asked, though his tone was joking you didn’t miss the thinly veiled threat behind his words. You knew that anyone who messed with the clan had to answer to this blue mountain.

“Y/N, and don’t consider it debt, consider it an exchange with delayed payment,” you teased slightly as you heard your son’s scream getting closer. You pivoted in the direction of Attila and had a blaster in your hand and held at your thigh primed before Paz could even react.

“ZAZAAAA,” he cried as he launched himself into your legs. You nearly toppled over but a strong hand on your back kept you upright and a quick glance in the corner of your eyes proved that it was Paz who kept you upright.

“What is it, my little womp rat? Don’t tell me you were up to your antics again,” You scolded lightly as you placed a hand onto your son’s hair and softly ran your fingers through it to calm him, bending down to be closer to his height as you spoke. Attila reeled back from you hold and lightly battered your hands away from his hair, running his own hands through to keep it in place.

“Zaz I'm too old for that, I just wanted to show you my project,” he grumbled, his eyes glancing from you to Paz who leaned against a hitching post. You blinked at your kid for a moment, forgetting he’s almost a teenager. He may love your attention most of the time but when people are around he acts like every other preteen, wanting to impress others. 

You only sighed and lightly shook your head, “sorry kid, I forget you’re older now, but what is this project you were so excited to show me,” you said. You stood up again and watched as Attila reached into his back pocket and brought out one of your broken blasters.

“I know you hate me messing with weapons zaza, but I read blaster repair and wanted to try it out for myself, and look it works again!” he exclaimed, holding it out to you. You tried not to get angry with him, he was intelligent for 10 and always liked taking things apart to see how they worked. But you didn’t want him messing with weapons until you could find him a mentor, too many incidents from a blaster being rewired wrong flashed through your head.

“You know I’d normally ground you for this Attila and you’re lucky I’m in a good mood, so let’s see how this’ll work out,” you sighed defeatedly, taking the offered blaster from his hands. You carefully inspected it for anything out of order while it warmed up, glancing at a few of the components to find anything amiss. It was when you felt a large presence behind you that you glanced over your shoulder, having forgotten about your guest.

“If you’d like I could fire it for you, the armor protects me better if anything goes wrong, besides I’m a weapons expert and I've been blown up by a few of my own projects,” Paz offered, almost shyly at the mention of his own projects. You gave it little thought before dropping the blaster in his waiting hand, you’d rather he take the hit to his armor than you in nothing but your work clothes.

“Of course, there’s a can up on the fence post across the yard that I use for practice,” You mentioned offhandedly, taking Attila by the shoulders and moving yourselves back a few paces. Attila giggled in excitement as he kept his eyes glued to Paz’s armor, your son obviously taking a liking to him. Paz nodded in your direction and placed himself in a shooting stance, lifting the arm with the blaster up as he lined his shot. With a loud pop you saw a bolt send the mentioned can flying several yards away, and Paz let out a pained grunt as electricity flowed through his arm, causing him to drop the blaster into the dirt.

You rushed to his side and placed an arm around him to steady the man as Attila stood stock still in shock. Paz leaned heavily into your side before straightening up and letting you guide him into your house, kicking the door open and settling the man onto your dining chair.

“Attila, run and grab my kit from the bathroom, then put on my electrical gloves and get that blaster out of the yard,” you ordered as you wrangled Paz’s glove off his hand. Paz seemed to protest at first but relented when you glared at him and removed the glove, seeing slight burns on his fingertips and his hand stuck like he was still holding the blaster. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a little shock, kid put too much power into the firing module and it backfired, I’ll be fine in a few hours,” Paz lamented, gritting his teeth and balling his good hand into a fist to try and distract himself from the pain.

You only huffed before grumbling about his stubbornness, “what I see is different, you have some nerve damage in your hand and if I don’t get some Bacta on it now you won’t have use of your hand for the next week,” you retorted. Digging through your kit for the bacta spray, pulling it free and popping the cap off with your teeth, spraying a generous amount onto the burns and surrounding nerves. You started to massage the hand, trying to get that bacta deep into his skin to better heal.

Attila came running in and set the blaster down onto the table, wringing your gloves between his hands as he stared at Paz’s hand, his eyes slowly filling with tears. 

“I’m sorry mandalorian, I should’ve listened to zaza and now you’re hurt, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” He sniffled letting a few tears roll. Paz seemed to relax and extended his good hand out to Attila, moving the boy closer to him so he could rest his arm around Attila. You watched on in caution but refocused on wrapping his hand in bacta infused bandages when you saw how Paz softened at the crying child.

“It’s alright little one, accidents happen, this is just a lesson that needed to be learned,” He soothed, rubbing Attila’s shoulder comfortingly, “Now you know to listen to your Buir better and that I need to shock-proof my armor better, I’ll be alright,” he continued. This seemed to soothe Attila as he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and nodded, scurrying to his room to curl up with Tusker to calm down.

You sighed and watched him until he closed his door, turning back to your patient as you secured the glove back onto his hand, “thank you for that, it normally takes longer to soothe him, he hates failing,” you said, watching as reached for the blaster on the table. Turning it this way and that to inspect it.

“I told him he can mess with blasters when I find him proper training, but out here it’s hard to find a weaponsmith without an apprentice already,” you lamented softly. Paz turned his visor towards you and extended the blaster out to you to take before settling back into the chair.

“I know what it’s like, I was the same way when I was his age shortly before I joined the fighting Corps, I'm just glad I took the hit and not you or the boy,” he explained, running a hand down his thigh plating. It drew your attention briefly, knowing it was probably a scar from a similar incident, but you quickly looked back up at Paz as your face started to heat up.

“Kid’s good I’ll admit with his limited knowledge, if you ever find him a mentor I think he’d make something of himself,” He added, before standing up and heading towards the still open door, pausing briefly to look back at you.

“If you need anything you  know where to find us,” he said before closing the door behind himself. A minute later you heard his jet pack fire up and you heard him disappear towards the bunker. 

You sighed heavily and cradled your face in your hands to breathe deeply and decompress from all the activity. Rubbing your hands harshly down your face before you stared at the seat Paz had occupied a minute ago. What had you gotten yourself into.

[trillgutterbug]

Fic Writer Questions!

tagged by @palamedessextus 😊 thanks friend!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

64! only five more to the magic number ayyyyy and then i’m legally obligated to never post another one.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

289,575 apparently??? which seems way way way higher than i ever would have guessed, wow. who knew!

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

31 on ao3, although that’s lumping, eg, all marvel subfandoms together. but i have a ridiculous amount of wips in all kinds of other fandoms that i haven’t/won’t post, soooo.... more than that! and i don’t want to list them all bc that’d be a long boring read!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

it serenely disdains to destroy us, a magnus archives fic that, i somewhat vainly note, has been orbiting in the top few top kudosed fics in the tag since i posted it womp womp.

concerning flight, because we all thirsty for thor/loki+gender and i for one support us.

untitled porny snippet (yes that’s actually what it’s called), because same as above. (i see u, kudos-to-comment ratio and i aint mad but.... i see u. all you dirty birds out there shamefully yet silently jerking it. kudos to YOU.)

an experiment in posthumous subsistence, a batman/joker zombie au i wrote fucking TEN YEARS AGO ALMOST. why???? why is this fic so popular?? i’m barely a good writer now and i sure as shit wasn’t one a decade ago! the terrible title alone should disqualify it from being read, but i guess the people want what they want. and what they want is batman and joker handcuffed together, trying to escape the zombie apocalypse  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

all good things, some stucky hydra trash party-adjacent smut regarding piercings. i stand by this one 100%, it deserves every kudo(s?) tbh.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i do, depending on the comment! i don’t think comments like “loved this!” / “thanks for writing!” are written with the intent to receive a response (or at least, when i write them on other people’s fics, i certainly don’t expect one). they’re like an extra kudo(s?), and i appreciate them a lot, but they’re not really an invitation to Discuss. whereas if someone clearly has put a lot of thought into a comment, or asked a question, or made some observations that i jive with, or just seems like they want to engage, then hell yeah i jump in there. love that shit. 

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i guess arguably thine own self, which is some hydra husbands abo. laugh all you want, it’s one of my fave of all my fics lmao. probably specifically bc of the unpleasant/open ending.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

probably moderation is a memory! since it, unlike 99% of all my other stuff, isn’t just total smut, and the whole point of writing it was to wallow as deep as possible in the sauce of giddy teenage infatuation, it got the opportunity to have an actual emotional arc (more or less). furthermore i could not possibly bring myself to break johnny lawrence’s tender little heart ever, that would hurt me far more than it would hurt him.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

i only realised while answering this question that apparently.... no i don’t write crossovers! which is not at all a deliberate choice, i guess a compelling enough one just hasn’t occurred to me yet! 

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

shockingly no! by some accidental miracle i’ve managed to fly under the radar so far, despite some of the really buckwild stuff i’ve posted. however, considering some of the stuff i’m probably ABOUT to post.... that clean track record might soon come to an end lmao.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

lmao. uhhhh. almost exclusively, and i guess??? all kinds? this is clearly a question composed by someone who does not write smut.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of, and i wouldn’t really care if i did. 

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah i think a few....? a number of people have asked anyway and i always say yes, so probably there’s at least one floating around out there somewhere.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have! just once, and we really made it count. it’s called a reptile dysfunction, which should tell you all you need to know. 

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

thorki, probably. i always have and always will come back to it, no matter what. it’s got such a ferociously timeless staying power and so much potential variation, i don’t think i could ever get bored of it, regardless of what level of marvel-exhaustion i might feel at a given time, or what tropes, kinks, or stage of literary pretension i’m at. truly the oh tee pee. 

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

ohhhhh all 836575927 of them, but. there’s this one thorki fic i started almost ten years ago as an experiment with a new-to-me style, which turned out over the intervening years to become my main style, and looking back on that fic, which for many years was a touchstone of writing-to-aspire to for me, it’s actually Not Very Good lol. but i still love the core concept, which is a canon divergence berserker thor au, but not only is it a somewhat inaccessible (admittedly less so since the deadpool movies came out, which was a hilarious pipe dream back when i started writing it) x-force comics crossover, but i wrote myself into a bunch of corners and have yet to dig up the energy to write myself back out of them! i go and reread it every year or so and think “hmm... maybe now...” but tbh it’s just not really good enough to bother! perhaps someday i’ll repurpose the best elements of it into something new.

16) What are your writing strengths?

man, it’s so hard to say. in much the same way that you can spend hours every day staring at yourself in a mirror, yet be utterly incapable of picking yourself out of a lineup, i spend a lot of time eyeballing my writing, but stepping back it seems like a chaotic mass of nonsense with few cohesive throughlines. i’m good at writing smut, i know that much! and in that vein, i think i am good at smut bc i am very good at committing to the bit, as it were. getting into the nitty gritty of experience and sensation (physical or emotional) and rendering largely abstract internal concepts in fairly comprehensible ways. i think my prose is quite decent on a sentence level too.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

utterly incapable of finishing anything! or plotting anything! can’t mange a cohesive emotional arc! write myself into overly structured corners or out onto a vast plain with no structure in sight! all the macro elements of storytelling totally elude me, which is very frustrating when i have all this tasty fleshed out micro-level character stuff, but no narrative skeleton upon which to drape it.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?   don’t! unless you are very sure you know what you’re doing, and the other language bits are a) very few, b) easily contextually understood, and c) actually adding something other than a weird flex that you know google translate exists.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

11yo me wrote spock/kirk/janice rand and thought she invented the concept of a threesome. brand been stronk since day one 🤘. (the vulcan salute is right next to the devil horns in my emoji list, so....)

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

i love the (ongoing) better with you series very much, not least because i’m still absolutely flabbergasted that i wrote something that long. i think it’s actually pretty good all things considered and it’s very dear to me on many many levels. but the fic that i just viscerally adore, that i love the style of, and that i had such a transcendent, invigorating, organic Experience writing, is temper its strength, adding honey until quite cold, which is a terror fic with the inexplicable pairing of edward little/hartnell, featuring crossdressing and gender stuff. it just burst out of me fully formed one day and i don’t think i’ve managed to top it yet! 

lowkey tagging @lingua-mortua @pitcherplant @kaasknot @froggy-babyy @deputychairman @nomercyonlytears @clockheartedcrocodile

[chainofclovers]

@little-brisk tagged the entire internet a la livejournal, and I will do the same! Answer these if you wanna answer them. 

1. Name/Nicknames: off to a great start by refusing to put my real name here! however, my fandom nickname is CoC or just “coc” which makes me laugh

2. Gender: (cis) woman, lazy femme, lesbian

3. Star Sign: scorpio! i’m not scary but i am very much a scorpio

4. Height: 5′3″ (i’m actually a bit taller than 5′3″ but it sounds like I’m saying “I’m six and three-quarters years old!” to say I’m 5′3.5″. But I am between 5′3″ and 5′4″.

5. Time: 9:28 a.m. eastern time

6. Birthday: November 4. My birthday is pretty much always me being filled with election anxiety, recovering from election anxiety, or experiencing the day of a massive election. I do not recommend being born at the start of the month in which an unstable democracy re-ups itself!

7. Favourite Band: right now it’s The Weather Station!!!!!!

8. Favourite Solo Artist: Dusty Springfield

9. Song Stuck in My Head: hahahah “Black Rainbows” by Cut Copy because I used a line from the song to title a fic I wrote yesterday

10. Last Movie: watched I Care a Lot last weekend

11. Last Show: my wife and i are about to start watching season four of Dix Pour Cent (Call My Agent) on Netflix. it’s so good!

12. When I Created This Blog: summer 2014!

13. What I Post: feelings about fictional women and real women

14. Last Thing I Googled: “torrey peters” (I’m reading Detransition, Baby right now and it’s so good and I wanted to know a bit more about her!)

15. Other Blogs: I have a website and a tumblr under my real name. That tumblr gets no use anymore and hasn’t for years.

16. Do I get asks?: Not super often, but sometimes! I get asks when I request prompts or ask questions, and sometimes I get really lovely anon (or not anon!) asks out of the blue. I rarely get anything nasty.

17. Why I Chose My URL: because it’s the same as my (nearly) meaningless fic pseudonym

18. Following: 306

19. Followers: 1020

20. Average Hours of Sleep: probably about 7?

21. Lucky Number: 22

22. Instruments: lol, I used to play the clarinet and you should feel glad I don’t anymore. Haven’t since middle school!

23. What I Am Wearing: I am still wearing my pajamas, which are some olive green sweatpants and a brewery t-shirt and a grey sweatshirt

24. Dream Job: I don’t entirely know my answer to this question. My dream life is a writing life, and I have as close to that as I can without literally quitting my job in order to write only the things that I, specifically, want to write. And I don’t want to do that because my feelings about my day job exist on the spectrum of like to love pretty much daily. Even if I’m usually stressed out I am very, very privileged and blessed in my work.

25. Dream Trip: Mexico City but probably not until I’ve learned more Spanish. I’d love to go back to the UK at some point. And I want to explore more of Canada! Oooh and the plains here in the U.S. 

26. Favourite Food: homemade bread, by itself or with salted butter or with spicy peanut butter or with butter and radishes. i also love spicy food, especially thai curries, and vegetables (esp broccoli and broccoli rabe) roasted until they’re a little crisp, and lots of different potato-related foods, and the best thing I’ve cooked recently is salmon in a miso-maple glaze and the best thing my wife has cooked recently was this chickpea dish with greens and lots of cheese, omg

27. Nationality: american. womp womp

28. Favourite Song: "time (the revelator)” by Gillian Welch

29. Last Book I Read: the last book I finished was the care and feeding of waspish widows by Olivia Waite (fun book with a terrible cover, MAYBE IT’S JUST ME but if I’d written a book in which a fat forty-something woman is rightfully and happily an object of great sexual desire I’d be miffed if my book came out with a stock photo-style portrait of two thin women in their early thirties at most)

30. Top 3 fictional universes I would love to live in: 

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo because reading that book was like meeting new friend after new friend and I really missed them after the book was over! I gave the book to one of my aunts for Christmas and she told me she felt like she’d just met a bunch of new people, and it made me so happy that she had that reaction too.

I am not cut out for a life on the run but all the outdoor settings on the show Wanted are so beautiful so I would be willing to live there and aid and abet Chelsea and Lola if they needed help. I’d return to my own reality the second I met one of those massive Australian bugs, though.

I know I’d be so miserable but Battlestar Galactica was really, really immersive TV for me and I think I’m decent in a crisis and I guess if I lived in the world of BSG I’d find out for real.

[siempre-pedro]

More Than One Way

Din Djarin x Reader 

Request: Hey! About the request, I was wonderin if you could please write a Dad! Din fic? I haven't found a lot in the fandom and I really like the scenario. Just for the drama, you could show how Din deals with it when the whole thing is unexpected and it puts him at odds with his creed, but in the end he chooses to step up as a father? Idk something like that lol. Thank you so much!

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I’m not an expert in Mandalorian code but I did my best!! Thank you for requesting Anon

Requests are OPEN

Din stood paralyzed in place, his stomach jumping into his chest, and his blood running cold, standing in the middle of the green grass the ship landed on. The words Y/N spoke were muffled like he got hit hard on the head... but he heard them. "I'm pregnant," she told him, finally revealing the secret kept for a month. Her voice sounded broken, her confidence chipping away as he just stood there. The bounty hunter's body language was hard to read...he just stood there. 

Mind running rapidly, he speaks the words that became clear in his mind first, "this is not the way." This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to fall in love with her, a former pilot from Alderaan. He wasn't supposed to make love to her, his helmet off and her body pressed against his own. Fuck! He wasn't even supposed to be on this journey to protect the little green womp rat. 

His hands felt like they were beginning to shake, so he clenched them into tight fists, the rough seams of his gloves digging into the crevices of his palms. Y/N fought back tears, taking a step back defensively "T-there are other ways, Mando."  Her cheeks were turning red, the heat signature in his helmet becoming brighter. 

"I need to be alone," he stammers, turning on his heel to quickly retreat into the dense forest. He curses at himself in his head, how could he be so careless? The creed...his tribe was struggling, his clan... fuck he didn't have a clan it was just him. Him alone. Or at least that's what he was used to. 

The forest was dense, even having to take a knife out to cut through the tall leaves. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, but he needed to be far away. He was so used to running. 

Mando finally came to a stop when the denseness cleared and there were giant gray rocks in the center of some flat land. He felt like ripping his helmet off and flinging it far, the frustration was getting to him. Releasing a loud, painful groan he plops down on the cold rock. Letting his head lean back he mutters to himself "What have you done, Din?" 

Growing up with the Mandalorians, he never saw a woman pregnant...he never saw families, just foundlings like himself. Some of the other men in the tribe would remark about the women they were with on long bounties, and how they'd rather die than take care of a child if they had gotten one of the women pregnant. 

Perhaps that stuck with him, or maybe it was the trauma that resurfaced. What if he raised the baby, his baby and he died in a fight. His kid would suffer the same way he did, fatherless and alone. This lifestyle wasn't meant for a child, on the run, angry bounty hunters on their tail every time they stopped to refuge. 

What if Y/N got hurt or perished while she was pregnant? Din couldn't live with the consequences of the only woman he ever loved dying while carrying his child. Flashes of the horrible memories flooded his head, seeing the terrified look on his parents right before they shut the door. Din shook his head roughly, trying to get it out! 

Din had made up his mind at that moment! He was going to tell Y/N to go, take his necklace and she and the baby would be safe and he could continue searching for the child's real family. The green womp rat was safe with his force abilities but the one she carried was defenseless, he couldn't risk it. 

Getting off the rock he started to walk briskly towards the denseness of the green forest. A gust of wind picked up his cape and made him look up at the blue sky. He suddenly stopped walking, like his feet were glued to the floor...there were more thoughts, more like a vision, floating into his mind.

They were so vivid, just staring into the large leaves he saw these flashes. There was a child, a girl that had the beauty of her mother and the dark hair of her father, Mando was teaching her how to shoot a blaster. His hand pressed on her back to make sure she wouldn't fall. Her face lit up when she shot the metal cup. Din cheers and hugs her close, proud of his little one. 

There was another flash, one of a boy and the green child playing near the river, trying to catch the frogs that jumped away from them. Din shook his head and took a step back, he felt lightheaded from all the emotions he was feeling. 

"Daddy!" the voice inside his head giggled, it felt so real. Din's eyes opened wide, tears unknowingly fall from his eyes. Fuck. He had to get back to the ship! Nowhere in the code did it say he couldn't have a family, he would die trying to protect his little family...his clan. He would risk his life to protect them, always.

He rushed down the hill, pushing past the leaves, thankful he couldn't feel what was hitting him due to the beskar. He found Y/N sitting at the bottom of the ramp to the Razor Crest, her knees against her chest and he cheeks red. The kid exploring the flowers near her. 

"Y/N," he breathes heavily. Y/N's head perks up and he rises onto her feet, cautiously meeting him in the middle. Before he could speak she starts "I-I'm sorry, Mando," she sniffles. She looks down at her belly "W-we can go a-and find a doctor and they can get rid of th-" she's could off by Din's commanding voice. 

"No!" He pauses to lessen the boom of his voice "No," he repeats in a calmer tone of voice. His gloved hands reach for her shaky arms, trailing down to hold her hands in his "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, Cyar'ika." 

"You don't need to apologize," she responds meekly. 

"I do... I just needed to think and work through things," he explains "all I know is that I love you and that you and the kid a-and our baby are my clan." 

Tears flow freely from her face, her face lighting up in a wide smile "Din," she whispers happily, throwing her arms around him tightly. Our baby, she loved the sound of that! 

"I love you." 

"I love you too, Din...so much." 

They stood there for a while until he pulls away and taking off the armor around his wrist and takes off his glove. His hand gently touches her stomach, the blissful smile on his face concealed under his mask. 

[gemsofthegalaxy]

For the ask game, 37, 38

thank you my love <3

37. Talk about your current wips.

you know all about these sdjfgkhdf but my current two wips are:

(content warning for pregnancy, incl pregnancy as a trans guy [it’s intentional on his part but i can understand if someone still wants to skip reading])

One + One, the fic where Courfeyrac wants to be a dad and Enjolras, who would do anything with a friend, agrees to help him in babymaking. They start off with artificial insemination but then decide........ why not try the old-fashioned way and see if they might be more successful? I actually made it to the part where Courfeyrac is actually pregnant and I have some cute-weird “Shopping for the baby and having people be like ‘awh youre such cute dads’ and Enjorlas being like ‘oh im just the sperm donor’ until they stop trying to correct people because it always makes the energy very awkward.” scenes planned out but i got stuck in a celebratory sex scene, womp womp

my other WIP is the Old Guard/soulmate au where Enjolras and Grantaire die on the barricade, only to both wake up and learn they’re immortal. However, Grantaire sees Enjolras get up before him and decides to freak out and run away, staying hidden from Enjolras. Meanwhile, Enjolras slips into a depression because of the fact he survived when so many (including Grantaire) died. Enjolras eventually finds out Grantaire is alive and is, at first, elated, and then, rightfully very pissed off. and Grantaire keeps running away because he’s a goddamn mess and now he’s hurt Enjolras even more which makes it worse

coincidentally, though, the part i’m at right now is after they’ve gotten together again and they are....... in the middle of another sex scene UGH why do i always do this to myself.

Who knows if/when I’ll pick either of these up again /shrug

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

okay most reviews make my day (i would say all but ive gotten at least 1 that was a bit rude ^^;) but i’ve gotten a lot of REALLY awesome ones that still make me smile so

I jumped to page 10 of my reviews bc i never delete my inbox LOL and found one I really love, on The Wedding Of Peter Nureyev from Fangirllogan  “

THIS WAS THE CUTEST FUCKING CHAPTER ISTG

“Can it,” Rita snapped, and Juno held up his hands.

“She’s been spending too much time with you again,” Benzaiten muttered.

“Hey, can it,” Juno said, and Benzaiten cast his eyes to the ceiling.

THESE THREE ARE ICONIC AND I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO MUCH AND YOU WRITE THE BANTER JUST *chefs kiss*And Juno just missing peter during the bachelor party is so sweet and pure and it’s perfect.And the dahlias and roses!!!!! Ahhhh such a nice detail and everything you wrote just gave me such warm happy vibes this absolutely made my night”

as you and everyone who even remotely knows me, I love being complimented on my characterization and banter because those are my favourite things to write~ 

thank you for the asks!! Send me fanfic questions

[big-ass-magnet]

Consider This ch 4/5

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Varric/Marian Hawke

Rating: T

Summary: As far as Varric is concerned, Cassandra’s been reading too many romance novels. There’s no way he could be in love with Hawke and not know it. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Besides, Hawke’s just his friend, right?

Right?

…Uh oh.

AO3 link | Commissions

@queenofbaws helpfully reminded me that this fic existed and that I should probably finish it womp womp. technically this is the last chapter! the next one is the epilogue wrap up!Thank you all for your patience.

Varric stared at the glowing green shimmer of the rift, straining to make sense of the swirling landscape behind it. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting. How long it had been since he turned around to see if Hawke was okay, and felt that horrible, sickening jolt when she wasn’t behind him. 

How could he have left her there? How could he have left without making sure she was with him? How could he just run off like that? Had two years been long enough to make him forget the woman didn’t have a single ounce of self preservation or common sense? That it was his job to make sure she kept herself safe?

The world was broken-glass sharp, glinting at the edges, every sight and sensation amplified a thousandfold. The smell of ash and blood. The shift of his armor. The smooth, polished wood of Bianca’s stock. The sound of his own breathing, echoing in his ears. 

His eyes were fixed on the swirling, sickly-green light, mind utterly empty save for the silent, desperate prayer to the Maker, to Andraste, to the Stone, to the fucking Creators. Anyone who would listen. 

Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Anything, just bring her back. Please. 

Please. I need her. I love her. 

I’ll do anything. 

Please. 

Hawke burst out of the rift, tripped over her own feet, and tumbled down the small flight of stairs, hitting the ground hard.

The crushing grip around Varric’s chest disappeared so quickly his legs turned to water and he almost fell to his knees. Instead, he lurched forward, stumbling across the gap to drop to his knees beside her. He reached out, grabbing her shoulders, searching for any damage that hadn’t been there before. 

“Hawke? You alright?” 

The woman groaned and opened her eyes. They were very unfocused, and it took her a few blinks before she could look at him with both eyes at the same time. 

“Not one of my best entrances,” she admitted, rubbing her head and wincing. He chuckled, the sound made weak and watery with relief, and stood.  

“Not one of your worst, though,” Varric pointed out, reaching a hand to her. The words came out calm and casual, as if they were walking down the road in Kirkwall after a dust up with a street gang. It took so much effort to keep his stuttering heartbeat out of his voice, he almost couldn’t hear her response.  

“All the same, do me a favor,” she said, letting him help her to her feet, “when you put that in the book, make it more dramatic.” 

“The book?” 

“The one about all this.”

The Inquisitor emerged with significantly more dignity. She stepped out like a queen onto a balcony to address her subjects, head high, gaze steely. Silently, she raised a hand, her palm crackling green. Every demon still standing in Adamant shuddered and collapsed as one. Behind Adaar, the rift snapped shut. 

“Like that,” Hawke whispered. “Make me look like that.”  

A soldier hurried up to Adaar, but Hawke was already slipping away. Varric followed, eyes fixed on the hand she pressed against her side. She was limping, and Varric felt an unpleasant prickle of fear. Dying tragically after narrowly escaping the Fade sounded like the sort of thing that would happen to Hawke. 

 She found them a quiet corner out of sight and just close enough to hear if the fighting picked up again. A low bench was still intact; she sat on it with an exhausted sigh. Looking up at him, she smiled and patted the seat beside her. 

Instead, he reached out and touched his fingers to the back of the hand on her side. He could see the blood between her fingers. 

“Is it bad?” he asked softly. 

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” 

“Worrywart,” she mocked, but let him lift her hand away. It was an ugly, jagged cut that had torn through her armor, but it was shallow, and had already stopped bleeding. All the same…

“You should take that to a healer.” 

“I was planning on letting it fester,” she said, sarcastically.  

He looked up into her eyes, and whatever she saw startled her into silence. 

“You had me worried there for a minute,” he said. He meant it to be a joke, but he meant it, and he knew she heard it. “Thought I was going to lose you.” 

The words danced on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out. Maker, he wanted to say it. Should say it. He could have lost the chance forever, and now would be the time to say it. An expression flashed across Hawke’s face, so quick he couldn’t tell what it was. Anxiety, maybe? Guilt? 

He was still holding her hand; she shifted her grip and held on tightly. Her eyes searched his face for something.  

“Varric, I…” 

He waited, not daring to imagine what she might be about to say. Hawke struggled for a moment...and then gave him a weak smile. With one last squeeze, she dropped his hand. 

“I couldn’t leave my trusty dwarf behind,” she said. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.” 

He felt his lips quirk up into a smile. 

“Are you kidding? You’re the one who gets herself into trouble just by waking up in the morning.” 

“His voice like honeyed wine, golden whiskey, the sun after a storm. The weight on my shoulders lighter, lifting, laughing together like old times.”  

Hawke looked up, startled. Cole stood in the shadows, watching them both with those wide, pale eyes. Varric felt a bolt of fear. 

“What?” Hawke said, alarmed, at the same time Varric said “Cole, don’t--” 

“Hands touch when she takes the glass, ache in my chest until I can't breathe, wanting, wishing, writing a world where she wants back. You don’t have to be afraid.” 

Varric blinked. What had he been saying? The words had scattered like paper in the wind, and he couldn’t find all the pages. He looked at Hawke, who was wearing her own expression of mild bemusement, and felt a sudden surge of confidence. 

He should tell her. He would tell her. 

Part of him thought he should put it off, give himself time to plan what to say, to find all the right words and weave them together. Normally he didn’t have trouble improvising, but something this important needed to be done right. It needed a proper, well-thought out speech, a little funny and a lot charming, referencing old memories and new hopes, with perfectly crafted metaphors for all the things she made him feel. 

The other part knew that if he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve. 

“I love you.” 

Varric blinked. 

How odd. 

He’d opened his mouth, and the words had been spoken, but it hadn’t sounded like his voice. It had been a very familiar voice, though. And Hawke’s expression was rapidly evolving into a rictus of horror.

“Oh no,” Hawke gulped. “Oh no. I didn’t-- I wasn’t going to say that. I didn’t mean to say it. Oh no.” She hid her face in her hands. “Please pretend I didn’t say that. I’m so sorry. I’m so-- I didn’t mean to actually-- forget it, forget I said anything, just pretend I didn’t--” Hawke started to curl in on herself through the sheer force of her embarrassment, until her face was pressed to her knees. 

Well. 

Shit. 

That was unexpected. 

Varric wanted to laugh, mostly out of sheer mind-numbing relief, but he knew Hawke definitely wouldn’t take it the way he’d mean it. After all that time tearing himself apart about not wanting to be a burden to her and not wanting to ask for more than she was willing to give, and Hawke went and yanked the rug right out from under him. Of course she did. 

Hawke had switched from apologies to pleas for death from above.

“Hawke.” 

“I’m going to go back to the Fade,” she said, as best he could decipher. “I’m going to go crawl into a rift and let the Nightmare kill me. Maker if you are a kind and loving god you will strike me down where I sta- where I sit.”  

“Hawke.” 

She fell silent, but didn’t move. Varric tried to stay serious, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He touched her shoulder, gently. 

“Would you look at me? Please?” 

Slowly, she sat up and peeked out at him through her fingers. 

“You really don’t have to say anything. You don’t. We can just pretend this never happened and go on like before and you’re smiling.” She dropped her hands, embarrassment forgotten in suspicion. “Why are you smiling?” 

Varric reached out and cupped her face in his hands. 

“Because you took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, and kissed her. 

Now, Varric had a pretty good imagination, but he’d barely allowed himself to consider the possibility that Hawke might return his feelings, let alone what might come after. He hadn’t thought about what it would be like to kiss her. He was equally sure he wouldn’t have done it justice anyway. 

Hawke melted against him with a soft sound he hoped he remembered for the rest of his days, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her close and cradled the back of her head in his other hand. Her hair was tacky with blood and demon guts, but her lips were soft.  

It was the best damn kiss of his life. 

“Oh,” Hawke said, when he pulled back. A smile bloomed on her face, wide and wonderful, like a sunrise. “Well then. Aren’t I clever.” 

“Aren’t you just,” Varric said, fondly, and kissed her again. 

[beneaththebrim]

Out of curiosity what are your previous fandoms? Tho feel free to ignore this ask if you don’t feel like sharing.

That’s a good question!

This ended up being a whole-ass memoir, so I’m gonna put it under a cut:

Although I’m in my late twenties, I actually only (relatively) recently got a tumblr–my active participation in fandom didn’t start until a couple years ago. I think for a while I was a little bit snooty/edgy about stuff, like if I was gonna read something it had to be ‘real literature’ (with all the weird baggage that entails). But as a result I didn’t read very much, because reading *had* to involve significant intellectual labor.

Back in the day (HS & college) I would sometimes binge M/M fic, and would always come out of it at 3am feeling debauched and disgusted with myself (feeling like I was invading a space I didn’t belong in by virtue of not being mlm myself, feeling like being into porn of fictional characters rather than being in real-life sexual relationships made me a total loser, feeling like I was wasting my time by consuming ‘trashy content’ that didn’t live up to my high literary standards).

It took a while to unlearn.

But anyway, here’s a list of some stuff I’ve been into over the years:

HS:

The obligatory 9th grade vampire phase: The Vampire Chronicles, Dracula, Vampire Hunter D, Hellsing (I was Not Into Twilight, that was for the Other Girls :P)

At some point in HS I started reading world religious texts for fun. This has continued on and off until the present day. I’m especially partial to mystical texts. I’m still in the middle of the Nag Hammadi Library.

I was, like, obsessed with metal in HS. I would trawl through the metal archives to methodically find new music. I was partial to gothic metal, beauty and the beast vocals, the whole shebang.

The Sandman, and other books by Neil Gaiman.

Pretty much everything Alan Moore’s written (well, not really, but at least whatever I could get my hands on at the local comic book shop)

~the obligatory post-HS, pre-college beatnik phase~

College:

I was Very Busy in college, so didn’t have much time for fandom. womp womp

That being said I think this tweet sums up what I was like in college xD

Being autistic, I didn’t really learn how to socialize until college, and that’s the main stuff I did, racking up social skills, racking up sexual experience, making a lot of mistakes, exploring my queerness, recovering from childhood trauma by establishing significant boundaries between myself and my parents, but mostly being tired all the time working on my double major

Adventure Time (what can I say, it hits the sweet spot between my stoner and occultist tendencies)

Grad school:

I was Even More Busy at the beginning of grad school and literally didn’t have time for anything. womp womp

Steven Universe ✨

A friend of mine got me into Hamilton. I may have belted Satisfied in a bar in Vienna in front of a bunch of drunk mathematicians.

I got into Yuri on Ice a year after it came out, in my third year of grad school, and it Awakened something in me

Then I watched all of Devilman Crybaby one day and then I watched Mushishi over the next couple weeks to come down from that. I started writing Mushishi fic after binge-reading tons of YOI fic. Nice, comforting, tiny fandom, perfect substitute for therapy atmosphere for a first time fic-writer

A friend of mine got me into the RPDR fandom. It’s a fun show with a lot of incredibly talented contestants. R/paul is transphobic capitalist trash tho

Oh also YOI got me into real-life figure skating as well

…And Then the MDZS donghua came out. Those first five minutes… drove straight to my teenage vampire phase. And so we’ve come full circle! 😅

But now, I’ve come to realize that my interest in M/M content was often… oh boy it’s a can of worms, but basically… well, I realized I’m not a woman and it can be deeply comforting to project onto fictional male characters. And, moreover, it took me several disappointing real-life sexual experiences to realize that… sometimes… getting off to fictional characters is a better option than random hookups (esp with cishet men 🙄).

And yet, here I am, again, a clown, on my “MXTX is great, but Priest is Real Literature” shit 🤡 We really do move in circles, don’t we…

[sroloc--elbisivni]

hey, do you still write fanfiction? ive read one of yours recently but it's unfinished and the tags on your blog imply that you have deleted anything related to it, however you havent orphaned the work so i got a tad confused. i think your a super awesome writer!!

Hello!! That’s very kind of you to say, thank you! I do still write fanfiction. I haven’t been working on anything in the past couple of months because I’ve been moving and haven’t had any spare energy.

I’m not entirely sure which work you’re talking about, so I can’t be more specific. I have.....six WIPs on AO3 right now, counting ‘Day by Day’ and ‘The Days that Follow’ as the same universe. (I keep meaning to adjust DbD so it’s separate works...) Two RvB, one DC, three Penumbra. I can’t think of one I’ve deleted everything related to—I’ve changed the tags for my long rvb AU crossover fic a couple of times, so that might have womped things up. Tumblr could also be refusing to show tags for something.

None of those works are abandoned. Some of them are waiting until I have more free time and energy to work on them, some are waiting for inspiration, some I know where they’re going but getting the energy to sit down and work on them is hard. Some have chapters that are started and need to be finished. I would like to finish all of them eventually! But fic tends to be low on the priority rankings compared to everything else in my life.