#the hunters vows remind me of the creed

[mrkestis]

Din Djarin - Hunter of Artemis

the moon - the hunt - archery

[rostovs-lover]

settle

din djarin x reader | a bounty, smooching, way too much flowery language| gender neutral | fluff | wc.1594

this is all flowery writing and i still haven’t watched the second season, so. also, researching for this somehow led me to a 2017 1D gangbang fic on ao3 so that-

hey hey, if you want some requests, i’d love some first kiss fluff with Mando??? however you want to handle the mask thing go for it, i just need some tlc from Din 🥺 if you wanna of course

despite how connected you are to each other, you and Din have only limited yourselves to mere hand touches. but he’s in love and it needs to come out.

     The Razor Crest shifted in the air, shaking the bundle of flower against the windshield. They had been picked in a small village, temporary lodging for you and the Child while Din tracked a smuggler from several planets over. It was calm and lush and green and you had been thrilled to present your companion with the little purple bouquet. It wasn’t much, small, half wilted, and tied off with a thin piece of sewing string from your pack but he’d taken it gently in his hands and vowed to put it somewhere he’d always see it. To always have a reminder of you.

     When all was said and done, the bounty caught, and you’d found your way back into the ship something had seemed different, more domestic. Floating around in an endless expanse of darkness, just talking. It was so simple, so innocent. Din wasn’t accustomed to the gentleness of domesticity, with his legs stretched out onto the dash and your soft presence floating around the cabin. He sat, still and quietly, listening to your voice, absolutely entranced. He had lived years, decades, on his lonesome, lone bandit doing as he pleased with a lack of regard to anything else. He could go and do terribly risky things. He could almost get himself killed and then thrive off of the adrenaline of living and no one would say a thing. But then there was a child, something small and fragile. He had a life in his grasp, something that would only flourish if he fed and watered it and gave it the right amount of love and sunlight. One lapse of judgement and suddenly the entirety of the universe rested right against his cold leather gloves. Gloves that did unimaginable things, cruel and incredible things. They smelled of blaster residue and guilt, payment for taken lives. He was ruthless until he wasn’t. Until he found a baby, alone, and saw a mirror, saw himself. It had softened him, reduced him to positively nothing.

     The child was all he vowed to have, the only thing he would allow himself to love. And Din refused to believe he could open himself to anyone else, refused to let himself have anything else that could hinder him. But Maker, if the body really was made of stardust then a constellation had to give up two pieces of itself for the both of you to be here, together, perfectly aligned. He had surrendered himself entirely at your first words to him, fallen to his knees instead of replying and from that moment forwards Din Djarin, the feared bounty hunter in all his hard, hand-forged armour, had belonged to you. His soul melded into you.

     The term “soulmate” was to be used lightly, and as much as he’d thrown the possibility around it wasn’t plausible. Impossible even, that you could be soulmates. Twin flames were more akin to what he felt you were. After one night in a murky inn, it seemed the feeling was mutual. As you’d pressed your hand to his, bare, ungloved, the only part of him you’d allowed yourself to touch. But it had been everything to him. Din had yearned for contact, and when the warmth from your palm bled into his something burned all through him and it still hadn’t left. You hadn’t left, you had burrowed yourself into his heart.

     Din sat back in the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, feet propped against the dash. You were talking about a book you’d picked up in the village. It was on botany and certain botanical environments in different parts of the galaxy. You’d known most everything in the book already but it was still interesting and it contained a new tincture. It had also aided in putting the Child to sleep on several restless night. A habit he’d picked up since you’d been the one to put him to bed, only going down with a story, regardless of what it was you were reading. It was something so sweetly domestic, pure and untouched by anything happening through the galaxy.

     Din’s life, from an impressionable age, had controlled by a creed. He had grown up loved and cared for but not with parents, he hadn’t ever had a textbook definition family. And in his line of work he couldn’t afford to be familial, let alone paternal. The child was accidental, at best. A cruel twist of fate had put them in the same path, The Child who owed his life for merely existing and Din, who was so feared that sometimes, the terror seeped into his own conscious. But you. You made him want to give up all the violence. He was willing to set his blaster down and never pick it back up. He would shed his brutality, pull himself from a rouge nomadic life if only for a moment more of this life. To be in love, to have a child, to nurture a family for himself. He wanted, so desperately, to have and to hold. He had also never divulged any of this to you.

     “Its late-” You paused to look into the dark space outside of the ship, “In theory. We’ve been awake for a while is more accurate,”

     “You can go to bed, I’ll manage with the kid.”

     “We have Din, you’ve kidnapped someone since you slept last,”

     Din scoffed, “Kidnapped is a little bit heavy, also incredibly incorrect. I do not kidnap, I get paid for what I do.”

     “Kidnappers get paid, I think that's the point?” You pushed yourself out of the chair, “Are you coming?”

     Din looked back to the console, “Fine, let me just put in the coordinates then I’ll be down, okay?”

     You nodded, “Make sure not to get us lost.” You gathered your book and the blanket thrown over the headrest of The Child’s seat before opening the doors to the hallway.

     You were settled into bed, pajamas on, afghan wrapped around your shoulders, and book in your clutch, when Din came down the ladder. He shuffled through the room, setting things in their rightful place, blaster under the bed, gloves on the nigh table.

     “I’m turning the lights off, is that okay?”

     You nodded, “Yes, yeah I’m done with this chapter.” You dogeared the page as the room was cast into darkness. The thick quilt on the bed was pushed back and the mattress sunk under his weight. There was a quiet shuffle as he removed his gloves, his helmet, and the rest of his heavy armor.

     He was warm, it seemed to radiate from him. Even as he lay a lifetime away from you, only touching hands. It was pitch black and his fingers intertwined with yours.

     “Did you see much of the village when we stopped?” You asked quietly, playing with his fingers.

     “Enough.”

     “What does that mean? Enough,”

     “I saw enough of it, it was nice, lots of farmland. Did you like it?”

     You nodded, moving to run your fingers over the palm of his hand. Despite how rough his line of work was Din’s hands were soft, all the years spent under thick leather gloves, “It was stunning, the baby liked it too. He really likes playing with other kids, he’s good at making friends.”

     “Do you think he gets lonely?” You felt the tips of Din’s fingers shyly prod at the delicate skin on your wrist. The excitement that bubbled into your lungs seemed almost pathetic, like a schoolgirl holding hands with her crush for the very first time. But you’d never had his bare hands anywhere but your own and now he was moving up your arm.

     “No, he seems content here, with us.”

His fingers were at the crook of your elbow now, pressing into the soft flesh and he almost seemed to tug at you, tug you closer, and you gave. His voice had quieted to accommodate the closed distance, “Friends couldn’t… hurt? Other kids to be around for more than just a couple of days.”

     You let one of your fingertips start to dance up his bicep, “What exactly are you insinuating Mando?”

     “It would be nice to settle in,” He gingerly settled his hand against the curve of your neck.

     Your heart raced and you crooned into him, a soft shudder rolling through your shoulder, “Settle in?”

     He carefully pushed a piece of hair from your eyes, “To be somewhere, permanently maybe,”

     “Like to have a home, you mean?” You reached to hold the back of his hand against your cheek.

     “Yes… maybe. Not necessarily, I mean not if you didn’t want to. Not… you but just in general.” He paused, thumbing at your cheek, “Yes you, if you wanted.”

      “Din,” You murmured, reaching into the dark for him.

     He caught your wrist, “I’m here. Right here.” And it was very quiet, practically silent besides the soft whirring of the engine. The air changed as he leaned closer, hair brushing against your jaw, “Is this okay?”

     “Its perfect,” You whispered back up to him.

     Slowly, very slowly, he pressed his mouth to yours. The stubble dusted against his jaw scratched your cheek as he tilted his head. His breath, softly flitting against your skin was warm and the hands your face made you feel safe, grounded. He smelled like leather and sweat and the freshly laundered shirt he wore. Din was home. He was soothing and familiar and home. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

     Pulling back slowly you looked up to where you assumed he was, “Din, where exactly would we be settling in?”

[disgruntledspacedad]

in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process. 

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard. 

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode. 

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress. 

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it. 

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned. 

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high. 

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense. 

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done. 

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire. 

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff. 

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront. 

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

[yoditorian]

lacuna- part 6

din/reader

once again i left my writing down to the wire and did the bulk of this today so that’s why its Like That, as always a huge thank you to my wonderful @brothersdrxke for being my favourite sounding board and reminding me i am capable 

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swears, violence/death/murder, reader has a panic attack if you squint (not specifically mentioned and only referred to in one sentence), angst and arguments, we got a little more explicit with the smut this time (with added biting), 18+ no babies thanks

Nevarro’s cantina is always dusty. Something that’s struck Din as odd for as long as he’s been meeting Guild reps there, since the planet itself is all humidity and sulfur.

“You know, I’ve never met a hunter quite as efficient as you are.” Karga smiles warmly, but there’s something about his tone that makes Din’s skin crawl. The way he drawls out ‘efficient’ makes him wonder if he means something else. He hopes he doesn’t get asked anymore questions.

A set of new pucks slide across the table towards him, and Din pockets all five of them without even really looking. An amateur move, one he knows better than, but the longer he stays under the new Guild rep’s piercing stare the more he feels like he’s being studied.

“They’re of your usual calibre.” Karga reassures him as he stands to leave, not fool enough to try and palm off any jobs that nobody else will do.

Though the pucks are heavy in his pocket, you’re the only thing on Din’s mind when he steps into the shadow of the Razor Crest. You always are. He sees you everywhere, welding the outer panels together, meticulously painting the orange stripes “because they’ll look cool, Mando.” He sees you every time he has to rewire the internal electrics, that smudge of engine grease that seemed to be a permanent resident on your cheekbone back at the space station, or with the top half of your body wedged in a wall panel and your ass in the air.

The memories of you building the ship used to make him smile even after the worst jobs. Now they just make his hands shake.

You’ve been haunting him more than usual. Every time he turns around in the ship he calls his home, it’s like he expects to see you tinkering with something in the hull or staring up at the stars from the pilot seat with your feet up on the console. Something the others in the crew used to scold you for, but never him. It was endearing, to see you so at home in control of a ship. Any ship. Like you could speak their language.

Din knows it’s because he hasn’t heard from you since you told him you survived. Not that he really expected you to after he didn’t respond.

He almost did, he wanted to. He stares at the comm for hours at night, turning the stupid little thing over in his hands like it holds the secrets to the universe. Maybe it does. Maybe if he had the guts to say something, to say anything, to you. Or maybe he already knows the secrets of the universe, the one that matters to him anyway, and he’s just too afraid to think about it. He doesn’t contact you, he can’t contact you. Not when he knows exactly what it is he wants to say. It’s unfair to the both of you to speak it out loud.

He’s pretty sure you already know anyway. He doesn’t need to say it, maybe he never did. Maybe you’ve always known. How could you not? He’s never been soft like this with anyone the way he has with you. He’s never made so much space in his heart for somebody else. There’s no way you can’t tell. He feels so much for you, so much, there’s hardly any room inside left for him. It must be so obvious. And if he had any control when it comes to you, he could pretend like you don’t make him want to claw out his own heart and hand it to you. It’s yours anyway.

But Din compartmentalises, the way he always has. He takes a deep breath and packs every thought of you back into the box and stows it firmly away in the back of his mind. There will be time to miss you later.

It’s the worst job he’s ever had. By far. This is one bounty he’s not sure he can bring in.

Cork Gyll’s smile is sickening when he sees Din standing in the doorway of his home. If you could even call it that. It’s more of a cave, with an improvised door of thin sheet metal and a badly constructed bed against the far wall. A small metal crate is tucked just underneath the bed frame, half concealed by a threadbare blanket. Not much else, not that Din was expecting much of anything. The dar’manda sits and regards him for a long moment.

“You were there, Beroya.” He spits the title out like it’s a dirty word. It probably is, in his mind. Din only nods.

He should stun him and cuff him and drag him back to the Crest to freeze. That’s what he should do. But it’s too intriguing. Their situations are too similar. Din can’t help himself.

“Why did you do it?” 

Cork perks up at that. Like he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to at all, like he thought he’d just be dragged back to the noble family that ordered the bounty to atone for his crimes. Crimes Din doesn’t even know the extent of.

He loved her, is the first thing he recounts. A dreamy look in his eyes replaces the amusement at fate’s cruel blow. Is that the same look Din gets when he thinks of you?

He’d loved her to the point of removing his helmet, breaking the creed he’d followed all his life, for this daughter of some Outer Rim noble family he was running security for. Cork reddened at the memories of her fingers tracing his face when he bared himself to her the first time, the second time, and every time after that.

But his eyes grow dark suddenly, an odd coldness sweeps the room, and Din finds his hand inching ever closer to the blaster strapped to his hip. Just in case.

He’d proposed. Of course he had. She’d seen his face so many times and they loved each other and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, the guilt of breaking the creed had been at war with the space he’d made for her in his heart. But she’d said no. She had responsibilities to her family, to the son of another powerful family on the planet whom she’d been promised to before either of them were even born. She loved him, she loved him so much, but her answer was no.

Cork had panicked for his creed, her answer struck him so terribly in the chest that he hadn’t even registered that he’d drawn his blaster until there was a smoking hole between her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. But that was the way. No one alive had seen his face, and he’d been declared dar’manda anyway. He’d lost his love and his creed by his own foolish hand in the space of a few hours. And now? He’d likely be killed for it too.

The raw pain in Cork’s voice as he recalls what he did to his love is enough to make Din accept what he has known all this time to be true. He could never, would never, hurt you for anything. Not even the creed, he was a fool to think otherwise. No matter what it came down to. He’d take dar’manda over being responsible for your death. He’d take exile and disgrace and whatever else they dealt him if it meant he got to feel your skin on his. Your lips on his. No creed or vow or religion could ever bring him the solace that you do. Duty be damned.

Din moves silently across the room with the cuffs, something tells him Cork will go willingly.

He is so very, very wrong.

Part of his mind is still so absorbed in the story, in thoughts of you, that he notices Cork grabbing a heavy wrench just a second too late. It collides with the side of his helmet, taking out one of his auditory sensors and leaving his ears ringing. Cork takes the opportunity to strike once, twice, three times, at his chestplate in a vain attempt to wind him. He winds up for the helmet again, but Din throws himself onto his attacker before he gets the chance. While not graceful or calculated, it does the trick.

Cork laughs as he’s tackled to the floor, a horrible grating sound in his throat. Din doesn’t hesitate to pull his blaster and fire. The other man flops, lifeless, beneath him. The puck said taking him alive was preferable, but somehow Din’s not sure they’ll mind.

The wrench is still clasped in Cork’s hand, old and rusted but oddly familiar. A Mythosaur skull is carved into the base of the handle, and he knows. He must have taken it from the forge at the covert and stashed it before his exile, suspecting a bounty would be set on him. It’s no wonder the thing almost caved his helmet in. Din rips it off in the privacy of the room to inspect the damage, a dent the size of his fist in the right hand side and the auditory sensor is sparking. He’ll need a whole new one.

It’s as though the Armourer is expecting him, she never seems to be surprised by the state of some of the warriors who walk through her door. She simply directs him to a small curtained alcove and asks that he deposit his helmet on the shelf in the wall when he’s hidden.

“You should not regret it.” She speaks clearly, certainly, after he tells her how he sustained such damage. Din’s not sure he can agree with her this time around.

“He was a vod.”

“He was dar’manda. His crimes could never be forgiven. The vows you spoke for your creed no longer applied to him.” She places his new helmet, forged from the remains of his broken one, on the shelf for him to take. It’s been so long since he got a new piece, Din has forgotten how shiny beskar can be. His face stares back at him, distorted by the curve of the metal, for a moment before he finally puts it on. A perfect fit.

Green Squadron, you’re making your final approach.

It’s still kind of jarring to hear a droid coordinate the drop instead of one of the officers back on one of the rebel cruisers. Just something you’ll have to get used to, you suppose.

Three loud beeps sound from your dashboard and you flick the correct switches to drop out of hyperspace in perfect synchronisation with the rest of the team. The two cadets on this particular training session are a little shaky, but they come back into formation once they’ve reoriented. Until another ship appears out of nowhere, uncomfortably close to your left hand side. The squadron scatters, cadets panicking over the comms as your commander demands to know why it wasn’t caught on the sensors. You’re about to echo the sentiment, until you realise exactly why it’s not running a beacon.

“Green Leader, I know that ship. Request a line.” Your heart is in your throat the moment you spot the mismatched panels, the orange stripes you’d spent hours making sure were even.

“You know it? You’re sure, Four?”

“I built it! Put me on the line!” You don’t mean to snap the way you do, but the longer he stays in range the more danger everybody’s in.

Part of you expects a fight, expects your commander to doubt you, but it only takes another second for your comm light to flicker to life on the dash. You can only pray you can convince him to haul ass before the commander gets antsy and calls you to fire.

“Razor Crest, this is a New Republic drill. Please proceed to a safe distance from the training zone.” You want to tell him it’s good to see him, that he’s alive, but you’re all too aware that every one of the team can hear you. Best to stay professional.

The way your name echoes around the cockpit makes your stomach flip. His voice is soft, like he’s surprised it’s you, the tone barely appropriate for the kind of company you’re in. You don’t look forward to the questions you know will follow this session.

“Razor Crest,” You can’t keep the urgency at bay, “Please proceed to a safe distance or we will use force.”

Stars, you don’t want it to come to that. But the Crest is pre-empire, something you’ve noticed leaves any senior officer more than a little on edge. Hell, you would be too if you didn’t know who was at the helm.

“You’d shoot me down for the rebellion?”

“I would.” You answer immediately, because yes, yes you would. There’s no question. The same way that you’re sure, if it came to it, he’d kill you for his creed. Duty is a far more powerful thing than either of you.

Din sits on the comm silently for a long moment, as if he doesn’t believe you. Or maybe he’s- no. You stop that train of thought before it can even leave the station. He’s not shocked at your admission. He would do the same.

Green Squadron remains steady in formation, but a low order from your commander comes over the team system.

“Lock s-foils. Prepare to fire.”

“Mando!”

Din flies out of reach and on his way the second he registers the blind panic in your voice. It would be beautiful to watch the Crest arc through the stars if you weren’t so fucking terrified you were about to be ordered to pursue. But the order doesn’t come. Instead, Green Leader starts leading the cadets through drills, designating you and Shara to keep guard.

A private comm request appears on your display, and you accept without hesitation.

“So, Mando?” Shara doesn’t sound amused, or excited like she might have in any other situation. She sounds worried. Maybe she’s right to be, you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

“Mando.” You confirm, but you leave it at that. She doesn’t pry. You’re thankful she doesn’t ask any more questions before you can do something really stupid like cry, or fly off after him.

You find yourself at the inn at Mos Espa as soon as the training run is over. Your commander can reprimand you for taking the A-Wing when you get back to base, a vague excuse about staying on top of your patrol duties has been ready on the tip of your tongue since the moment you decide on the detour. They could handle a few hours without you and your ship.

It’s unspoken, but somehow you know he’ll be there. And he is.

Perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed in your usual room, elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists. Just watching the door and waiting for you. There’s deep scratches in the red paint of his armour, chunks missing where it was intact before. He’s got a whole new helmet.

“Fuck, Din, what happened?” You wonder about the injuries underneath the metal. Whether there’ll be new scars to trace, freshly healed wounds to run your lips over in the moments after-

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Don't use my name again. Ever.” Even with the modulator, you can hear him force the words through gritted teeth. He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds in pain. You’re only more confused as he stands and starts to shed the battered armour, giving way to sheer, blinding rage at the way he sets the pieces down on the table so reverently. Not unlike the way he handles you.

“So I can’t say your name but you’ll still fuck me. You’re gonna make me call you ‘Mando’, but you’ll still take off the helmet and kiss me?” Your hands shake at your sides. You’re so angry. You want him to reassure you, to backtrack and tell you he doesn’t mean it. Maybe you’re too used to the way he’s always been so ready to comfort you, to hold you and fit himself into the empty space in your ribs that you know is meant for him. Instead of the gentle words you’ve come to know from him, he only presents you with silence. Silence and anger on both sides, maybe misdirected, maybe not.

You’ve always respected his creed, his Way. But you’ve never had to like it.

In only his flight suit and helmet, Din stalks over to the doorway with one hand on the side of his helmet and plunges the room into darkness. You don’t hear him approach you, don’t even feel the air move until he’s standing chest to chest with you, lungs heaving. The Hunter. 

Your forehead bumps into the lifted lip of the helmet when his empty hand creeps up your back and pulls you by the neck into a bruising kiss, although he’s quick to send the thing crashing to the floor and free up his other hand to grab at you.

“You don't,” He lifts your shirt over your head, “Know me.”

“No?” You reply, sinking your hand into his suit to squeeze him through his underwear. He growls, like he always does when you do that, and his mouth is hot on yours again. He has always known you, just as you have always known him. However reluctantly.

It’s a power struggle like you’ve never experienced with him. He’s pushing as you’re pulling and every touch is burning and biting, each determined to get your way. Somehow you don’t think there will be any winners tonight.

His every touch cuts you down to your bones, every drag of his fingers as he exposes more and more of you to the night threatens to tear you apart. You revel in the way he’s grabbing you, twisting and turning you just to his liking, and find you don’t miss the softness one bit. Not right now. Your blood still boils at how he’s stepped back from you, revoked the one thing of his you thought you had. Although maybe you never really had it in the first place. 

You don’t give in, you can’t. He’s got you pinned against the bed, smug smile pressed into your neck at your breathlessness, and you sink your teeth into his shoulder. He tastes like salt and metal and you lose yourself in the deep groan that rumbles through him.

Din’s sure you’re trying to break him and, honestly, you’re well on your way to succeeding. Taking him apart piece by piece and leaving him shattered for treating you the way he has. He deserves it. Although he’d argue this is certainly a humane way to exact your revenge. Every touch, every moan and squeal and bite, sends another crack spider webbing through his guard. He’s done pretending every time is the last time, you’ve settled so deep in his heart he’s not sure he could ever dig you out. 

It’s later, in the dark and quiet, when the anger and desperation has faded that you whisper.

“I know you better than I know myself.”

And for a moment, he can pretend that you’re right.

-

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[blazehedgehog]

Do you feel like dinosaurs are severely under utilized in video games? What video game has the best use of dinosaurs? I was discussing this with a friend and he says Dino Crisis has the best use of dinosaurs - and the more I think about it the more I'm inclined to agree. Sure, Jurassic World Evolution technically has "better" dinosaurs in it, but Dino Crisis uses their dinos more effectively-I suppose trespasser could rank if it wasn't so janky, but I can't really think of other games that rank.

It’s funny, because since you sent this in, a new dinosaur game was just announced called “Second Extinction.” But, honestly, it doesn’t look that interesting to me -- it’s reminding me a lot of Primal Carnage, which started its life as an Unreal Tournament 2004 mod called Jurassic Rage. It was basically just a wave-based survival game against dinosaurs and... it LOOKED really cool in screenshots, but it was really boring in practice.

They tried to add a mode that turned it in to Left 4 Dead But With Dinosaurs but even that wasn’t great. Half the problem was there wasn’t any bot support at all, so when the servers emptied out the game was basically unplayable. That, and even in the Left-4-Dead-esque mode, maps were still arena based.

Anyway, Second Extinction gives me big vibes like that. That and it reminds me of Evolve. I’m probably being too judgmental this early on, given it was just one trailer, but something about what was shown in the trailer is causing my interest to bounce off super hard.

But yeah, this is something I’ve wondered a lot, over the years. There was a period of time in the mid 90′s where Jurassic Park made dinosaurs in to the biggest thing on earth and yet even back then, there weren’t a lot of games that had dinosaurs in them. You had a few games based on licenses like We’re Back and Jurassic Park, and you had, like, Radical Rex. And that was it.

Dino Crisis was good! Turok was good! Carnivores was good! But somehow these games never sparked a wider interest in making games featuring dinosaurs. Even pirates, which I’d consider to be a body of work that was also strangely absent from games, is starting to come in to its own thanks to games like Assassin’s Creed Black Flag and Sea of Thieves.

I guess that’s the thing. There are dinosaur games out there. Your Ark: Survival Evolved, there’s an original dinopark tycoon game hitting Steam soon called Prehistoric Kingdom, there was Dino D-Day. But none of them ever feel right, you know? None of them feel like any of those three games I mentioned in the previous paragraph. It never feels like it sticks, or hits the right notes, or something.

I think about Trespasser a lot. Especially lately. I wonder what a modern Trespasser remake would be like. What it would play like. A few people have made attempts, over the years. There was one I was following probably a decade ago that vowed to remake Trespasser in Crysis that looked visually incredible but never made it to the point where there was any gameplay.

A modern version of Trespasser would probably just be a survival game, right? Like The Long Dark, or Miasmata, or Green Hell, where you’re stuck somewhere and have to forage for food and shelter in between solving the larger mystery of what’s happening in the story.

I also think about how Trespasser struggled to have “real” gameplay. They had a physics system, but all they ever got to use it for was puzzles involving stacking boxes. They tried to get in to having really complex artificial intelligence states for dinosaurs, but I’m not so sure that’s beneficial to gameplay. Does it really matter if an imp from Doom is happy or sad? Is there a visual language within the game that communicates that to the player so they can use it as a tool to influence encounter dynamics? If the answer is no, maybe it doesn’t need to be in the game.

And I remember reading a quote, either in the post mortem I just linked or elsewhere, that said Amblin (Spielberg’s company) didn’t want to make a game where you were killing dinosaurs indiscriminately. They didn’t want Doom But With Dinosaurs. The whole point of Jurassic Park originally was to NOT treat the dinosaurs like scary monster characters. They breathe, their eyes dilate, special attention is paid to their weight, things like that. He was really trying to make them feel like real animals, with animalistic behaviors. “T-Rex doesn’t want to be fed, he wants to hunt! You can’t just suppress 65 million years of gut instinct.” etc.

But I think Alien Isolation really hit on something important. Now, really, it was just building off of what was originally discovered in Slender: The 8 Pages, but it’s that vibe of being stalked. You were prey.

And I think that idea would fit in really, really, really well with Jurassic Park. A big focus of that series is how velociraptors are intelligent hunters. And that was even kind of the best part of Jurassic Park for the Sega Genesis, right. They went to great lengths to make the raptors in that game in to more than just disposable enemies -- they had a range of movement on par with the player. If you jumped in to a vent, the raptors would crawl in to the vent behind you. They were surprisingly intelligent and hard to kill.

So I think you could probably adapt the Alien Isolation formula to work in a Jurassic Park setting really easily. Dealing with a single pack of raptors could be a whole hours-long ordeal, and right when you’ve gotten rid of the last one, maybe you run in to a T-Rex, or some other threat that then begins chasing you for the rest of the game.

Maybe we’ll get lucky and Capcom will move on to a Dino Crisis remaster at some point.