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mari-monsta · 6 months

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It honestly really baffles me when people say adrien is a boring or simple character, I don’t understand where that comes from at all. Because I think the main reason he’s so compelling are his complexities, but in the same vein those complexities I think make him someone very easy to relate to. Like it’s fine if he’s not likable or relatable to everyone but saying he’s not complex is really just ???? To me. Just looking at how DIFFERENTLY he acts around different people and situations is so fascinating to me. Of course everyone takes different personas and highlights different aspects of their personality around different people but adrien is the king of doing it around the same people to the extent of which having his two personalities be the same is laughable to those who know him personally in his everyday life.

But it’s not out of no where, seeing his home life and the kind of person he’s made out to be by his situation it’s not hard at all to understand that he’s a person who is immensely self conscious. He’s constantly gauging others perception of him and whether or not he is “safe”. What’s more fascinating is the entirely different way this comes out in chat noir. Because adriens personality as chat noir is also deliberate to a certain extent but it’s deliberate in the way that that’s how he wants others to see him. He wants to see self assured and larger than life because in his everyday life he feels small and self conscious. The fact that this dichotomy is so easy to follow in his character but creates such a black and white image in his two personalities is so interesting!

Another thing I find completely fascinating about him are his high empathy and how that actually fucks him up more often than not. He’s acutely aware of how other people might be feeling and can easily sympathize. At the same time though he has a hard time understanding certain social cues and situations and seems very out of his element. I don’t think these things conflict at all. Adrien is someone who easily puts himself in other peoples shoes and can imagine and have sympathy for their situation, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to pick up on the social complexities of every interaction every time. Emotions aren’t the same as communication and when it comes to the later adrien works best with simple and straight forward interactions.

In the same vein because of his aforementioned situations he’s also a character who has a lot of repressed anger and frustration that has been building up for a very long time. In his everyday life, he feels powerless, small, and insignificant. He doesn’t have faith that anyone would listen to his thoughts and feelings and actually take them into account, because by all of his experiences no one really has. This creates a defense mechanism where he shuts himself out before he even gets to the point of sharing how he really feels. We see this really easily in his relationship with Nino. He loves Nino DEARLY, but there is something that we have seen in him constantly putting up walls emotionally. He won’t tell him when he doesn’t find something funny, he won’t tell him if he’s unhappy to do something even when it greatly affects his life because he is at his core afraid Nino will not validate those emotions.

As a result, all the frustration he’s built up from feeling powerless in his everyday life we see just. Randomly bursting out of him in inopportune moments as chat noir. It’s not that adrien is such a violent or angry person normally. But he’s so used to repressing and modulating his emotions regularly that when he feels somewhat safe to express any frustration ALL of the anger he feels constantly bubbling under the surface all of the time just suddenly rushes out, like a dam holding back hundreds of gallons of water. This happens repeatedly, and then as soon as he’s realized he’s let himself get out of control he immediately feels immense guilt and he stops the dam up even tighter. This is obviously not a healthy feedback loop but it’s fucking FASCINATING!!!!

A common thing that I feel like I see fans often misinterpret about his character in my own opinion is just how PRIVATE of a person adrien is. Adrien loves sharing his love and appreciation for those around him because he knows how it feels not to know, not to be sure of that affection. But in the same token, Adrien rarely if ever actually shares his real feelings with those he’s close to. He doesn’t like people prying into his life or his feelings and he is very private about most things. We don’t see him talking about what he likes, we don’t see him sharing with his friends his anger or frustration. And in the end Adrien is the one character who has kept his secrets most closely held to his vest. This is all despite being so grandiose and loud mouthed as chat noir. Even as chat noir, adrien rarely is entirely open about things going on in his life.

To me Adrien as a character isn’t interesting or compelling because he is shy or cute or sweet, but because there are a number of different facets to his personality that I can easily see reasons for and understand where his feelings come from. He IS sweet, but not without misplaced anger, not without repression, not without mistakes and messy emotions. Not without pain that we can both easily see the roots of but also have a wide spread variety of consequences from. We see how his formative experiences affect every aspect of his life even in ways he audience wouldn’t necessarily expect, but make complete sense. That’s so fun and interesting to me!!!! Let characters be messy but try their best anyways!!! Let characters hurt each other and try to put the pieces back together one shard at a time. People have complicated emotions that come out in ways we can’t always foresee or help, people make mistakes because of that. But despite everything adrien is a character who cares deeply for those around him and tries to do right by them despite all the rest of it, and despite sometimes not really knowing how.

It’s things like that that keep miraculous being an extremely engaging and compelling story to me. Most of the general things about adriens character are also things that I find interesting about marinettes as well! Of course the intricacies of her character are completely different, but the general hows and whys and complex motivations for her actions while maintaining the best of intentions are what make them both so interesting to me. So this is just a little love letter to adriens character because I wanted to talk about that and why I find him so engaging!

#I feel like I see people act like #oh adrien is just a white male character what is so interesting about him #when it’s. like. just a characters baseline identity does not . dictate if they are interesting #I’d also argue that adrien as a white male character that falls into so many feminine females character tropes is also FACINATING #BECAUSE he is a white male character #being a white male character doesn’t make a character interesting by default either tho obviously #any character should always have the depth and work behind their story to make them compelling no matter what #adrien is particularly interesting to me because of his dichotomy #but the same could be said about marinette #she deserves praise for being an engaging and compelling character just as much #ANYWAY. IDK WHY IVE BEEN RANTING SO MUCH LATELY.#THIS JS MY SECOND MIRACULOUS INSPIRED RANT IN THE LAST 24 HOURS

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cerastes · 3 months

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I've seen people before saying that, in terms of presentation, NIKKE delivers it better than Arknights in telling what they want to tell. And I still see this occasionally whenever people start comparing stories in gacha games. Looking at your post, seems like that wasn't a lie at all.

Right, this is an interesting topic for me, so let me give my two cents on this.

I would say that statement is generally true. Nikke's main strengths are its presentation and knowing how to leverage its strengths in general, but let's focus on presentation: It's story is nothing to write home to (note that I am up to Chapter 18), neither are its events (on this regard, take me lightly, I've only read three), but what Nikke wants to say, you will very clearly understand. It's good at telling its story. Sometimes the localization will have Localization Moments (Chatterbox is described as female in the first cutscene he is mentioned, male every time afterwards; there's a lot of clearly literally translated little expressions that make no sense in the flow of the conversations), but overall, even though you're looking at a story that in a lot of ways you've seen a lot of times, its particularities stand out because Nikke tells them properly, concisely, and clearly. Characterization is consistent, and there's a good amount of care clearly put into both consistency and overarching important parts of the narrative; a favorite example of mine is how, in the tutorial, if you pay close attention, you can actually see Marian's eyes glow red during her reload animation, foreshadowing something pretty important that happens with her later.

So even if the story beats are not particularly good or intriguing -- and sometimes, outright terrible, like in Chapter 18 oh god I hate Chapter 18 -- you at least can tell with clarity what's going on and why it's going on.

Arknights has the yang to the yin here, somewhat: The stories on Arknights tend to range from okay to great, and AK events have a habit of going pretty damn hard, either as a whole or at least parts of them. Sometimes, however, they have a weakness, and this weakness is that the actual story telling can be dense. Density is often attributed to good writing, but the truth is, sometimes, the text isn't advanced, it's simply clumsy, and the prose in Arknights is decidedly clumsy. But when you actually untangle the spaghetti of clumsy prose, you find some strong story telling, strong characterization, and topics you don't often find discussed in video games, less so in gacha. You kinda have to work for it, basically.

Something Nikke does good is also that it keeps its relevant cast at any given story beat low, giving it more cohesion, or rather, making it easy to stay cohesive, because Arknights can handle larger casts pretty well sometimes, but I'll be frank, the current main story has so many literal whos to keep track of that I'm supposed to be invested in that I don't really bother. I'm sorry, but I can't really feel a damn thing about Outcast when she showed up for a few scenes and then got nuked off by a contrivance while fighting some faceless nobodies we are told we should fear.

But on the other hand, Nikke narrative, again, despite its strong delivery, is still built on a feeble base for the most part. I only think of a few characters I care about in Nikke, because a lot of the cast is just fluff and Obligatory Archetypes (bunny girls, school girls, maids, etc), whereas in Arknights, I care about a whole damn lot of them, even those without events, because their files and modules paint a very integral and intriguing picture of them. Even smaller scenes in Arknights sometimes can have a big emotional impact, due to its extensive and well crafted worldbuilding and its clever use of its elements in every event, something Nikke cannot claim, because worldbuilding in Nikke is almost non existent.

They both have their strengths, basically, and it's fascinating to me, a writer, to take a deeper look at them.

#arknights #nikke

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dameronology · 3 years

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wait on {din djarin x reader}

summary: boba fett is a good therapist, and din djarin is spectacular at being nosey. the result? a much needed conversation. perhaps there’s a silver lining. {kinda based on this song}

warnings: angst, language, swearing, s2 spoilers

this one hurts a lil bit but i promise the ending is happy. enjoy!!

-jazz

The air between you was thick, not unlike the beskar that the Mandalorian was wearing.

It was funny, really, because you’d never minded the armour all that much before. Your ability to see straight through it and see Din Djarin for what he really was had been what made him fall in love with you, and you with him. Now, it felt like a barrier between you. Inches of thick metal and fabric, shielding him from the world around him. From you. The one person he usually held closest to his heart; the one person he’d let see his face for the first time in years. The man was hardly a conversationalist at the best of times but he’d opened up to you. Shared his world with you and intertwined it with yours. Built something with you that you'd both protect with your lives.

Now, he was straying away. Forever attached by an invisible string, but with galaxies and galaxies between you. Even though he was mere inches from you, sat two seats over, there was a chilly air; if your relationship was a warm, welcoming house, the atmosphere he’d plunged you both into was the cold winter’s night on the other side of the glass. You wanted to go back, to drag him inside and slam and bolt the door behind you. Instead, you were forced to watch through the windows, knowing what was there but never quite truly getting close enough to let it envelope you.

You couldn’t hold it against him. The last few weeks had been rough on you both, and it only come to a head today. Grogu had been taken by the Imps and the Crest had been blown up before your very eyes. It was one of those times that truly and wholly showed the difference between you and Din: you sought him out and he pulled away. You’d learnt a long time ago not to follow him. You wanted to. Fuck, you wanted to, but you’d learnt the hard way that it was a bad idea.

Despite the icy silence and ache for your kidnapped toad son, you were still grateful for the fact Boba Fett had offered his ship as transport and shelter. You weren’t entirely sure what his deal was, but Din seemed to trust him, and so by extension, you did too. Things were a little cramped in the hull of the ship, but there was a spare sleeping quarters for you and the Mandalorian to squish into, assuming he’d let you. You didn’t want to ask him, because you were scared of the answer.

Instead, you found yourself sat out on the dusty plains of...wherever the hell you were. Boba had parked the ship up overnight so that you could rest; it seemed to be some kind of desert planet. Not too different to Nevarro or Tatooine, but perhaps a little colder. The sky had long faded to black, casting a darkness over the sandy plains ahead of you. The chilly air was a welcome contrast against the stuffiness of the bedroom - it wasn’t even hot in there, just filled with some kind of inexplicable tension. And not the sexy kind; the regular, all-consuming type. You could feel it slowly etching into your frontal lobe, sinking in its claws and giving you a stress head-ache. Letting out a few deep breaths, you let the gusts of cold wind blow over your bare arms.

‘A little cold out here, isn’t it?’

The voice was gravelly and unfamiliar, but one that you knew belonged to Boba Fett.

‘Yeah, maybe.’ You didn’t turn around to look, instead letting your eyes stay focused on the distance. There was nothing ahead. Just darkness and sand. ‘Fresh air is nice, though.’

‘Or maybe the air inside is bad.’ He countered. Boba took a seat on the rock beside you, jokingly whacking his knee against yours. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Just...what happened today, I suppose.’ You replied. ‘We lost the kid, and our ship.’

‘You’re handling it better than your Mandalorian.’ He replied.

‘I don’t think he’s my Mandalorian.’ You snorted. ‘He’s just...he doesn’t normally deal with so much at once. I think he just needs time to process it all, you know?’

‘Perhaps.’ Boba said. ‘And do you always make excuses for him?’

‘I beg your sweet pardon?’ You turned to look at him.

‘Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’ve always been an observant man.’ He began. ‘I saw how you immediately went to him, to check on him, and how you fought beside him, yet he’s barely even looked at you.’

‘Ouch.’ You muttered. ‘You might be observant you but certainly do not tread lightly.’

‘My apologies.’ He curtly nodded.

‘It’s not always been like this.’ Your words felt forced. You were making excuses. ‘And it won’t always be.’

‘You know him better than anyone, or so I assume.’ Boba reminded you. ‘But don’t be afraid to remind him what he has, despite what he’s lost.’

He was right. Din could be distant, and he could be fucking ignorant without even trying, but you hadn’t strayed from his side once. Not for a second. It could be frustrating to deal, with but you loved him with your whole being, in a soul-consuming sorta way, and you knew he was capable of coming around. Your mother had always preached songs of love being patient and kind but as you saw it, it was frustrating, and at times the most inconvenient thing in the world. You must have had the patience of a saint to deal with him. He was just lucky he made it worth it (and that underneath all the armour, he wasn’t too bad to look at. It certainly helped his case).

You let out a sad laugh. ‘I couldn’t. Di - Mando already struggles to express his feelings and I’d only make it worst if I said he wasn’t doing it well enough.’

‘You know your worth.’ Boba said. ‘Only you can decide if he appreciates it enough.’

‘He does.’ You quickly replied. ‘I know he does.’

He gave you a doubtful look, one that said I think you’re bullshitting, but I won’t disagree. He was simply sharing his observations, even if they were a little much. But the man hadn’t had any proper social interaction for a long time, so you could hardly blame him - and he had a sort of wise air to him, like he’d been round the block a couple times. He certainly seemed like the sort of person you should listen to.

‘I’ll leave you with this: the life of a Mandalorian is complicated.’ He dusted off his knees, before standing up. ‘You should make sure it’s worth it before you fully commit.’

‘I-’ you tried to speak, but you were cut off by the sound of a twig snapping under someone’s boot. Why the fuck were there twigs in the desert? More to the point, why was that your immediate thought?

You both sharply turned around, coming face-to-face with a Mandalorian. Not a Mandalorian, but the Mandalorian. The one you’d just been talking about. The one whose heart would have been broken into a million tiny pieces if he’d even a word of what you just said. And, from the way his helmet tilted ever so slightly to the left, you figured he’d heard more than enough. Fuck.

'Don’t let me stop you.’ His modulated voice wavered ever so slightly. ‘I’ll see you inside.’

He turned on his heel, heavy steps taking him back towards the Slave I. To anyone else, his body language hadn’t changed, but you could read him like a book. A complicated book, and one that was missing more than half its pages and was in a dozen different fucking languages, but one you’d read a thousand times. Understanding Din Djarin was hard, and you’d only just begun - barely touched the surface in fact - but it was more than anyone else could say.

‘Wait!’ You leapt up, almost comically falling over as you rushed after him.

Sensing that his presence was probably not welcome, Boba returned to his seat on the rock, silently hoping that Fennec Shand was either a) asleep, or b) had enough common sense to stay the fuck out of the way of whatever was about to go down.

‘I swear to maker if you shut that door -’ you were cut off by...the door shutting in your face. Djarin: 1. You: 0.

You let out a small groan, slamming your fist against it.

‘Okay, maybe I deserved that.’ You quietly muttered. ‘But will you please listen to me?’

Silence.

‘Fine.’ You splayed your fingers out against the metal. ‘Ice me out, Din Djarin. I’m more than used to it by now.’

There was a gruff hmm from the other side of the door. Had he really just taken offence to that?

‘It’s funny, really.’ You continued. ‘Because the part of that conversation you didn’t hear was me defending you. Like I always fucking do, because I know that despite everything, you’re a human being and you love me.’

There was a small thud, as though Din had placed his hand in a similar position to yours.

‘But Boba has a point.’ Your voice fell to a whisper. ‘I keep giving and I get nothing back. Instead of letting me in, you just shut me out and I know you’re upset at what he said but for the love of everything holy in this shitty world, do not prove him right.’

It was a risky ultimatum, and not one you’d seen coming. Your chest had tightened as soon as the words left your mouth, because you knew that if Din stayed silent, that was it. You’d have to let him go; to accept that you would never get back what you putting in. Before, you were able to convince yourself that you were okay with that but maybe, just maybe you weren’t. Waiting around for something that had no guarantee of happening was like beating a dead horse that had no guarantee of coming back to life. The only thing that was promised was emotional exhaustion and then eventual death. You would have liked to have found something between those two waypoints - whether Din Djarin could be the one to give it to you? You didn’t know.

After a moment of silence, the door finally opened, and you came face to face with him. Like actually face to face with him; no helmet, no armour. Just a loose tunic and tired brown eyes, matched with lazily-shaven facial hair and knitted brows. That was Din. Your Din.

‘Can I just...can I just talk for a moment?’ He asked. ‘I have something to say and I want to get it right.’

‘Of course.’ You nodded.

‘I’m not hurt by what you said.’ He stated. ‘I know I don’t show you enough love and it hurts that I don’t know how, but I am trying. I promise you that much.’

You gave him a tearful smile. ‘Yeah, I know.’

‘I just wish that you could say it to me and not to him.’ He murmured. ‘I don’t want you to hold back on anything, ever. You can always come to me. Even if it’s about me.’

‘I get that.’ Your eyes fell to the floor. ‘It’s just that I know you’re trying your best and I’m scared you’ll think that your best isn’t enough.’

‘It’s not.’ Din’s words took you by surprise. ‘It’s not enough, but one day, I hope it will be.’

‘I don’t know what to say, because if I deny it-’

‘- you don’t have to say anything.’ He cut you off. ‘I want to give you the world. And I will, if you’ll be patient with me.’

You took every word as gospel as he said it. The Mandalorian was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. And to his credit, every promise he’d made to you before, he’d delivered on. You didn’t doubt for a second that this one would be the same. It wasn’t even naivety or wishful thinking.

‘I mean, I’ve come this far.’ You tried to crack a joke. You finally looked up from the floor, his brown eyes meeting yours.

‘I love you.’ He took your hands in his, words firm. ‘That’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry.’

‘Din.’ The words barely come out as a whisper. ‘Never apologise. Please never apologise. I just...it’s nice to hear it, you know? A little more often than every time you almost die.’

‘Are the words enough on their own?’

‘Yes.’ You squeezed his hands. ‘Because I know you mean them.’

Din wrapped his arms you, pulling you tightly against his chest. It was warm and soft, miles away from the cold armour that so often greeted you. He held you tightly and with a new kind of might you were previously yet to experience, clinging onto you as though it were the last time. It wasn’t - it was far from the last time. Rather, it was the first time. The first time that he’d spoken of a future with you, or fully promised himself to you. You knew you would get there one day. You’d just needed him to say it himself before you could believe it.

Din Djarin was giving you tiny little pieces on himself each day, and one day, you would have all of him.

tags: @meshlababy @bo-kryze @poestardust @aqueencomplexx @princessxkenobi @cosmic-rich @captn-andor @buttercup--bee @maharani-radha @kat-r-in

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin angst #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian imagines #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian angst #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagines #star wars imagine #star wars angst #mandalorian fan fiction #din djarin fan fiction

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flightlessangelwings · 3 years

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Can’t Deny You

Din Djarin x afab!reader (smut with no pronoun use, no y/n)

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, sex with feelings, blindfolds, slight cockwarming, mechanic!reader, the child being adorable, soft!Din

Thank you to @ollypopp and @we-can-be-himbos for beta reading for me!

The hull of the razor crest was quiet save for the soft clatter of the damaged blaster that you were repairing. The Mandalorian and the child were seated up in the cockpit together while you tended to your duties on the ship. A chance meeting months ago brought the two of you together, and the armored bounty hunter allowed you to travel with him to put your skills as a mechanic to use. Not long after, the little green child entered your lives and everything seemed to change overnight. A pair of unlikely companions became an unconventional family, even if neither you nor Mando ever spoke the sentiment out loud.

It also didn’t help calm your growing feelings for the Mandalorian to see him with the child. To watch someone who could easily kill anyone and anything handle the small creature with such care and tenderness was a sight that you wouldn’t trade for all the credits in the galaxy. He was always kind to you, of course, but to see him with the baby set something ablaze within you. You swallowed hard as you buried your emotions and focused on repairing the blaster in your hands until it was better than new.

Mando would be happy with this, you thought with a grin on your face as you thought about the man who unknowingly had your heart.

Satisfied, you set it on the weapon rack and cleaned off your hands before you made your way up to the cockpit. Your heart pounded harder in your chest with every step you took, and it wasn’t just because of how you felt about the Mandalorian.

The two of you had hardly spoken to each other in the past week after you and the child were almost taken by bounty hunters. You were a decent fighter, but you were no match for four big men, and they knew that. Somehow, they separated you from Mando and had you cornered in a dark alley, the child tightly in your arms. You were ready to protect him with everything, but fear still ran through your veins. Luckily for you, the Mandalorian got to you just in time.

The near brush with death was something you could live with, it was part of life with the Mandalorian. However, what happened on the ship afterwards was something that was on your mind ever since. And the Mandalorian seemed to not want to acknowledge what happened.

Quietly, you opened the door to the cockpit and you nearly teared up at the sight that greeted you. Mando sat in his pilot’s chair and the child lay curled up in his lap, sound asleep. He either didn’t hear you come in at first, or he didn’t bother to move as he stayed still to not disturb the sleeping baby. One hand stayed on the controls while the other cradled the child, and you noticed the way his thumb rubbed comforting circles on his side.

You stayed still in the doorway for several moments and just took in the sight before you. You wanted to commit every little detail to memory to look back on whenever you were in need of warmth or a reason to smile. A soft smile lit up your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. But, you decided you lingered long enough and you cleared your throat to get Mando’s attention, “Comfortable there?”

He turned his head slightly and you heard a short, soft laugh from through the modulator of his helmet, “The kid fell asleep,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. He couldn’t hold eye contact with you for long, or else the emotions he tried so hard to keep down would come bubbling to the surface again. Though you couldn’t see his face, he fought to keep his expression neutral around you; Mando knew his body language would give himself away regardless.

“I’ll take him down and get him settled,” you offered.

With a nod, he handed the child over to you and watched as you cradled him so carefully. His breath hitched in his throat as his gloved hands made contact with your bare ones for a brief moment, but luckily you didn’t hear it. Mando watched with tender affection as you turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the ship and he let out a deep sigh when he was alone.

Mando knew he couldn’t keep you at arms length forever, but he also had no idea what to actually say to you. The day from a week ago constantly played over and over in his mind, and although he was afraid for yours and the child’s lives, the events that happened on the ship afterwards were what dwelled in his mind.

It had started when you took the child to his bunk to rest after Mando saved you both from the bounty hunters. Though you seemed shaken, neither of you were hurt and for that he was very grateful. He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to either of you. But as he watched you set the child down and tuck him in, Mando couldn’t keep the rush of emotions in check anymore. As soon as you closed the door to the bunk where the child slept soundly, his hands were on you.

Mando knew from the look in your eyes that your thoughts matched his and before you realized it, he had you pinned to the hull of the crest. It was as if the balloon finally burst and all the tension between the two of you bubbled over and spilled over the surface. It was heated and heavy and desperate and everything you both needed. Neither of you had the time to fully remove your clothes, both too lost in your emotions and the heat of the moment to even care. You just needed to feel each other as you both came together.

Since then however, the Mandalorian barely spoke more than a few words to you. Perhaps he didn’t know how to face and deal with his feelings towards you. Perhaps you had the same difficulty too.

But you couldn’t take it anymore. You thought about that night again as you tucked the child securely in the bunk and closed the door. As you turned back around, you resolved that once you got back up to the cockpit you would confront Mando about what happened. If it was a one time thing, you could deal with it and just keep your true feelings to yourself. It would just break you if Mando shut you out entirely.

This time when you reentered the cockpit, the Mandalorian turned around to face you. The two of you stood in a tense silence for several minutes before you finally let out a deep breath and broke it, “Din listen,” you used his real name, which you reserved for private and important moments and he sat up straighter at that, “I know you’ve been on edge since…” you shrugged your shoulder as you nodded to your side. Even as you confronted him, you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words out loud. The melancholy in your face was tangible as you continued, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it and if it was a one time thing then so be it but I just…”

Din cut you off with your name, “Don’t,” he sighed as he already knew where you were going with the thought, “Don’t blame yourself. I’m...” his gaze dropped down to the ground, “I do care about you,” Din finally admitted.

Your eyes went wide as you gasped softly, “Din,” your voice was just above a whisper as you took a step closer to him. He stayed still as you reached out and tentatively caressed his arms just below the pauldrons on his shoulders. You felt him tense for a moment before he relaxed into your touch. As he welcomed your gentle embrace, your eyes stayed fixed on the visor of his helmet, “I care about you too. So much.”

With that, you carefully pushed him back so that his legs bumped the pilot’s chair. Most times, Din liked to be in control of the situation, but with you he felt comfortable enough to give that up and let you lead. Your hands slid up his arms and once they reached his shoulders, you gently guided him down to sit. Din looked up at you and saw the fire in your eyes, and the same feelings from that night a week ago flooded back.

“Is this ok?” you asked in a hushed tone as you knelt down in front of him and placed your hands on his thighs.

“Yes,” he answered right away in just as soft a voice as he watched your hands slowly move up his inner thighs over his pants. Din’s breath caught in the back of his throat and his hands tightened into fists as he felt himself harden at just the thought of what you had planned.

And you definitely noticed the twitch in Din’s pants as your gaze drifted to between his legs. You carefully unzipped and freed his length and involuntarily licked your lips when it sprang free. As much as you wanted to kiss and lick his cock, you wanted to make sure this was what he wanted still and you glanced up at him with a pleading look in your eyes. Din tilted his helmet down to meet your eyes and he cupped the side of your face as he nodded once. Neither of you needed words to know what the other thought, and you communicated so well without a single word needed.

With Din’s permission, you closed your eyes and leaned your head into his touch for a moment before you bent forward and placed a feather-light kiss to the tip of his cock. A shiver ran up his spine at just the simple touch and he couldn’t help the low moan that escaped his lips. Where the first time you were together it was rushed and heated, this time it was slow and sensual, and neither of you complained about it at all. You wanted to take your time with Din, and you knew that he needed the relief from all the tension that had built up within him over the past week.

You started by licking a long, slow stripe up his length before you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. You knew from before that he was well endowed, but to have his cock in your mouth was a sensation that you were not prepared for. It was as if you felt pleasure yourself from the pleasure you gave him.

Din’s low groans filled the cockpit as you bobbed your head up and down his length, and every time you moved you took just a little bit more of him in your mouth. When you pulled back so that just the tip was in your mouth, you swirled your tongue around the head a few times before you engulfed him completely again. Every time, the action pulled a moan from deep in his chest, and Din couldn’t help but move one hand to grip at your scalp as you worked him.

To be in your mouth was a pleasure unlike anything else Din had ever experienced in his life. From under the helmet, his eyes rolled back into his head as he gave in to the moment and surrendered himself completely to you. He whispered your name in pure bliss as he felt a warmth spread throughout his body the longer you sucked at his cock. Din knew that he wouldn’t last much longer if you kept going, but there was something else he wanted too before he came.

The Mandalorian used his grip on your scalp to hold you taut, and made you stop in your movements. Your eyes went wide with surprise as you pulled away from his length with a loud pop. Din froze for a moment at the sight of you on your knees in front of him with drool on the corners of your mouth from how eager you were to take him into your mouth.

“Din?” your voice was hoarse from having his cock down your throat, “Is everything ok?”

“Ride me,” his words were blunt and the tone was soft, but just commanding enough to make your thighs clench.

You let out a soft gasp, but a smile soon graced your face as you nodded and shuffled to your feet. Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, your eyes darted down to the floor as you shimmied your pants down. You could feel his gaze on you, and your skin burned as you felt so vulnerable in front of him. When this happened the first time, you barely saw any part of each other. But this time you both took in as much of each other as you could.

A thunk on the floor made you look up, and you realized that Din took off the chestplate of his armor so that you would be more comfortable against him. He held his arm out to you in a silent invitation, one that you eagerly accepted.

Din held onto your hips as he guided you down onto his lap. Immediately, you felt his erection against your pussy and you whimpered at the sensation. You felt his fingers tighten against you as you rocked slightly against his cock, and you heard the soft groan through the modulator of his helmet. You shivered and moaned as his length rubbed against your wet folds. As much as you wanted to close your eyes, you fought to keep them open. You locked your eyes onto the visor of his helmet where you could feel his gaze on you, even if you couldn’t see it.

He said your name like it was a prayer and it ignited the fire within you. You shifted yourself so that you lifted your hips off his Din’s lap and you reached down and pushed your underwear aside. Din took the opportunity and glanced down at your pussy and he nearly choked on air when he saw how wet you were.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Din couldn’t tear his eyes away from your pussy as he watched you line his cock up with your entrance. And he didn’t just mean your pussy when he said that, Din found every inch of you beautiful, and he wanted to take his time this time and savor every bit of you that he could.

Any words that you had in response were strangled when you started to lower yourself into his cock. Both of you let out low growls and murmurs of praise as Din’s cock slowly disappeared inside you. His head fell back against the chair as he exhaled heavily, but his grip never faltered.

“Fuck,” Din groaned.

Once you were fully seated on his lap, you rolled forward and collapsed against Din’s chest. The way he slowly stretched you out burned so good, and you never felt fuller. Without the armor, you felt the softness of his chest and you even felt his heartbeat against your head. You closed your eyes and smiled as Din wrapped his arms around you and just held you tight for several long moments.

You started slow and lifted your hips up just enough to hover over Din’s lap before you lowered yourself again. Both of you let out louder moans, and you soon picked up your pace. At first, you stayed against his chest and savored the way his heart pounded for you, but soon you lifted yourself up to meet his helmeted gaze once again. You looked at Din with half lidded eyes as you bounced on his cock.

Din savored the sight before him, but he found that he felt greedy for wanting more. He wanted to see more of you while he was buried deep inside you. After you pushed yourself upright, he moved his arms down to your hips once more and tugged at the hem of your shirt.

Tentatively, Din lifted your shirt up just a few inches and paused to make sure you were ok with it. Even while he stayed buried inside you, he still asked for your permission before he removed your shirt entirely. You smirked and gave him a single nod as you leaned back and allowed him to remove it completely.

In just your bra and your panties that were pushed aside, you never felt more exposed, and yet you felt safe and secure in the Mandalorian’s embrace. You stilled yourself as he ran his hands across your bare skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of your body. A whimper escaped your lips whenever he found a more sensitive spot and you arched your back when his hands cupped your breasts.

As Din kneaded your mounds, you rocked your hips again and watched with lustful eyes when you heard a low growl from deep within him. As you moved, you felt his hips meet yours and together you created this new dance of pleasure. You ran your hands across his chest again and you flattened your palm over his heart; you couldn’t get enough of how wonderful his heartbeat felt under your touch.

You were lost in the feeling of Din’s cock inside you, and it felt even more wonderful now that you took it slow with him. But, there was something else that you wanted still. Your brows furrowed as a look of sorrow flashed in your eyes.

“What is it?” of course Din noticed the brief look.

You sighed, but you couldn’t lie to him, “I want to kiss you. More than anything else, I want to kiss you, Din,” you couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice as you confessed to him. You did not want him to break his creed for you; you would never ask that of him. But yet you wanted to feel his lips on yours and taste him more than anything in the galaxy.

Din couldn’t deny you, especially when he was buried in your warm cunt. He wouldn’t dream of denying your request, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted it just as badly. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation as you gently grabbed onto his shirt.

The Mandalorian leaned down to his side and tore off a long strip of his cape. The whine you let out at the shift made his cock twitch inside you. He would have liked to use something nicer and cleaner for you, because that’s what you deserved, but this would do for now. Besides, he didn’t want to lose his connection to you just yet.

You waited in silence as Din brought the strip of fabric up to your face. As he brought it closer, you closed your eyes and allowed him to fasten the makeshift blindfold around your head. Your breath caught in your throat as your sight was taken from you, but you didn’t have any fear. This was the one person you trusted more than anything, and you would lose any of your senses for him in a heartbeat.

As you clung to his shirt, you felt him shift as he reached up and slowly removed his helmet. Din lifted it halfway and paused as he waited for a reaction from you. When you were still, he took it the rest of the way off and set it on the control panel with a soft thud. That got a reaction from you, and you gasped but remained still.

Din reached for you again, and you sighed when you noticed that his hands were bare as well. The feeling of his skin against yours was an intimacy that was unlike any other, even with his cock buried in your pussy. You knew how much it meant to him to be this bare in front of you, even with the blindfold.

Slowly, he pulled your face to his and placed a soft kiss to your lips. Din lingered like that for a moment and just savored the softness of your lips on his before he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth as your lips parted for his tongue and he wrapped his arms around you once more.

This time it was Din who started the rhythm of pumping into you. You met his hips with your own and between the way your bodies rocked together and your tongues danced with each other’s, both of your climaxes were not far away. He sped up his thrusts when he felt you start to clench around him. As he kept one arm securely around your waist to keep you in place, his other hand snaked between your bodies to rub at your clit.

You broke away for air and your moans echoed within the cockpit as Din worked your body like he had been with you a hundred times before. His thrusts became more feverish like they were the first time you were together and you could tell that he was close. With your forehead pressed against his, you came with a loud scream, and you heard him moan your name as his own climax was right behind yours.

Din kept up his pace until you were both completely spent and with an exasperated sigh, you collapsed forward into his chest. You heard the low rumble of his laughter as you nuzzled against him. Din held you tightly against his body, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let you go. Perhaps the memory of how he almost did lose you was too fresh in his mind. But you weren’t going anywhere. You had him and the child to look after. The ones you cared about more than life itself. Your family.

“You alright?” he broke the comfortable silence as he rubbed your back in a soothing manner.

You chuckled against his chest, “I’m more than alright.”

It was quiet again as you both stayed connected. “Next time,” Din started hesitantly, “I want to taste you.”

A big smile lit up your face, “I’d like that, Din.” Who were you to deny him anything?

Notes: So this idea randomly popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it. And as I wrote it, more and more feelings got poured into it lol. I love writing soft!Din so much too. I hope you all enjoyed this! Taglists are open as always, so let me know if you’d like to be added!

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando x reader #mando

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turnaroundroundround · 3 years

Text

Morimyu in Classical reference

So, as for the fact that music in Morimyu Op. 3 resembles classical music in both progression and musical technicality, it's interesting how it's possible to keep coming up with different interpretations after re-watching the musical again and again.

I've made a thread on twitter about this before, but 1) word limitations and thread will never be enough to list all that I have to say lol 2) I'd prefer to have a fuller version noted down, especially one that I can edit and keep coming back over and over again when ever I come up with something new.

Either way, I am still (lol) not a pro in music theory and music history as well. All that is written here are based on my very very basic knowledge on music as well as something that I've picked up (and discussed) with my friends after watching Op. 3.

What's the point of this?

Why is it important? Lol I always need this to keep myself from writing off-topic but anyways. Why do the music sound good (except for the fact that because it does lol), and what do they represent? Surely there must be, and there always are, other things that are implied not only through the lyrics but also the music, and the flow in general.

Apart from the lyrics and the lines, it's also quite interesting to have a close look at the music - melody and harmony itself - to see how they portray the stories.

Most importantly, the continuality. How did Morimyu manage to insert so many songs and still managing to connect them as a whole? And how did they use music to go beyond what's on the pages? That's the most important thing about musicals - beyond the pages. We don't see stage or anime doing so very often, as they mainly focus on what's already there, bringing them to life as close as possible to how we imagine things might happen.

As for musical, they have the music. They have the arias and the songs. At some point, a character starts singing, and other characters followed suit. They have their very unique way of expressing the plot, and they have the orchestra, the arias where characters get their solo song, and the duets between characters with strong relationships, and the ensemble which emphasizes the plot, and so on.

A funny thing about duets in classical opera, they're often meant to show lovers' relationship because of the harmony but can also use opposition and all to show enemies' relationship. And in SherLiam's duet it's just both of them at the same time - thoughts connected while engaging in a chase, a hide and seek game of mystery. We'll go into that later.

Back to the topic. Morimyu follows the main plot strictly, but also uses their advantage with music to add all the side details that wasn't told in the manga to create a "complete" view of the plot. It is always available for musicals to do something unexpected (like how we never expected Lestrade's puppet show to be a whole 5 mins long piece lol). And where they did that they added arias and duets, they allowed moments where characters express and developed their emotions as well as going with the plan (yes Albert yessss). Of course there's both a good and bad side to this all the while.

💛 The good thing is they went all the way to show us sides of emotions that we don't see much in the manga or stage, the sides of the story that all of them have kept hidden while focusing on their grand plan. 💛 But then it does get too emotional at some point, especially those who came for the plot and the mind games behind all of it (like me - although I won't deny that I had a lot of fun picking out all the emotions behind the music here lol).

Musicals can always go beyond what we knew. As for Morimyu, their music is heavily influenced by opera and classical music, and it's shown quite clear. There is live music playing (instead of the entire orchestra we have a violin and piano duet), and they have distinctive arias and recitatives throughout.

So thanks to that, it's also possible to use a reference from classical music to interpret their songs.

A Sonata formation - The Narrative Series of SherLiam

Yes, songs arranged and analysed with reference to a Sonata formation, especially in the way they progress through the play.

Some notes before getting into the point

1 - Sonata = a piece of music consisting of several movements - very often 3, sometimes 4. First movement-Allegro: With the quick tempo, introducing the theme of the entire Sonata Second movement-Adagio/Largo: Slow tempo, can be emotional sometimes, as well as leading more towards the final movement Third movement-Rondo Vivace: The ending, quick-paced and vigorous, leading the Sonata to a close. A Sonata always has a general theme, a topic. The theme that I chose to write about is Mystery - the Hide and Seek game between the Detective and Lord of Crime

2 - Aria and Recitative = different types of songs used in an opera Recitative: Lines within a song that happens like a real conversation, as the characters sing they are also talking to each other Aria: A solo section where everything else is a freeze frame, while one actor remains and sing their own song about their thoughts, feelings, etc. In this post we're mainly discussing the arias of Sherlock and Liam, and the duet between them. But there's also some mention of recitatives here and there.

3 - Videos used To make it easier to understand which songs I'm talking about, I also arranged them in piano. And also to have a listen at how they might connect. Just in case the videos beneath don't work (they didn't work on my phone), the three songs discussed are Nazo, Liam's solo, Kokoro no Rondo, all piano arrangements.

All of the songs noted in this section are arias and duets from Op. 3 - the Ghost of the Whitechapel. The additional "series" that Morimyu has added spreading throughout the play, Sherlock and Liam's narratives, which portrays both their emotions and the chase between the detective and the Lord of Crime.

First Movement - Allegro: Nazo(謎) song

youtube

Starting from Lestrade's exit after his puppetshow and proceed to the scene, Sherlock's aria introduces the theme of the imaginary hide and seek game that the Lord of Crime has started. The song repeats the word (mystery) over and over again with a continuous rhythm.

Ends with Sherlock just mumbling the word Nazo (mystery) and exiting the stage - no conclusions, just like a mystery that leads into further mysteries with no answer.

♛♛♛ In regards to a Sonata formation, this is the beginning of the entire piece. Quick in tempo, written in 3/4 time and introduces the theme of the entire piece - Mystery.

Uso ka Shinjitsu ka - Lie or Truth song

Starting after Sherlock learns the truth behind Jack the Ripper, wondering if Lord of Crime is a good person after all.

Now I had a really hard time thinking whether this piece should be included or not. For one, it's not an aria. It can be viewed as a Da capo Aria, a development section of the Nazo song, repeating the theme that is introduced, coming and going rather quickly. So, for continuality.

It also does not fit into the series as a whole, being 1) a recitative. The lyrics focus entirely on Sherlock's deduction and whether he should expose the truth or not, etc. so on. 2) The lines in here, unlike the other arias, are taken directly from the manga, so it's not entirely an 'added' element to this chase. 3) Also because if we compare this to a Sonata form, this doesn't really fit anywhere

However, among Sherlock's arias, this song can also be seen as an interesting development as I have mentioned above, so I've decided to have it here, still.

There's another thing about almost all of Sherlock's arias throughout the 2 stages - they never have a conclusive end. The detective's mind is always running, mysteries after mysteries.

Most of the other characters' songs ends with some kind of closing lines, and piano continues to conclude the piece with a strong end, and then goes on to start another piece. All of their problems in the songs are concluded. They made up their minds in some ways.

But Sherlock, his songs always end with him repeating the melody, a capella, and exiting the stage. Piano waits for him to exit, then starts a new song. Or in Op. 2's Mindgame case going straight into the next conversation. We never get to know how Sherlock's songs end, because they didn't really end at those points. There's a hanging sense of waiting for a resolution, a conclusion. Sherlock never seems to have his problems solved within the songs, they just go on and on.

An idea initiates, then something happens and he is once again in the dark. And he spins around within his own mind.

Screenshot from Op. 2. Even if we look back to his aria Mindgames from Op. 2, this song doesn't really have a conclusive ending as well. He just starts singing, the music stops and he starts shooting and going on, resuming the play. It kind of has been a thing for Sherlock's arias?

Second Movement - Adagio/Largo: Liam's solo

youtube

♛♛♛ The "second movement" - the 'slower' piece - of the series, Liam's aria lol but actually the piano part of this song isn't slow at all but ok. The other side of this hide and seek game. The "development" section of the sonata series, where we see things in a much more emotional way.

This aria is much richer in harmony and melody. Not only Liam's melody, but also the piano's part which plays a beautiful melody in harmony.

I recall an interview where the stage director mentions how the "orchestra" - piano and violin are representations for Liam and Sherlock. It kind of applies here, where his music is created mostly by piano.

There is modulation, emotions rising and elevating quickly and strongly. But the harmony is beautiful, overflowing and rich with emotions. The song repeats certain lines, emphasizing aspects within Liam's thoughts.

Unlike Sherlock's train of thoughts that circles with no destination, Liam's solo has a definite ending in harmony -> Even with all his emotions in mind, Liam still has a goal already set before him. He has a brief moment of slowing down, pausing and sung about his feeling, before resuming the story.

Leading us to the final stage - Kokoro no Rondo.

Third Movement - Rondo Vivace: Kokoro no Rondo

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Rondo formation: Rondo is a type of dance that revolves around a pattern, often ABA, ABACA, or ABACABA - where A is the ritournello ("meguri - kimi ni omou - meguru kokoro no rondo" section) that is repeated over and over with B, C parts in between. Rondo can also be combined with sonata form - this case applies to this song which begins with a key other than the tonic (Fm) before resolving to the tonic key (Fm) to put an end to the entire sonata series. For reference purposes, the last movement of Beethoven's Pathetique or the very typical Fur Elise is also written in a similar format. I also referred to Pathetique quite a lot when brainstorming this post.

♛♛♛ The "final movement" of this Sonata, the final scene of their "Hide and Seek" game. The song's tempo is vibrant and rapid, combining with the dancing sense, all the while strictly following the structure of a Rondo as mentioned above.

This is the stage where Liam and Sherlock's line interacts and reply to each other, as if in a real conversation - just like how the connection between them are now much stronger than what they had before.

In the ritournello, we have Liam and Sherlock's lines intertwining and chasing after one another, emphasizing the "Hide and Seek" element between the two of them.

The song comes to a definite ending, concluding with a strong tonic (Fm) chord. At this stage, there is no more question to be left open, for Sherlock at this point has already made up his mind to take the next step into solving the mysteries regarding the Lord of Crime.

Their imaginary game of Hide and Seek is coming to an end, as Sherlock came to a decision to take the next step - going to Durham.

That's the end of my first draft.

So far that is some of my thoughts noted down right after watching Op. 3 stream a while ago, with some edition made just now.

On the side note, at some point during my discussion with a friend, we also came up with the idea that a Suite may be a better reference. A Suite consists of 4 parts and a prelude, each of them having their specific characteristic. But we didn't go all the way analysing that idea, as 1) we couldn't find a 5th piece that can be added into the series. 2) Even if we did, the Truth or Lie song still would not really fit into the "aria" vibe of this series, as mentioned above.

But then quite interestingly, after a while, I've found another interesting fact that should have been quite obvious but I've missed for (lol) like ages.

The game of Hide and Seek between the detective and the Lord of Crime has begun ever since after Hope's case - that being said, ever since the end of Op. 1

And what is it that we have in Op. 2? "The Mind games of the Lord of Crime". The one where Sherlock went maniac rapping about all the thoughts he has and end up shooting randomly into the wall.

At first it begins like another recitative, but in the later half, the harmony starts to become more harmonious, written in 3/4 time flowing like a dance.

In that section, the melody of the piano and violin part resembles the one we have in Kokoro no Rondo, the Ritournello section, only that the melody of the violin in Op. 2 and the melody that SherLiam sung in Op. 3 are kind of reversed.

Coincidence much?

So now we have a collection of songs from both Opus, it becomes tricky. How do we connect them? And what's the story?

At this point, all these recitatives, aria and duets all in the theme of the Hide and Seek game. And they all connect to each other through harmony, progressions in harmony.

We know that the Mind games of the Lord of Crime has begun from ever since the end of Op. 1. We know that Sherlock keeps wondering about that in Op. 2, and then he wonders even further after he has been tested by the Lord of Crime. "また俺だけのメッセージなのか?" - Is this a message just for me?, as he wondered in the Truth or Lie song. We knew all of that. But Morimyu didn't let that stop them from emphasizing on this subplot even further.

They didn't let the gap between Op. 2 and Op. 3 stop them from making a smooth flow in plot either.

Correction, they didn't simply create a flow. They established a connection, all the while showing a strong progression of Sherlock's thoughts that goes on from Op. 2 straight onto Op. 3.

Very often, what makes a good plot is how their plots and sub-plots intertwine with each other. Morimyu has a main plot that follows Moriarty gang in the plan of changing society. And they have a smaller plot told from Sherlock's side of things. And they have this sub-plot told by harmony of how Sherlock is connected to Liam, or the Lord of Crime, by an invisible thread. A connection that is only expressed that clearly in Morimyu.

We have so many things going on, so many songs throughout the play. But each of those elements are all connected to something else, creating a sub-plot that enriches the main plot.

There is no loose connections. For everything that connects to the main plot, they're also linked to other elements. Each scene and every song has their own meaning not only in regards to other songs, but also to the plot as a whole.

Also, did I mention how Morimyu feels like a grand piece of music?

Opus -> What classical songs had that basically shows the order in which they are written. Morimyu - a title piece itself - has 3 Opus, 3 different parts with the same theme.

Classical music very often had all the different elements in it -> Morimyu had an overture, the song they sing just before the main theme song, just before introducing the stage. Then arias, ensembles and choruses. All of them are connected by similar harmony.

Classical music always had a big general theme, with each section having a smaller sequence connecting to each other. Subplots within a big plots. A Sonata piece has 3 movements, each having their own "sections" of development - expositions, development, recapitulation. -> Morimyu does the same to their plot and subplots, as discussed above.

Also, Opera reference

While Opus 2 used an opera reference to tell the story, I feel like Opus 3 has become an Opera itself. During Op. 2 the arias were mostly very loyal to the manga, taking their lines from the original work, like the Mind Games song. Their story progresses steadily but logically.

However starting from Op. 3, the aria became more independent. They developed and expressed even further what wasn't said in the manga. For instance, the 3 songs mentioned in the "Sonata" above. And there's also Albert's solo, and Patterson's solo and Milverton, which I haven't got the chance to discuss all.

But either way, they spring out of the original story, adding more emotions and "colours" to the characters. The aria became more original, all the while also much more expressive. We get to see new sides of the characters that we haven't seen anywhere before.

Anyways, it's probably time to go back to the main question: How Morimyu used music to go beyond what's on the pages.

-> Musicals aren't simply about music added to acting. The characters on stage don't just simply starts singing for no reason. All the songs are meant to express something, and while they do they also establish various connections to the plot's progression.

We don't get to see much of the characters' emotions in the manga. And we don't see much of the side story, the finer details behind each arc. Every time, Morimyu adds something original to enrich their plot. They express and develop what's already known to all the viewers, especially regarding the emotional and motivational side of the characters.

-> The manga shows us the entire plot, with details related, back stories that lead to the present, and all. But it doesn't give a lot of hint into how characters might feel. Surely, reading between the lines, it's up to the readers to interpret them.

But Morimyu gives us all of that, and they leave it to us to read between the music.

And even if we didn't, that's fine. Then the purpose of all of them linking together would be to create a performance where everything is connected harmoniously, allowing us to be emerged in the world of Yuumori.

-> The purpose of having a stage, primarily, is to allow the audience to engage in, experience and feel the emotions along with the characters they see on stage. The point of having a live stage, a plot, and the music, are all to let us emphasize with the characters on stage.

In Morimyu, we aren't just watching a plot between our favourite characters happening as we know it from the manga. We see a combination of mysteries unveiling slowly, the stories on the side of each characters as they slowly progress forward, as well as emphasising with their emotions in the story.

That's what I really like about Morimyu.

So, WHAT'S THE POINT OF THIS?

So I had to scroll back to the top (lol) to quote this and make sure I haven't gone too far from the main theme.

Regarding musical Yuumori, there's always so many things I'd like to talk about. And if I start going on about it then it only gets harder to focus on one single topic.

Since the topic here is Morimyu and their music, especially in classical reference, I've tried to keep everything I've discussed relevant. But whenever I start on something, there would always be something that comes to mind. Like how other songs might also have certain connections, or how they used stage directions and lightings, etc. I really want to look more into stage directions in Morimyu as well, but that would have to wait...

Anyways, I tried to keep this as simple as possible. When I sent the first version of this to my friends, I keep having the feeling that I got too technical with all the theories about harmony and structure lol

And once again, this is only some of my own interpretation of the series that I've picked up.

If something else came to mind... well. Either way, for the purpose of engaging in their wonderful music or for the purpose of watching a beautiful stage just for enjoyment, Morimyu definitely is worth watching. And to watch over and over again. I've said this for Op. 2 but I'll say this ten times as much for Op. 3. Truly magnificent.

And, that's pretty much it that I have for today, I guess.

Thanks a lot to all my friends who gave me lots of inspiration and motivation to complete this ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ Lots of love to @rikaaki as well ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

#Youtube #musical moriarty the patriot #musical yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #sherliam #random thoughts idk why #didn't mean for it to be this long but still just random thoughts I'd like to get down #still love this series too much although I feel like I've watched it too many times #harmony analysis I'd like to call it but there wasn't a lot of harmony analysis going on either #morimyu #morimyu and how their music is just extraordinary

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uponrightful · 3 years

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If this is greater than 500 or been asked before I'm sorry !!

But what about from Wolffe's POV:

“Please. Look at me.” Unencumbered by the modulator, that low voice sounded clearer than ever. Not even in her dreams could she hear that constant burr all the clones had. Especially Wolffe. Weakened by his command, she tilted her gaze up.

The girl broke into a loud sob.

Bi-colored eyes stared deep into hers, searching past her watery eyes with a fierceness that left her hands fumbling for purchase. On anything. Anywhere. And after a few seconds, her heart decided on his face. Her cries deepened, as she pulled herself closer to him. Burying her face to his exposed neck, all in weakness of seeing that beautiful scar over his face. She saw that golden glitter in his eye, and the soft expression she’d dreamt of over and over again. She felt the heat of his skin against her face, bringing her even closer to the lucid dreams she’s spent the past years of life in just to get one more night of feeling him.

“You found me.” She moaned into his neck, releasing fear-filled cries against him. She just hoped it was real. That he was truly back, and not under that evil influence that had terrified

her for so long. “Please, don’t hurt me again.” She pleaded, gripping harshly at the edges of his armor, pulling him impossibly closer despite her fright. “You found me.”

It was too much all at once. His smell, his voice, the sound of his heart, his arms suddenly wrapping tight around her waist as she fell further into him. She remembered that strength, holding her in the early morning hours, securing her to his bare chest like there was nowhere in the galaxy he’d rather be. Protecting her, and silently loving her even while asleep. Now, down on her knees in the snow, it was all she could do to hold onto him. All she knew was that she’d found him. And whatever it was telling her she was safe, this time she was certain she could trust it. Hearing him say speak so softly… it was all she could take.

“I found you Wolffe.”

Their reunion just really got me 😍

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*Send one in here*

Oh my 🤍🤍 This one makes me so happy 😍😍 Let's get into it!

***

Wolffe hadn't heard Mando'a apart from Rex for years. And even then, Rex wasn't the most habitual with it. Only muttered phrases, or using it as a reassurance of sensitive information when they weren't sure who was listening in. Being Bounty Hunters meant that the pair heard a lot of languages, but nothing sounded quite like Mando'a. They'd met thousands of people traversing the galaxy hunting targets for petty pay-outs, all of them with particular voices, and lilts that set them apart from everyone else. But... there was one voice that Wolffe wanted to hear so badly, listening for her everywhere, all the time.

So when he heard that sweet voice, that soft burr of Mando'a, Wolffe felt like the entire galaxy has stopped spinning. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he felt fearful that it was just another false alarm. That his mind was playing another cruel trick on him for being so kriffing hopeful all this time. But he couldn't chance it, and turned around to see his entire world standing right there before him like she'd never left. Wolffe had spent so long looking that actually seeing Pup felt like a dream. There was a mirage-like effect that kept him from speaking her name, or even realizing that his appearance was probably not a welcome one.

He tried to say something... anything. But nothing but a failed choke could be heard over the blustering snow and wind around them. He saw her flinch, the way her whole body shied away from him then. In that moment he recognized a shocking fear; One that came from seeing a man in armor, and of what they could do when their mind wasn't their own. Wolffe didn't know what to do. He did want to keep her from running, but by the way things were going already, his chances didn't look good. He opened his mouth to try and speak again, but before he could get anything out she utterly collapsed.

"Please don't hurt me."

It cuts Wolffe down to the bone to hear her say those words. They echo painfully in his mind and he feels the weight of his incompetence and broken promises to her fall in a fiery crash all around him. All he ever wanted was to keep her safe... Protect her from the things he'd spent his whole life fighting to ignore and suffering through nightmares because of. Her cries were painful, and attacking his heart in a way that was too excruciating to ignore. Wolffe knew he'd been absent, and he blamed himself wholly, but he couldn't resist from trying to reassure her that he wanted nothing more than to hold her again.

Note: Wolffe is a man of action. He's not good with words, and often they just fail him completely. And when I drafted the first cut of this chapter, I didn't use Wolffe's point of view because I wanted to focus on Pup's first sight of a clone in general. I wanted you to experience that fear alongside her, and although you knew it was Wolffe all along, she doesn't know that. And even if her mind had allowed for it, she still would've been wholly fearful of him anyways.

Note: Wolffe's blame isn't well-founded. He has a skewed idea of what is really his fault and what isn't because he remembers everything he did under the influence of his inhibitor chip. Although he couldn't fight it, Wolffe still holds himself to such a high standard that he honestly believes that he just wasn't good enough to fight against it. This is part of his weakness as a character, and more so as a man in general. He thinks strength is something he has to possess all the time; That showing weakness is a sign of his inability to perform the tasks he was created for. (And aside from loving Pup, Wolffe is very harsh on himself when that standard isn't upheld to the fullest.)

Every movement was deliberately slow. Wolffe could see her terror, and for once in his life, he thought that maybe showing her his face might be the only thing that would put someone at ease. The one part of him that he hated most was the only proof that he was still the man she'd been so kind to love in the first place. The same scar and eye that Pup had so softly fawned over, and loved like it had always been a part of him. Her eyes were bloodshot and overflowing with fat and heavy tears, darting everywhere but at his visor... It broke his heart, and he wanted to help it stop, but she needed this to be done right. And that meant slowly. The second she shied away, Wolffe felt the first pinch of his own emotion beginning to take over. His chest burned and pressure started building behind his eyes. His baby... His precious girl was so terrified that she couldn't bear it.

"Please. Look at me."

Wolffe knew his voice wasn't enough. And his plead was desperate, begging for her to take a chance that she had every right to ignore. But something in him was adamant. Maybe it was knowing that he was this close and it was up to her to decide whether this could go any further, or maybe Wolffe just needed to see her face again. It'd been so long, and he'd not forgotten a single detail, but there was nothing that compared to seeing her somewhere other than his dreams.

It was instant recognition, and Wolffe was utterly torn apart with relief when she lurched towards him. It was galaxy-shattering to feel her hands on him, and see that fear instantly transition into shock that matched his own. Her fingers were frozen, and Wolffe finally began to take in the first signs that Pup was actually not in the best health in that moment. But he couldn't pay proper attention to it with her cold nose and hot panting breath fanning his neck.

She's really here. I can hold her again. I don't have to keep looking anymore... hurting anymore. She's safe. My baby is right where she belongs.

"You found me."

He's been trying not to move too fast, but she's holding onto him too tight; Practically climbing into his lap to get closer. And Wolffe is a patient man, but he can't resist from wrapping his arms around her and hauling her as tight to his chest as he can. She's fucking shaking, from the immense fear and shock, but from this nasty weather that's made her coat almost rock-hard from frozen sweat and body heat. Wolffe knows she's in danger of over-exposure, and now that he's certain she's safe, it takes almost immediately takes priority.

The first thing Wolffe does is cry.

It's not a soft relief of tears, nor is it the quiet kind that soldiers hide beneath their helmet when they're afraid of showing their humanity. These are the kind that hurt. The ones that make your chest feel like it's being cracked open and your head is being pressed by a vice. Wolffe cries like the day his chip was removed; And despite not remembering that day, he couldn't care less that an entire outpost of people are watching him cling to this little woman he's wailing over. It's the rawest emotion Wolffe has ever felt in his life, and for all of the loss and guilt he feels, that's a fucking statement he's not surprised by in the slightest.

Pup is his motivation. She's always been his light at the end of the tunnel, and his reason to keep going when he didn't feel like he could physically do it any longer. He spent his whole life believing that he wasn't worthy of anything good, or wholesome. And right when he's at his lowest, someone -or something- decides that what he needs is a woman with a soft voice and a love for him that is unmatched and limitless. Wolffe clings to that with everything in him, just to have her ripped away again. Now he's holding her. Soothing her at her lowest point, and wondering just what he did to have another second chance and falling apart with gratitude and pure fucking love for this woman because even after all this time she still found it in herself to love him.

So Wolffe cries like never before, because love is the most painful thing he's ever felt before. But he would've have it any other way.

***

Thank you for the request my love 🤍

I tried to focus more on Wolffe here than on my own thoughts while writing. I don't get to write from his perspective often anymore and I really loved getting the opportunity to do so! So thank you for letting my give Wolffe some much-deserved love!

#welcome company #commander wolffe #wolffe #pup #commentary track #uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Fabio Blue Nose

Aaaargh, this was supposed to be a short, but it has demanded to be longer and I’ve run out of time. I did not want another WIP!

But anyway, here be Fabio Blue Nose, or a start of some kind at least. I hope you enjoy this random fluff so far.

Many thanks to @tsarinatorment and @janetm74 for their support.

It should also be noted that no sea shanties were harmed in the creation of this fic. Nor are their any sea shanties in it, despite there being an urge to add one.

Aaaargh, it is 12.45am. I gotta go sleep, damnit.

-o-o-o-

The first time was an accident.

None of the brothers owned up to it but chances were it was Gordon, no matter how many times he swore complete innocence.

Though, come to think of it, Scott was rather more compliant than expected, so Virgil threw a little unspoken suspicion his way as well.

But anyway, it happened and it was a good thing.

There was always press at rescues that they could reach. Scott was fully aware of the importance of the media, particularly where communication and, to a certain extent, promotions were concerned. But when they got in the way of a rescue, the commander was well known to be intolerant.

This particular time, however, the press was managed by the GDF who were also onsite due to the scale of the disaster and possible sabotage, so International Rescue didn’t have to worry about them so much while they dug fifty miners out of a kilometre deep hole.

All but John were on the rescue. All but John were dirty, sweaty and ever so tired. There had been a chunk of rock that had needed demolition charges to get through, causing enough headache that even Virgil had been heard to spit profanity over comms when one of the charges misfired and nearly took his head off with shrapnel in the tunnel.

Eleven of the fifty men didn’t make it and there was some body recovery after the far too many trips it took to get them all back to the surface. In short, it had been an ugly, hard day. All the Tracys just wanted to go home and disappear into whatever distraction worked best for them.

Scott had to liaise with the GDF regarding red tape and reporting circumstances in the mine...that they should probably go down and see for themselves instead of relying on a civilian rescue organisation to do their dirty work for them. But whatever the reason, Virgil, Gordon and Alan were left to pack up and wait while all the dots and crosses were applied to appropriate Ts and Is.

It took longer than expected.

Virgil, sporting an aching shoulder, was reduced to pacing the length of Two’s open hatch. He should just take his brothers home and leave Scott to tackle the GDF.

But Scott was just as tired as they were and he had only just returned from another rescue when this callout came in. His big brother was exhausted and Virgil feared that if he left him behind they might end up a few GDF personnel short before the sun went down.

And the press were watching.

It was probably at this point the photo was taken.

It was iconic, even Virgil had to admit it. Emotive and made a statement about who they were and what they did.

The shot was from a forty-five degree angle, using a zoom lens that caught every detail of Two’s open module. Virgil stood in the middle of the ramp, paused mid-pace and staring off at something, probably Scott, in the distance. The shadow of Two in the evening light had his head in shadow, adding a heroic seriousness to his expression.

That alone was dramatic, but behind him from the camera angle, sitting on the top of the ramp to one side of the open hatch were Gordon and Alan.

Gordon had his arm around his little brother as they both stared in the same direction as Virgil. All three brothers were grimy and exhausted, Alan’s head was resting on Gordon’s shoulder.

It must have been an extraordinary lens to capture the detail because the media were fenced off a considerable distance away, but there was enough clarity to see one tear track in the dust on Alan’s face.

Their littlest brother claimed he had scratched his cheek, but they all knew better.

So, yes, this photo was taken and thrown across the planet as an illustration of three heroes of International Rescue.

There were rave reviews. Whole swaths of text praising everything their organisation did, what had been achieved that day and what had been achieved in the past. Inevitably, the history of International Rescue did the rounds again, their father’s legacy and all that. An unfortunate reminder of both the parents they had lost in the process. Being proud didn’t negate the pain that came along with it.

But due to the quirkiness of human attention, none of the above was the source of the impact the photo finally had.

It wasn’t Thunderbird Two or any of the three brothers photographed that captured most of the public’s attention.

It was a teddy bear.

Virgil kept a number of cuddly toys on Two. Some he had knitted himself, or purchased, a few were donated, but all were kept and given to children and occasionally adults, who were terrified during a rescue or evacuation and found themselves secured in Two’s module.

Perhaps the bear had fallen out of its storage, perhaps one of the brothers had shoved it aside. Whatever had happened, in the iconic photograph of three hardworking Tracy brothers, right at the back, inside the module sat a dark grey teddy bear with a blue nose and shiny eyes that caught the setting sun.

Staring right at the camera.

And the world went nuts for this bear.

It took less than a day for the fame of the teddy bear to become enough to alert Thunderbird Five and, in turn, roust Virgil out of bed - it’s lunchtime, Virgil, time enough to wake up.

Virgil’s answer to that was clear, precise and rated for adults only.

John triggered the coffee maker in the kitchen to start working its magic before his brother busted up something other than the English language.

Eventually, Virgil made it down to Two and dug out the bear responsible.

It was still sitting on top of the storage locker, which added kudos to Virgil’s flying skill.

He was going to shove it back into the locker when John asked him not to. Apparently, the bear had a following on social media.

So, Virgil picked it up and took it back up to the comms room. He placed it beside him at their father’s desk and pulled up a search screen and typed in ‘bear’ and ‘International Rescue’. He could, of course, ask John to forward him whatever his brother had obviously found, but he didn’t.

The search results that sprung up made it very clear that the world was most definitely obsessed with that bear.

There were zoomed in pictures of the inside of the module – a fact that had Virgil a little worried regarding security until he realised that anything that could possibly be compromised was just that little bit blurred. No doubt that was Eos at work. Probably snared the original photo before it could perpetuate.

But even then it was obvious that the posters had no interest in the technology. Several photos had the bear circled in red.

Various comments attempted to give reasons as to why the bear was there. The explanations were rather fantastical in the majority. A few were actually disturbing and linked Alan’s tear track to the bear – Virgil threw that bit of information at Thunderbird Five and that line of thought suddenly disappeared from the results. Some suggested the photograph was posed, a few mentioned that Thunderbird Two did carry such things and that was followed by a wave of genuine thanks and admiration for what they did…and then completely ignored when more fascinating ideas were presented.

Virgil was quite frankly amazed at what people could concoct from a photograph of a bear.

Said bear sat and stared at him the entire time. Its nose was very blue.

But ultimately the outcome that had occurred somewhere between all four brothers making it home last night and the time John dragged Virgil out of bed, Fabio Blue Nose had become a mascot for International Rescue.

Yes, ‘Fabio’.

Some inspired person had mentioned ‘F.A.B.’ as IR’s callsign and it went downhill from there.

Fabio stared at Virgil almost accusingly. His curly fur was a shade darker than Scott’s baldric and his eyes as golden as Gordon’s. His blue nose shone in the sunlight.

They had a teddy bear with a fan base, fan art and a dash of fan fiction.

Virgil caught his own name in one of them and shut it down so fast the browser crashed.

It didn’t help that an hour later Gordon found the same story and promptly paraded it around the villa for all to see and hear whether they wanted to or not. Apparently, because Virgil was the pilot of Thunderbird Two, Fabio was his crewmate.

A very heroic crewmate at that.

Could a teddy bear really rappel down a grapple like that?

He shook his head and threw a lounge cushion at his brother’s head. He really didn’t need to know.

But in any case, they now had a mascot that wasn’t Alan.

Gordon was hit in the head again for that assessment.

So, Fabio found his way to being sat on Two’s dash and accompanying them out on rescues.

The second photo was more than they had ever expected.

-o-o-o-

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #fabio blue nose #Gordon Tracy #I don't know what the hell I was thinking

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Note

Hello! I hope you're doing okay over there. Are your requests open? If so, could you do a Din x reader with the reader sketching him (the child and their special moments together) when she thinks he isn't looking, but one day he finds the sketchbook? If they're closed just ignore the request but hold on tight to the wishes of good furtune and health ♥ Stay safe!

I’m hanging in there sweet anon and I hope you’re doing okay too (okay but this is so cute omg).

Warnings: It’s really just two dorks and good ole fluff. Some of this is unedited as well

*Reminder that the forum for my taglist is still up and pinned!

__________________________________________

If he would turn slightly to the left, you’d be able to get the perfect angle you need to finish the sketch.

The helmet reflects the glare of the stars, illuminating a bright shine around the top of the beskar and stinging your eyes just a little when you look up at it. You can’t help but do it anyway. The Child is asleep, a day of actually getting to use those little feet of his wore him out - you love the little one, but you and Din have exhausted yourselves keeping up with finding him his home and protecting him at the same time; this peace and quiet right now is highly overdue.

The pencil glides easily against the paper, connecting every line to another, creating another favorite of yours; the perfect piece of art that’s sitting in front of you, unaware of the stacks of sketches that you’ve drawn silently in the whatever corner you can lurk in. To be honest, with as attentive as he is, you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on to you yet.

You’re so lost in finishing the shades that you don’t notice the Mandalorian turning slightly towards you in his seat. He watches your brows furrow in deep concentration, the light scratching in the air a comfort to him since the months of hearing it. He’s never actually seen any of your drawings, however, and he knows that one day the curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll ask... eventually.

Truth is he’s not all the sure on why he hasn’t asked you yet, despite the growing and gnawing interest with teeth that grows sharper and longer as more time goes on. And it’s not like you’ve ever brought it up, either. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you - a dance that’s familiar in any language; of scared love and child-like curiosity that seeps into something deeper.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

It’s in this moment of sensing a pair of eyes on you - the pair of eyes you can’t see, but imagine they must be green, or brown more than anything. For a moment, you’re almost afraid to find out.

With a small intake of air you will your head to tilt up. The visor spins away so quick that it’s almost comical, and you bite your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest.

“Din,” you call his name teasingly. “Is there something you wanted?”

It’s almost too hard to hide the laughter when his helmet jolts towards you, like he’s surprised that you called him out on it.

“I -” You think you hear a gulp through the statics of the vocoder. “- I was... I was just wondering what you were drawing. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity of his apology, and the fact that he was watching you, which has you wondering if this is a reoccurrence you’ve been blind to this entire time.

“It doesn’t,” you voice croaks. “It’s-it’s nothing really. Just the ship, whatever I see throughout the day.” You sit up, still clutching the book to your chest. “I’m going to check on the kid. Call for me if you need anything.”

When the hell did the air get so thick like this? You feel bad, so bad, and a part of you wants to desperately show him this simple thing that he just wants to look at, but... but he’ll know. One look and he’ll know.

“Okay,” the modulator cracks - you wonder what it’s masking right now, what you can’t hear through the robotic statics. “You can rest too while you’re at it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

You nod and awkwardly wave your departure, climbing down on wobbly legs to the hull and the cot the Child is asleep on; you’re relieved to see that he’s still bundled in his blanket, a peaceful expression gracing his features.

It’s here you feel the fatigue settling on your shoulders. The dull beating You sigh and settle inside the small space, careful of your weight and making yourself as comfortable as you can get. With the book and pencil still in hand, you decide to finish the little details of his belt.

***

Mando sighs as thoughts of you plague his mind once more.

That, and the fact that he needs to sleep at least an hour before the landing at the next destination.

He keens his ears for any sings of movements down in the hull, but when he hears nothing he climbs down to ladder in quiet, graceful strokes.

The dim light does absolute injustice to your features in his opinion. It’s the first thing he notices, not the Child is gurgling over your open sketchbook that’s sprawled out on your lap as you sleep.

“Kriff,” he curses under his breath and rushes as quietly as he can towards the bunk. He tries to keep his eyes averted of the drawings, but he can’t help it, especially when the Child pouts and slaps against the page when his hand clasps around it.

It’s... well, it’s him. He’s leaning against the wall of what he can tell is the Razor Crest based off the small details you made sure to put in - he really admires that. Down at his feet is the little one, grinning up at him. Beneath the helmet that’s shielded him from the rest of the world for almost all his life, he smiles back; orange caresses the rough paper, imagining that he can actually feel it through the lead and gloves.

The next page is of a planet he cannot name off the top of his head, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s of home.

Each page is filled with memories; past and present etched and filled with the kind of skill and warmth that can never be replaced; promises of mystery tied in like a piece of string. Most of them towards the end are of him and the Child. Small moments, mostly, like when he fell asleep with the kid secured to his armored-less chest, and moments when it’s him, sitting in the pilot’s seat or his cape flowing behind him as he walks away to a new bounty or clue to the Child’s powers.

He recognizes them with a deep fondness that makes his head swirl with all types of emotions. Din knows what they mean, but it’s the fear. Yet each drawing - he’s on the one from hours ago - scolds each inch of doubt within him, and in this he finds a type of bravery he’s hasn’t faced much before; it makes it more terrifying to him.

“I like to draw what makes me happy.”

Your voice startles him from his thoughts. He’s never frozen up like this before - at least long ago - but now it feels like your stare alone is the only thing keeping him grounded to this spot. The doe like expression on your face the guilt that started to creep within his chest dissipates.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he still feels that he needs to apologize. “The kid had it and I... he likes the one where he found that flower.”

You smile widely at that, looking down at the child in question as you sit up. Din silently watches you climb out from the bunk and takes a few steps back to let you lean against the cold interior.

“That’s one of my favorites, too,” you say; proudly, Din thinks. “And the one where you fell asleep in the pilot’s chair... you were so tired that day and I kept trying to get you to rest and let me take over, but you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

His chuckle radiates the room, and fuck it, it could radiate the entire galaxy. Yours join in with ease, but it quickly dies down, though not awkwardly or uncomfortably; it feels natural among the countless other laughs you’ve shared over the years.

“I um - “ you clear your throat nervously, battling with the endless fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the shakiness in your voice. “- I guess this is a good time to say that I really like you, Din. And I’ve been drawing these sketches of as many of these moments as I can because they’re so precious to me.” You take a deep breath. “Just like the Child is. Just like you are.”

You finish with a light scoff. It’s quiet, you have to pee, and you hope to the Maker above that this isn’t how your journey with Din ends; you should really open your eyes and at least do something if he’s just going to keep standing there.

“I like you, too.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when those words reach your ears. It feels like your heart just stopped beating, your body frozen, and your thoughts bouncing wildly around like a blaster; that crackled laugh (that you know somehow is soft) brings you back to your body, back to the man standing closer to you know and slowly reaching his hand out.

You glance at it before tracing your eyes over the worn out boots that’s seen better days, the scratched and scraped armor that you have shared more than enough time cleaning and polishing, the signet that the Mandalorian never fails to honor proudly, even in his own quiet ways; and now the helmet, the t-shaped visor that shields him.

In this you find no fear. The weight of his hand in yours settles you and the soft link of his pinky with yours brings a stinging to your eyes.

“I can’t do this alone,” he says. “And I want this to work. The Creed -”

“I know,” you interject quietly. “It’s not always going to be easy. But we got this, just like always, don’t we?”

“At least one of us has to.”

His heart warms when the loudest snort he’s ever heard you make jolts the Child from his sleep, blinking those big eyes wearily as your muffled laugher continues against your fingers. “You should get some sleep now,” you tell him. “I got this one.”

It feels very natural to lean down and pick the Child up and smile at Din with assurance; he feels the air in his lungs draw out of him until he literally starts to feel breathless, and his lips stretch in a smile - it’s small and shy; hopeful.

After he makes sure that the hull is closed off and lays his helmet by the plates of his armor (one of the rare times he actually can), settling onto the unforgiving but familiar cot, he imagines you’ll make a fuss about the scar on his nose with a pencil and book in your hands.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @garrshep, @paintmekala, @marian, @fit-fierce-gamer, @altersw, @hoodedbirdie

#this was so sweet i can't #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #fanfic #request #pedro pascal #anon #i have a little cold and finished this a little loopy *jazz music plays in the background*#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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whenimaunicorn · 4 years

Text

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandowhorians

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autisticzukka · 4 years

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do you have any headcanons about autistic Zuko? Whether that be modern au or canon doesn't matter. What are his stims, special interests, etc?

AHHH i wasnt notified this was sent thank you for so much for sending something in!!! I wouldn’t say I have specific headcanons about autistic!Zuko because... I literally never write him any other way. But here’s a number of headcanons anyways.

+ Stims: I REALLY REALLY like using the fire meditation for a stim with Zuko, where it goes up and down with his breath, you know? it sounds like the bender equivalent of rocking, tbh. I especially like having him just... poof up a little flame and hold it in his hands, especially when talking about hard subjects. Other stims I like are rolling himself up in a blanket or nearby sheet or something for Pressure TM, and jumping off of and onto things. When stressed, yeet yourself out the nearest window and parkour away from your emotions. This is a motto Zuko lives by. I also like making him pick at the threads on stuff and chew on bits of his mouth.

+ Special interests: as far as canon, I would say dao and gymnastics. for headcanons i really like embroidery, actually? I like the idea that when he was little he had a lot of trouble with fire regulation and with dexterity, and so Ursa just included him on her embroidery to help him train those up. If you fuck up too badly, you stab yourself. If you get too angry you fucked up, you set the cloth or the thread on fire. But it’s incredibly low stakes, and something he can do while feeling calm beside her. Also: it’s practical for someone who’s likely going to be a career soldier, but not necessarily something he’d be taught in formal classes.

+ if it’s a modern AU i refuse to believe that Zuko prefers speaking out loud. he clearly has issues with tone modulation and saying the Wrong Thing. he let his phone battery go below 40% once and it was the most harrowing moment of his life. he started carrying around a small notebook, 2 pencils, and a pen. just in case.

+ I adore faceblind Zuko. I adore Zuko who doesn’t have any idea what he looks like, really, he formed some kind of self image at like 10 and then just aged it up mentally as he went.

+ I also really love “i both over planned and under planned for this because I know that I do some of my best work improvising under pressure so I will DELIBERATELY back myself into a corner and turn on survival mode” Zuko. this specific habit of his is why i kind of headcanon him as adhd & autism combo, actually, because that’s what i have. and can i just say... this is how I passed MANY an exam.

+ most of his scripts are McFucking uselessly oriented around being the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. he gets better about this as the show goes on but I like to think that sometimes when he’s tired he’ll slip into extremely courtly manners. after a long day he’s trying to figure out how to ask Katara to pass the improvised foraging soup and he just goes “Lady Katara, I can’t help but notice that soup. It looks delicious.” (Fire Nation courtly manners for royalty are indicating interest, manners for everyone else is immediately offering as a gift whatever they expressed interest in, unless it’s their literal clothing. Well. Most of the time, if it’s their literal clothing.)

+ I really love writing him deflecting! He’s bad at outright lying, and he’s bad at saying the truth outright unless he’s pushed to a breaking point and he’s yelling it. What does he do? Deflect in circles around the topic! this is really fun with Sokka, because he’s so straightforward...

+ I love nonbinary and aro/ace spectrum entirely queer Zuko. this is super common with a lot of my autistic friends, we just... things are... confusing. Recognizing your own feelings? confusing. deciding what they mean? confusing. attraction? do we... actually know what that is? a lot of people feel VERY strongly that Zuko is a man, so why not roll with it, right? a lot of people feel VERY strongly that Zuko should have a wife someday, so... why not roll with it? I really like writing Zuko feeling out the differences between relationships with sexual/romantic attraction, and relationships without. And I like him choosing to prioritize both types! Queerplatonic and romantic.

+ strict code of honor & behavior but it’s almost indecipherable to others who don’t think in the same way as him. “I have wronged Katara, and all of my attempts to make it right have failed. That means I do whatever she wants within reason until she’s no longer wronged. I will sit outside her tent all night instead of knocking so I don’t bother her. Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Cuz I’ll totally kill that guy for you.”

+ I really like writing him like - bouncing between intentional humor and unintentional. Attempting to keep a straight face and not managing it. Being a bit overdramatic about something entirely genuinely and then when he realizes leaning into it, humorously, mocking himself a little bit. Sometimes too much.

#zuko #autistic zuko #op #asked and answered #long post #sorry lmao i edited this down four times and YET #i cut the whole Iroh seashell segment and YET #grayblebayble

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 10/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

The following morning, you were called into the police station to finalize the documents from yesterday's investigation. All they needed was a pen and ink signature.

Connor had been in conversation with another detective when you walked in; so, you decided not to bother him.

On your way out, you spotted Connor seated across from Hank. At first, you thought he was lost in his computer screen; however, he spun around to greet you as you approached, rising to his feet with a smile.

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" you teased.

"I do not. I saw the documents register to the case and knew you were finished," he answered, a little robotically. His tone didn't quite match the soft look on his face.

You stepped in a little closer, looking up at him with expecting eyes.

"I-" Connor cleared his throat. "-was unsure if you were alright with public displays of a-"

You reached for his tie, slid your fingers around the smooth velvet right above the clip, and gave a light tug. It forced Connor to bend down, just a little bit, and brought his mouth within range for yours.

You closed your eyes and leaned into the kiss with a smile, silencing him. He reciprocated, gently, closing his own eyes. It lasted barely a second and was hardly anything compared to what you had done last night; but, it left your tummy swarming with butterflies.

People could see.

Connor's coworkers could see.

Good.

"Ah, geez," Hank grimaced, rising to his feet. "Get a room."

You parted from Connor with a little giggle. When you released Connor's tie, he fixed it promptly, though it had hardly moved at all. It was impossible to miss the adorable, dorky smile he was trying not to wear.

"Damn kids," Hank grumbled as he walked away, coffee cup in hand.

"Are you heading back to work?" Connor asked softly, still standing close.

"Yeah, I better get back there before they have a kitten..." you trailed off when Connor's gaze shifted away from you and looked over your shoulder. The soft look in his eyes vanished, replaced with something cold.

"It's nice to see you again, detective."

You rotated around, following Connor's gaze.

This man's face had once been plastered over every magazine cover for business, wealth, and technology. Anyone who knew even a little bit about androids knew who he was: piercing blue eyes, a strong jawline, dressed impeccably.

Elijah Kamski, the inventor of androids. Two men were standing nearby, dressed as sharply as he was: lawyers, most likely.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asked. His cold tone didn't go unnoticed. It actually startled you a little.

Elijah was Connor's creator, even if he hadn't been working at Cyberlife at the time of Connor's inception. Some hostility was to be expected; but, somehow you doubted it was that simple. It sounded like Connor had history with Elijah.

"I've been asked to answer questions about Charles Reaves," he answered, seemingly uninterested in the whole thing. "I'm not entirely surprised to see you here - comfort zones, and all."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I enjoy being a detective," Connor replied, not bothering to mask his irritation. When Connor spoke was when you realized how close he was standing beside you. You could practically feel his voice modulator rumbling against you.

Something about Elijah really bothered him.

"Of course," Elijah replied. His eyes landed on you. "-and who might you be?"

You gave your name, followed with, "I'm an artificial biomechanical engineer."

"A fancy way of saying you work on androids. Wonderful. I haven't gotten to spend time with someone of a similar profession in a long time," Elijah replied, sounding oddly sincere. You doubted that your professions were anything similar.

You extended your hand, offering it to Elijah out of common courtesy. However, when Elijah reached for you, another hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

Connor's hand.

Your eyes shot up to the android, surprised by his actions. His LED was a strong yellow and his eyes were sharp, almost glaring at the man across from him. Elijah didn't seem at all bothered. In fact, he let out an amused laugh and started to smile.

He pulled his hand back and Connor let go.

"I thought you told me what you wanted wasn't important?" he stated, more so than asked, voice low, ensuring that others in the crowded room wouldn't be able to hear. It was clear that he was challenging Connor.

Your eyes moved back to Elijah, confusion heavy in your glance. His icy blue eyes shifted back to you for a second and then back up to Connor's fierce brown orbs. The implication made you nervous.

"You've changed," Elijah stated, sounding pleased by the discovery.

There was a retort ready to leave Connor's throat. He was interrupted, however.

"If you're done dicking off, Connor, there's work to be done," Fowler called out to him from the steps right outside his office.

Connor looked over his shoulder and gave his superior a curt nod.

"I better go," he said, rotating back around to look down at you.

When your eyes caught Connor's, it was suddenly easy to ignore Elijah, who was still standing there.

"Go catch some baddies," you replied, encouragingly.

Something danced behind Connor's eyes and his LED eased back to blue. You thought he was going to swoop down and steal a kiss; but, he didn't, turning away and walking past Elijah. He glanced at him briefly, a warning as he passed by, before disappearing into the precinct.

"Mr. Kamski we must-" one of Elijah's lawyers tried catching his attention.

Elijah lifted his hand, harmless, but arrogant, and the lawyer immediately stopped talking.

"I was hoping I could talk to you, actually?" he asked you, voice polite, sincere.

"I appreciate the interest, Mr. Kamski. But, I promise I'm not interesting," you replied stoically.

"I disagree," he replied with a quiet laugh. "You are an item with an android. I find that very interesting." It was kind of scary, really, how charming Elijah sounded. He sounded like he really meant it. "Please, humor me for a bit. If there's anything I can do for you in return...?"

You blurted the first thing that came to mind, doubting Elijah would ever consider it. "With the protests - lots of androids are afraid to look for help and supplies are limited as it is with Cyberlife's shutdown."

The corner of Elijah's lip curled slightly. "You want to help them?"

"Yes," you replied firmly. "I want parts for repairs - thirium pump regulators, memory units - things that are hard to get."

"That can be arranged."

"How do I know you're good for it?" you dared to ask.

Elijah laughed quietly, briefly. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

You briefly pondered exactly what the hell this man was planning on asking you. He was a millionaire, a super genius who created artificial intelligence and fully operational android skeletons.

You just repaired them. What could he possibly want to talk to you about?

Your thoughts wandered to Markus and Simon, and the many androids that were potentially going without repairs. Even if they couldn't feel pain, they didn't deserve to be broken, to be unable to speak, or hear, or see, or walk.

"Okay," you replied lowly. "I'll humor you."

Elijah nodded with a smile. "It wasn't too cold today. May we?"

He gestured to the hallway that led to the main entrance. You led the way, walking past him and heading for the grounds.

Elijah was right. The weather outside wasn't too bad. The air was crisp and chilly, but not unbearable. You were doing just fine in your jacket. Clouds were looming in the distance; but, they weren't going to make it before you were done.

The courtyard outside the station wasn't particularly impressive, but it was empty, and you and Elijah fit just fine on one of the benches.

For a moment, Elijah's focus was elsewhere. He seemed to be thinking, trying to decide where he wanted to begin. You felt small seated next to him.

Without taking a break or skipping a beat, Elijah asked, "are your desires because of what he is or in spite of it?"

"You want to talk to me about my relationship with Connor?" you blurted, surprised. You met Elijah's gaze uneasily.

He didn't budge. His expression suggested that he didn't see it as strange in the slightest. It wasn't what you were expecting. Then again, Elijah Kamski was one of the leaders of android inception. He was their creator, almost exclusively.

You were sitting with the man who made Connor's life possible.

That thought struck you like a hand across the face.

"I do," Elijah answered.

"I-..." you stuttered.

The obvious answer was on the tip of your tongue. But, was it the truth? You loved the android parts of him: the way his LED shimmered with emotion, the quirks of an android learning to adapt to human society, the unique way he talked, how powerful he was, the beautiful construction of his body, inside and out.

But, you also loved the parts of him that were not dictated by what he was: his kindness, his passion, his curiosity.

"Android or human isn't the point. I'm with Connor because I want to be - because I like who he is, regardless of the what."

"I see," Elijah replied softly. Something in the way he said that suggested he didn't quite believe you.

You frowned at him, but decided against arguing with him. It wouldn't have been entirely in good faith. You knew that your feelings for Connor were physical, too: both the android aspects and the parts that imitated a human.

"Why did you choose to be an engineer - specifically for androids?" Elijah asked. "It's a fairly new profession, for obvious reasons, and you're very young."

Elijah couldn't have been more than 40 years old, if you recalled correctly from the countless essays you had to write in college. He wasn't that much older than you. Yet, somehow, he managed to make you feel like a child.

You doubted the inventor of androids would be alarmed by your answer.

"Because I don't like people," you answered plainly.

If anything, he liked that answer. Through a smile, Elijah replied, "are they not people?"

Once upon a time, you weren't so sure. But, then, you saw their suffering, had been suffocated by the fear in their eyes. You saw them plead and beg for help. You had seen androids, designed with very clear instructions, offer unnecessary kindness that most humans never did.

"They're better," you spat back.

"Logic and reason above feelings?" he asked.

"They do feel," you challenged.

"How can you know for certain?" Elijah tilted is head a little, suspicion in his tone more so than doubt. It sounded like he was trying to plant a seed of distrust. "How do you know that androids are capable of real emotions and not just imitating what they've seen?"

"Humans are capable of the same fucking thing," you snarled. "Pretending to give a shit when they don't. When an android does it, it's programming. When a human does it, it's just fucking normal, right? What difference does it make?"

Elijah's eyes burned brightly, admiring the passion in your voice.

"What are you getting at, anyway?" you added on sharply.

"I made androids to make our lives better: they care for our children, our elderly, grow our food, do dangerous jobs, protect us... and fuck us."

You had read lots of articles about Elijah Kamski, saw many news outlets cover him. He had proclaimed many times that he designed androids to make everyone's lives better. He promised they were not capable of thought beyond their instructions.

"Many debate their intentions. If they can choose beyond their programming," Elijah continued, as if he had read your mind. Or, maybe, you just knew where he was going with this.

"Deviancy," you observed.

You looked away from Elijah, losing the tolerance for the ways his eyes burned into yours.

"Androids are perfect: beautiful, strong, compa-"

"Are you wanting me to tell you that I have a robot kink?"

Elijah huffed out laughter, brief and quiet.

"I won't pretend that Connor's not so beautiful that it fucking hurts," you whispered harshly, feeling ashamed. You dragged a heavy hand through your hair. "But that's not all. He's kind. He wants to protect people: androids and humans. He doesn't see it as their side and our side. He-... He's different. The way he sees the world, I want to see it, too."

"Maybe, then, you see why I'm fascinated by you," Elijah stated, standing up. Your eyes followed him, and you realized he was just casually stretching.

"Why do you find this so strange? Two people who want to be together - what's so weird about that?"

Elijah turned around, hands buried in his coat pockets.

"One was born twenty-something years ago. One was made in a factory a little over a year ago," Elijah answered casually.

"You don't think I've thought about that?" you asked him sharply. "That I haven't fought myself over whether or not this is right?"

Elijah didn't seem bothered by your moral dilemma.

"I'm sure you're well aware that all androids process at a faster rate than humans. They awake capable of comprehending things the average adult can... and then some. Your moral dilemma is pointless. I know they will bring humanity to places we couldn't even imagine..."

"-but you're fascinated with whether or not they can love," you deadpanned.

"I'm fascinated with love between an android and a human," he answered.

There was something unspoken in that observation. You wanted to ask him if he loved his creations, if he cared about their well-being. Elijah had been pretty careful to make no statements during the revolution, oddly enough.

"This couldn't possibly be worth your time, or money, Mr. Kamski," you uttered, suddenly sounding quite tired.

He chuckled sincerely. "Just look at it as... humoring someone who gained everything and... lost everything."

Another statement with something unspoken beneath. Did he mean Cyberlife? Elijah had departed from the company of his volition, if the news was to be believed. Maybe he experienced a moral dilemma. Or, maybe, if Charles Reaves was anything to go by, a difference in opinions.

"Before..." you began, deciding to take a gamble. "-when I first went to school for androids. I just thought they were interesting. Like spending company with humans without all the bullshit. I didn't think... they actually... felt anything."

You paused and let out a heavy sigh. It brought shame to you, admitting this. You thought about Connor, about Markus, about the many androids that came in and out of the clinic on a daily basis.

"My first job, I repaired manufacturing androids. These guys came in with their arms hacked to bits, covered in dents, legs falling off, torsos torn in two, singed and burnt to a crisp. Any job that risked injury, that's what they did."

You dragged a heavy hand through your hair. "Some of them were really afraid they were going to die."

You paused when you failed to suppress a sniffle and hastily wiped your tears on your sleeve. "I realized... I was wrong. I wasn't an engineer; I was a nurse... But, no one else saw them that way. Until-... The deviant uprising and I - I wanted to do something I was proud of for a change."

Elijah turned back around to face you, his expression unreadable. He was quiet, taking in the sight of you, seemingly touched by your empathy.

You wiped your tears away hastily and added on gruffly, "-and then I met Connor and now you're here asking me these fucking questions."

Elijah smiled again, his lip twisted like he didn't want to laugh.

"You're a liar, by the way," you accused, changing the subject.

Elijah didn't look offended, but intrigued.

"You said they can't develop consciousness or desires," you explained, remembering his speech quite well because you had to write about it.

You expected Elijah to say something about your accusation. You doubted he would defend himself, maybe dance around the subject, since that seemed to be his preferred method.

"You would know all about that," he stated, amused.

Before you could reply, Elijah continued. "I know this all seems pointless to you; but, I'm glad I met you. You put me at ease."

You frowned at Elijah's statement. "I don't see how: we did all this talking and nothing came of it."

His expression changed. He looked understanding, maybe even sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not always direct... The world's more interesting when there's questions needing answers. I wanted to see what became of the RK800; but, I didn't expect you."

You had a feeling you were blushing, being spoken about in this manner.

"His purpose is unique: an android designed to hunt deviants. If his blueprints had never been destroyed, maybe they could have made one incapable of deviancy: would have been the perfect soldier."

You stiffened when you heard Elijah's claim.

Connor was designed to-... what?

You didn't want Elijah to think this was news to you.

"His blueprints?" you uttered.

"Yes. Connor is-" Elijah answered lowly. "-the last of his series."

Talking about Connor like this stirred up unpleasant feelings in your gut.

"He is different from any other android," Elijah explained. When you looked up at him, you could see something akin to sadness in his eyes. "How isolating the world must be when you were made to hunt your own kind."

Connor wasn't alone. He had Hank. He had you-

But, this wasn't about you, or humans for that matter. This was about Connor. You had never seen him spend time with other androids, or with anyone besides Hank. He always drowned himself in his job. Maybe, Connor was lonely, and you had been too busy keeping him to yourself to notice.

"Fuck-" You wiped your eyes again and swallowed a whimper.

"I'm sorry for bringing you to tears," Elijah apologized. He sounded like he meant it. "Making you upset wasn't my intention."

Elijah was quiet for a moment, giving you a chance to calm yourself down.

"I'm afraid I've avoided at least ten phone calls during our conversation..." Elijah pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and eyed it grossly. "If we never meet again, I want you know that I valued this conversation dearly."

"Mr. Kamski," you blurted, before he could turn away. "Before you go, did-... Did you program them afraid to die?"

"No," he answered quietly, not even hesitating. "The will to live... It was an unexpected outcome."

...

Back at the apartment, Connor came in just after you had finished eating dinner. He greeted you with a kiss and turned away. Part of you didn't want to worry him, especially when he had an android homicide that was likely linked to Charles Reaves. That was another issue entirely; but, you promised yourself that you would be honest with him.

"I have to tell you something," you beckoned to him, grabbing his sleeve to stop him from retreating.

Connor turned back around to face you, eyes focused on yours, concerned.

"I spoke with Kamski after you left. He told me what you were made for."

Something akin to panic danced behind Connor's eyes. It was subtle; but, it was definitely there.

"I'm sorry, Connor. You should have gotten the chance to tell me yourself. I shouldn't have found out that way."

Connor struggled to maintain eye contact with you. His LED was yellow, spinning against his temple. He seemed to be searching his thoughts for what he wanted to say. "I don't know if I would have told you, honestly," he uttered lowly, turning away from you. "It's something I really... really regret."

"We all regrets things, Connor - bad choices we made, mistakes. It's norm-"

When he turned back to you, shame and anger were written over his face. You were a little frightened by that face - a face you hadn't seen Connor make before.

"I called androids 'its'. I - I treated them like machines - like things - my own kind. I destro- murdered - androids for being deviant."

"You were under control, Connor," you argued fiercely. "What choice did you have? You didn't have a choice! You did what you thought you had to do. That wasn't you, Connor."

"It's what I was made to do," he challenged. "It's what I knew how to do. I was good at it. How is that any better?" His tone was as calm as it usually was, but had some bite and venom to it. He was gesturing to himself with his hands, fingers pointed at his own chest.

"I was proud," he continued, volume rising slightly. "Good job, Connor. You stopped the deviants like a good machine!" He was taunting himself now. It hurt you to listen to him mock himself. "You did EXACTLY what you were told to do, without question."

You sniffled, trying to bite back tears.

Connor raked his fingers roughly through his hair before dropping them down to his sides. "I would say... 'I'm a machine designed to accomplish a task' - and I was proud of it. 'You can't kill me - I'm not alive'." Connor had a peculiar way of quoting himself, like he was talking about someone he didn't know.

"I was going to find the source of the deviants and stop them!" he added on, frustration and volume rising. "I held a gun to Markus' face! I contemplated letting Hank DIE for my mission. That's all that mattered - the fucking mission. It's not just regret! I'm a mach-"

"You didn't have a choice!" you practically screamed, silencing him. You felt it, the first tear fall.

Connor's eyes watched that teardrop slide down your cheek and the fire in his eyes extinguished. Realization struck him like he had just been slapped across the face. He was letting everything out on you, letting his regrets pour out and drown you.

"I could never understand what that feels like-" you paused, trying to hold back a sob. "What it was like to be p-put through that, Connor. To not see yourself as a living being - to think that you weren't alive - that your life didn't fucking matt-guh-!"

You choked back a sob, making a guttural noise. Your head lowered into your hands.

You could feel the android looming over you, close, protective, worried; but, when you looked up at him through tear-stained eyes, he seemed almost afraid to touch you, like he wasn't allowed to. Regret was written across his face again; but, this time, it was a different reason.

He had yelled at you when you hadn't done anything wrong-

He was taking it all out on you-

You took that initiative and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin touched, Connor laced your fingers like you were his only lifeline saving him from drowning in the ocean. He looked like he was drowning, like he was lost.

"You were a prisoner in your mind, Connor," you whimpered. "I'm glad that you're deviant," you whispered, trying to stop the tears. "I'm so proud to be yours..."

Connor surrendered, leaning in to let his temple touch yours. His eyes fluttered shut.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled," he rasped.

"I'm not crying because you were yelling," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "The thought of you not caring about yourself - thinking you weren't alive: that hurt me. Connor, I-..."

You wretched your hand free on his so you could wrap your arms around his back and pull him into an embrace. Connor's face slipped from your temple and sunk into your neck. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the back of your shirt and clung to you for dear life.

You pressed your cheek into his hairline and leaned against him. As always, Connor was solid, unrelenting against your force, holding up your weight with ease.

"I am alive," he uttered against your skin, like he was reminding himself of something important. "I am alive," he said again, his voice cracking.

You felt wetness on your skin and knew that he was crying. You squeezed him tighter and tighter, until it started to hurt. You pressed a wet kiss to his temple before resting your cheek against the soft skin there.

No one could tell you this wasn't real.

Flesh and plastic.

Blood and thirium.

Bones and metal.

It didn't change the hurt in his voice or the adoration in his eyes. It didn't change the way he couldn't hold back a smile when he was praised. It didn't change the way his hands held you when you were afraid. It didn't change his inquisitive nature or the care he held for others.

It didn't change-

-that you were madly in love with him.

#connor x reader #deviant connor #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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reluctant-mandalore · 4 years

Text

The First of Many: Part II (Din Djarin x Reader)

The Mandalorian in recent days has become quite cold to you after your wonderfully failed, kind of, confession. Desperate to not have the man of your affections hate you completely, you attempt to mend your friendship by trying to forget your feelings altogether. However, things like that never seem to go to plan.

Part I || Part II

Word Count: 2,804

Warnings: Angst. Sad little reader. Pining. Slow burn with a little bit of fluff. Just a dash at this point thou.

a/n: Hello~! Here is the long awaited part 2! School has been stressful ever since I returned from having surgery. Hopefully I can get back into writing more frequently soon! I have some requests lined up that I can’t wait to dish out :3 Also, anyone who wanted to be tagged on the first part has been tagged at the the bottom!

Months had passed since your beautifully failed confession, if you could even call it that, to the Mandalorian. You had hoped that with time your Mandalorian companion would begin to open up to you once more. Maybe possibly mending your now strained friendship. Of course, with your luck, the exact opposite happened. If anything the bubbling relationship between you two had dwindled down to a fine point. Mando had been avoiding you like the plague and his attitude towards you had worsened significantly.

Whenever possible, he would find a reason to leave the room and would barely utter a word to you unless he deemed it necessary. When he did speak it was curt and often filled with a feeling of annoyance. He wouldn’t even look in your direction at this point. Choosing to ignore your presence all together at times. As it seemed, Mando had appeared to have turned to hating you all together. It truly looked like your feelings were unrequited and very much unwanted.

Due to his cold behaviour towards you, you at first tried to get over your feelings for him. Hoping that if he noticed, maybe things would go back to how they were before. You tried to tell yourself to just let those feelings disappear, he obviously didn’t feel the same, but letting them go was easier said than done. These feelings had clawed at you, begged you to release them, to let them thrive. You resisted them the best you could, not wanting to bother Mando with your unwanted feelings anymore. Knowing that he hadn’t appreciated them in the slightest. You had decided to try and shove them down deep, trying to act as if they weren’t there are all. Hoping this would fix whatever had broken between you two.

Anytime they attempted to escape. you fought harder to keep them at bay. With every inch they took to freedom, you took two inches back, pushing them into the darkness of your soul. Fighting desperately to ignore them and forget that they ever existed. However, no matter how much you tried to forget them, in the end your heart wanted other things. At times you found your emotions spilling over and out. They grasped for the Mandalorian, trying to pull him to you and yet they failed every time, only pushing him farther from you. Your heart, mind, and soul, were at a total war with each other. Fighting for dominance over how to deal with these romantic feelings you possessed for Mando.

Did you try and mend what had been broken? Did you try to get over your crush? Did you just come clean to him? Should you confront him about it? Maybe you should apologize for upsetting him? Should you just quit working for him and leave all together?

So many questions left unanswered swarmed in your mind and you honestly didn’t know how to handle the situation. Mando was becoming increasingly hard to deal with in regards to his attitude and behaviour to you. It felt as if he was offended by your feelings all together. Maybe he was? Maybe you had stepped over a boundary that he had set for himself.

In the end, you decided that it may be better to mend what was broken. In other words, not wanting for the bounty hunter to completely dislike you, lead to you beginning to try and fix your friendship with him. It was fine if he didn’t return your feelings, you’d get over them eventually. Right?

This didn’t mean you two had to stop being friends. However, no matter what you tried, it seemed like even a friendship at this point was out of the question. Any conversations you tried to start with the man were easily shut down and when you would enter a room he was in, he would find a reason to leave it as soon as possible. He was avoiding you at all costs, only every interacting with you if it had to be done. Had you really offended him that much?

The realization that maybe relationships weren’t part of his religion had dawned on you the one day. There was a possibility that the Mandalorian people didn't like to have those types of relationships. Maybe even not being allowed to have them at all. If this was the case, it was likely you had stepped over a boundary which he had set up for himself and you had made him uncomfortable. Of course, you wouldn’t know for sure until you could ask him about it. Which would not be happening soon as he clearly did not want to interact with you at all in the slightest.

Why did these kinds of things always happen to you?

At this point you were just trying to not get fired, but at the same time if he did dislike you as much as he put on, maybe it would be better if you did leave. The last couple days on the Razor Crest had your thoughts consumed by the Mandalorian and the possibility of you leaving your position as the on board babysitter. It might be better that way. Not only for the both of you, but for the child as well.

It had become very obvious that you two were no longer getting along and you were afraid that it would affect the child. To see two of his most favourite people in the galaxy behaving the way you two were could be difficult for him and would not be good for his development. The child was very important to you and you adored him to no end. You couldn’t bare to see him upset over such grievances.

The child's happiness on your mind, you had decided to bring up the issue to Mando. The main issue being your employment of course and the downgrade of your relationship to the adoptive father. If you were to keep working for him, both of you needed to act like adults and work out your problems. If these problems couldn’t be resolved then you would have to resign. Simple and yet heartbreaking all the same. You didn’t want to leave, but you might have to at this point. Even though he had been pretty dedicated to not talking to you, you knew he would talk to you about these issues if it was for the child's continued well being. He cared after the child more than anything. You knew that, saw it every day. He would do anything for that kid.

Finding him in the cockpit, you had intended to lay everything out right away, only for the Madnalorian to turn to you and be the first to talk. However, it wasn’t wasn’t for the same reason as you. Caught off guard by him actually addressing you first, you almost missed what he had said. He was informing you that he had found a job while at the local cantina earlier. Hearing this, your previous thoughts from earlier had completely left your mind. The more details from him you heard, the more worried you became about the job. You had a mauled over the details for most of the day after hearing them, starting to become very concerned the more you thought about it.

As he had begun to get ready for his departure, you had tried to express to him your concerns in regards to the job, but he seemed to strike them down each time.

“I have to complete this job, I already accepted it anyway.” The beskar covered man had said to you, his voice sounding irritated through the modulator as he gathered up whatever he would need on this job. You weren’t happy with his answer, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him go about the Razor Crest.

In all honesty, this job sounded more dangerous when compared to the others, at least, to you it had. To the hunter it may have just been a walk in the park, but to you, it just seemed too risky. Not only that, but Mando would be gone for much longer than he usually would when he left for jobs. A few days was very normal, the longest before now was just under a week. However, this time he would be leaving you alone with the child on the Razor Crest for at least 2 weeks, maybe longer if things went sour. You understood that before now jobs this long were probably normal for him, but now he had the child and you to worry about. Leaving you two alone for that amount of time seemed far too long in your opinion. What if someone attacked while he was gone? You knew some basic defense, all of which Mando had taught you, but you definitely could not fight off another bounty hunter if they came for the kid.

Another thought had clawed at your mind though, which was the Mandalorian’s safety. Lately, he seemed to be taking riskier and more dangerous jobs. Before, the jobs seemed tamed and very simple. Some of them you could probably complete on your own if you really wanted to, mind you, that may be stretching the truth just a bit. You highly doubted you could ever be a bounty hunter like he was. You’ve seen him work a couple of times and honestly you knew just how good he was, probably one of the best. So, you weren’t ever too concerned when he left on jobs, but now? He just seemed to be throwing himself at the most difficult of jobs with the most deadly bounties tied to them.

“Don’t you think you’ve already risked your life enough these past couple weeks? I mean…” You trailed off trying to collect your thoughts, wanting to put it in a way which didn’t offend the man before you. “It just seems too risky this time and you’ll be gone for so long.”

“Everything will be fine, I’m the Mandarloian here aren’t I?” He replied quickly, almost defensively. You hadn’t meant for it to sound like you were doubting his ability, you were truly just concerned. Obviously, you had failed at doing so as now his posture was more stiff and stand offish, signalling a more defensive nature from him.

“What if it doesn’t turn out fine? What if the worst happens?” He seemed to pause at your words this time, his body stiffening as you continued, “What would the kid and I do without you?”

“Listen-”

You cut him off before he could finish his words, worried etched upon your features, “-We need you. The child needs you. I need you. We won’t survive if something happens to you Mando.”

Your head lowered and your gaze shifted as you felt tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes at the dreadful thoughts running through your find. Not wanting to seem weak before the Mandalorian, you had tried to stop your tears and continue your thoughts to him, only to be cut off by his own actions. His gloved fingers had suddenly come up to grasp your chin, pointing it up towards him and making you stare up into his helmet’s visor.

At first you were worried you had overstepped again, that you had insulted him in some way. You had wanted to make him happy with you once more, not more upset, but you never seemed to say or do the right things. It appeared that he was going to lay into you about your unwanted opinion on the matter. Instead, to your surprise, his other hand came to wipe at your tears as they began to roll down your cheeks.

“I won’t let anything like that happen. I especially won’t let that happen to you.” His voice came out softly through the modulator, “This is my way of life. It’s risky and not the most fair, but this is the way.”

Silence had fallen between you two at his words. Nothing was being uttered anymore as you just gazed up at him, your tears beginning to dry and a flush replacing them in their wake. This was the closest you had been to the Mandalorian ever since that incident months ago. Your heart soared for being in such closeness to the man of your affections, especially after all that had happened.

He almost appeared to be admiring your features, allowing his thumb to run against your bottom lip softly. His other hand was firmly on your lower back now, holding you close to him, allowing his body to press into yours just enough to remind you of your closeness. He was embracing you, holding you close to him just as any normal lover would.

Now you were just confused beyond belief.

Didn’t he hate you? He had made that quite apparent in the last couple months. Why was he embracing you? He couldn’t have hated you if he was holding you like this. On one hand, you were thrilled as your worry about Mando disliking you disappeared. On the other hand, you were still very confused about the closeness. Mando had been avoiding you like the plague for months now, acting as if he had straight up hated you to the very core. Why was he suddenly acting so nice to you? Did something change? Maybe he liked you this whole time and the whole grumpy attitude was just some weird Madnalorian courting thing? You really should as him more about his way of life. One thing was for certain, and that was the fact that the Mandalorian was confusing as hell when it came to social cues.

For months, you had fought to keep your feelings at bay, trying to extinguish the flame in your heart that yearned for him. You stomped on those feelings, threw them to the wind and spat on them. Only to pick up the pieces again and sulk at how weak you felt for letting such a little crush control you the way it did. Everything in your being tried to forget those feelings. Trying to forget how much it hurt to not have them returned while desperately grasping at whatever little friendship you still had with the Mandalorian. Thinking that it would be for the best if you did. Yet, here you were, being embraced by the man you swore hated you just a second ago.

At this point, the feelings you had so tiredly tried to ignore for the past weeks had started pouring out of you. Leaning towards the Beskar cladded man and settling into his embrace, one of your hands came to place itself firmly on his chest, “Mando…” His nickname leaving your lips in a hushed whisper.

A small intake of breath could be heard through his modulator, almost like a gasp, at hearing you speak his nickname so sweetly. His grip on you tightened and he leaned in closer to you as well, his form towering over your smaller one. From this closeness you could feel the heat of him, even through all the armor he wore. The smell of leather and blaster powder was evident, radiating from him to you in waves. At this point you were a mere inches from him, one step forward is all it would take to press that sinful kiss to his helmet. The need to kiss him grew the longer you peered up at him. Did you dare? Would he even let you? You hoped so.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you moved closer, your eyes fluttering shut as you went to finally kiss the man you had been wanting all this time. Then suddenly, it stopped. He had seemed to collect himself at this moment, remembering what he was doing and who he was with.

He straightened now, peering down at your flushing expression, letting go of you in the process before trying to look in any direction that wasn’t you. He cleared his throat, his voice coming out strained, “I need to get going.”

You felt your heart sink again, though admittedly, a new flicker of hope had begun to burn in you, “Yes... of course.”

Gathering his things, the Mandaloiran stood at the exit, staring in at the rolling hills of sand which the planet possessed. He seemed to be thinking to himself pondering on what to say next before turning to face you once more.

“Wait for me. I’ll be back soon.” With those last words to you, he was off, making his way into the distance. You watched his form weave through the tall dunes, a hand over your beating heart and the other coming up to trace your bottom lip just as he had.

You had many questions for the Mandalorian upon his return.

-----

Tags: Everyone who wanted to be tagged should be here. If I missed anyone or missed pinged I’m sorry!!

@ holamor @ jellyfishpoptart @ jamesdeerest @retrofaek @morgannope @ lokilover-39 @ twentyonelaris @ murdermewithbooks

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bounty-in-the-eye-of-the-mando · 3 years

Text

Author's Note: So this is my first Mandalorian fic. It came to me on a whim following me listening to the song Written in the Stars by a band called Westlife. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: None

"Cause when I look at my life

How the pieces fall into place

It just wouldn’t rhyme without you

When I see how my path

Seems to end up before your face

The state of my heart

The place where we are

Was written in the stars"

FLASHBACK

You found yourself leaning against the wall of the bunker, occupying the little green being with some bubbles that you’d bought downtown while paying a fleeting visit to Jedha. He was fascinated with them, cooing away in contentment. His sizable green-brown eyes gazed in awe at the bubble forming from the wand in your bandaged hand. You’d ended up accidentally slashing your palm open on some metal that was hanging by a thread on the rear side of the Razor Crest while Mando was out on a hunt. He’d been gone a few days, so he was unaware of your injury, but even when he came back, you’d immediately slipped some gloves on. Well, it was cold so it’s a viable excuse. “You like these little one?” you cooed in excitement to Grogu, who was still so wide-eyed, and flashing a little toothy smile. He began to giggle, and more so when he turned to face out of the bunker. “Mando-“ you stammered, not even considering the fact your bandaged hand was in plain sight, “I-I-didn’t hear you coming.” He crouched down, full beskar, in the doorway, “He loves these. What did you do to your hand cyra’ika?” His modulated voice, full of concern as he reached out for you to place your hand in his. “I-I-it’s a long story, but when we were on Jedha, I was outside the ship playing with Grogu and I caught my hand on a damaged metal sheet that was hanging off the side. I managed to fix it though.” “Let me see,” he whispered. You placed the bubble wand back in the tub, and reluctantly placed your hand in his. You were terrified – mainly because you were never one for physical contact with anyone. The thought of it turned you sick. The only physical contact you had within the past year was with Grogu – he always demanded you pick him up – but he was different. He was a baby. Mando was not. He was silent as he studied the bandage, his breathing sounding raspy through his modulator. Before you knew it, he removed his gloves. That’s when you first had a glimpse of the man underneath the armour. His hands, large, covered in callouses, were a perfect golden colour - he wasn’t pale like you. Your skin resembled that of a corpse – deathly white. And even though his hands were intimidatingly large, they were gentle. He carefully unravelled the bandage. Silence enveloped you both, with the exception of the odd grumble or coo from Grogu. “Cyar’ika, this looks painful,” he murmured as he focused on the injury on your now upturned palm, “you need to be healed.” How was I going to be healed? you thought. You’d used a bacta-shot so there was no way you were going to get an infection. “Kid, do your thing,” Mando addressed Grogu, who was gazing at us both, “you get to sleep and then play with your bubbles later.” Grogu chirped, blinking incessantly at Mando. He shuffled around a little and then lifted his arms, his three-fingered hands moving about as if he wanted to be picked up. “I can’t little one. My hand is injured, and I don’t have the bandage on,” you said, guilt in your voice. “He’s not wanting to be picked up,” Mando explained, “he’s going to do his healing thing.” Before you could even argue, Grogu, in complete concentration mode, started to wiggle his fingers around more. Your gaze averted to your injured hand, it was beginning to heal.

With Grogu having been asleep for what seemed like an eternity, you felt lost. Your mind was starting to race overtime and you could feel the psychological pressure form in your head – the thing was, you had a million and one questions. Would Mando answer? Who knows? He was a silent type normally, never really answering questions – either because he couldn’t, wouldn’t or shouldn’t. It was hard to tell. He always remained a complete mystery, but that was the thing, unlike many, you enjoyed mystery – you didn’t like finding out too much all at once. It was the sure-fire way of losing interest. You decided enough was enough and finally left Grogu to join Mando in the cockpit. He was focusing on what was in front of him. As you sat in the chair, you didn’t utter a word, fearful of breaking his concentration. Your eyes scanned over his entire form, watching him. “You need to make the staring a little less obvious,” a voice, with the underlying tone of a laugh broke the silence. He hadn’t even turned around, but he knew it was you. “So, he’s sarcastic when he wants to be,” you bit back at him to the best of your ability, eyes still fixed on him. Everything fell silent once more. “Mando, I’ve been with you for the past year, and although I’m grateful, I just feel like, I-I-don’t know you.” As he was about to respond, his tracker beeped erratically, “We need to land.”

PRESENT DAY

All the days seemed to roll into one. You’d been on Tatooine for three months now. Mando was hardly around and he took the Razor Crest with him. For the first time in a long time, You felt neglected. And hurt. Peli Motto, a mechanic who Mando knew well, put you up in digs so you were safe from harm’s way. She didn’t have to, but she did. She owed him, and he was grateful for her goodwill gesture, and so were you. “You still waitin’ for him? He’ll come back y’know.” You turned your head to look at her over your shoulder, breaking your gaze from the landscape in front of you, “I want him back for his sake.” “He’ll come back for both of you,” Peli smiled, as she stroked Grogu’s ear. Grogu held on to you so tight, night after night. He missed Mando terribly. You were his only source of comfort. “I don’t know where he goes, who he goes after,” you sighed, squeezing Grogu tighter, “I tried contacting him the other night because this little womp rat gets restless if he doesn’t hear his voice. I just don’t know where to go anymore with any of this. I’m terrified Peli.” Peli led you away from the balcony to sit you down, “You love him, don’t you?” I don’t know – do I? was all you could think of saying but your brain wasn’t connecting well with your vocal cords, so you failed to speak. Peli smiled warmly, her eyes jumping from you to Grogu constantly, “Because I know for a fact, he loves you. May not show it very well to you, but when you’re on the outside looking in, it’s the most obvious thing since this little one is green.” You were overcome by a wave of emotion - you felt elated, shocked, deceived and sick, but also happy. It felt like you were surrounded by a breath of fresh air yet hit by an oncoming herd of Bantha. “Has he-,” Peli gulped, uncertain whether she has said too much, “has he ever told you?” You surveyed Peli’s facial expressions, “He’s never told me a thing.” You weren’t sure if this was a good or bad thing, but that was something you never disclosed to one another. The only one whose feelings mattered was Grogu’s. You both wanted him to be happy, comfortable, safe and loved. Nothing more, nothing less. Grogu’s cooing made you snap back to reality, and with that, Peli had announced her departure from the room, “I’ll be in the workspace if you need me, but trust me, he’ll be back.”

You sat trying your hardest to digest the words Peli had spoken. You couldn't make sense of any of it. Were you too worried over Mando? Were you worried over Grogu? Were you worried that if he did love you, you weren't good enough? Everything just kept spinning around and around in your mind, which was just in a complete mess. Grogu knew something was wrong. He twisted himself around in your lap so he was face to face with you. His gigantic eyes met yours. What was he thinking? Could he sense how you were feeling? Cooing, he stretched his little hand out toward your cheek. The touch of his hand on your face caused fluttering in your heart. This was the first time you'd felt love - like a mother's love - for someone that never belonged to you. Someone you'd only spent just over a year looking after. You felt a tear roll down your cheek, as you couldn't peel your eyes away from this little being, "I promise you, that whatever happens, I'll always be with you."

It had been weeks since Peli told you about Mando. Although you hadn't let it play on your mind too much, you'd find yourself tending to go back on it every so often, especially as you watched Grogu go to sleep. Watching his perfect little form sleeping so peacefully, his little nose twitching as he drifted off into a dream. He decided to not want to sleep in his crib for a long time, more or less the length of time Mando was gone. You carefully moved about as Grogu slept. Cleaning his crib, you noticed something small, like it was wrapped. You couldn't remember giving anything to Grogu but then did Mando? You wanted to open it, but then you didn't want it to be seen as some sort of betrayal. You mulled over it for some time before making the rash decision to open it.

You sat on the bed. The item you'd pulled from Grogu's crib, on your lap. Carefully, you began unwrapping. When done, the item that was wrapped ever so tightly was now in full view. It was a pendant. A pendant of the Mandalore. Why was it left in with Grogu? You knew that this was only given to those who were deemed part of the creed. This clearly meant that Grogu was indeed part of the Mandalore. You studied the pendant in awe, your heart feeling as though it was being tugged. The little baby you looked after actually belonged somewhere, and you were happy. But what happened to you if Mando didn't return? Did it cover you both? As you pondered, your mind ran away, a million and one thoughts ravaged your brain. You were so deep in your escape that you didn't realise Grogu had woken up until he tugged at your sleeve, "Hey little one, it's ok." Grogu cooed, stifling a yawn. You found him snuggling up to you, and trying to see what you had in your hand. "You're so inquisitive," you chuckled, "it's a special Mandalorian symbol. And it's all yours." As you began to show him what it was, he tried grabbing it, "No baby, I'll look after it for you. You'll try eating it." Grogu grumbled, but not for long. He began babbling, looking up at you all doe-eyed. "Bubbles?" Flashing his little toothy grin, you picked him up, placing the pendant in your pocket and went hunting for the tub of bubbles.

Heading outside, you could hear Peli fixing machinery, either a droid or a glider of some sort. You placed Grogu down on an upside down crate and began to blow the bubbles in his direction. His giggling was infectious yet soothing. Peli appeared from the workspace, and padded over to you, "He sure looks happy." Turning to her, a wide smile on your face, "I'd like to hope he is, and not just because of the bubbles." Your heart sank a little as you reminded yourself that Mando had still not returned. "Oh, he is. He loves you like a mother," she grinned, "it doesn't take a genius to work that out. You hungry?" "Starving." Peli, without hesitation, picked up Grogu and you both walked inside.

For the most part, there was just general chit-chat between you and Peli, about her work, Grogu's fascination with bubbles and food, but then when you were seated, things got a little too much when you started playing with what was in your bowl. "(Y/N), what's wrong?" Peli's voice was enamoured with concern. Sighing, you put your cutlery down, "I just don't know what to do anymore. I feel like he's gone and he's not coming back. Everything just doesn't make sense anymore. He's not here to see Grogu play with his bubbles or go on a short adventure for a change of scenery, hell, he hasn't let me in. God why the hell did I let myself fall in love with him?" The words just came tumbling out, and you didn't have time to think about what you were saying. It's only when you glanced over at Peli with tear-soddened eyes that you realised maybe you sounded like a desperate love sick puppy, but her gaze jumped to you and to the doorway behind you repeatedly. "Is that how you feel cyar'ika?" The familiar modulated baritone came from behind you. By now, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole - not because you were embarrassed about your confession but the fact you were crying. Crying with a confession like that was dangerously embarrassing regardless of the situation. Gulping and quickly wiping tears that rolled down your now flushed cheeks, you began to stand. "I'll leave you two alone," Peli croaked, sweeping Grogu from his chair and leaving for the other room. You stood there, frozen to the spot, staring at Mando. Were you hurt that he showed up out of the blue now after so long? Yes. Were you relieved in knowing that he was still alive and standing in front of you? Yes. "Let's talk in my room," you murmured, trying to keep yourself composed. You led Mando through to the room you'd set up as your sleeping quarters whilst staying with Peli.

Mando closed the door gently behind him. You'd gone over to where the balcony was by the time he padded over to the bed. You began trembling, letting out a heartfelt sigh as you gazed into the sunset on the Tatooine landscape. You needed to speak to Mando. What you would say to him would be a different story. You clenched your eyes shut, thinking carefully about what you were going to say, when you felt calloused hands snake around your midriff. "I'm so sorry cyar'ika." The voice sounded different, almost stripped back. The feeling of raspy facial hair grazed across your exposed neck. Opening your eyes, you came to the realisation that he'd removed his helmet. Struggling, you turned around to face him. Your heart began to race profoundly, your stomach felt like butterflies. He had removed his helmet and you were in awe of the man standing in front of you, "Mando? Why have-" He cut you off, "My name is Din. Din Djarin. And I need you to know that I'm sorry for being away from you all this time, and for keeping my walls up. And yes, I've just gone against my creed by removing my helmet but I'd risk it all for you in a heartbeat." You stayed completely silent, unsure of where you were even going to go with the conversation. "Being away from you was a test, and a hunt, but primarily a test. For me. For you. For us. And now I know that I cannot live a life without you anymore. Not without you or Grogu. Being without you has made me realise that nothing makes sense. And as for being with you, well, there's nothing I want more. I love you cyar'ika." You looked a mess right now, and you knew it and he looked every inch perfect. His dishevelled dark hair, golden glowing skin, his mismatched facial hair. Your heart skipped a beat. "You know, I really want to scream at you because you have made me so angry, but I also want to scream right now because you are the most frustratingly beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on," you said, trying to control your emotions, "but Mando- sorry, Din, I love you too. With all my heart. You and Grogu." He was stood there, his arms open in an invitational gesture. Without hesitation, you fell into his arms. "You are so beautiful," he whispered as he pressed his lips to your hair, "and I also know you found the pendant." "Wha-how do you know?" trying to sound surprised. "It's not in his crib," you heard him whisper, sensing he was smirking, "it's pretty special because that's meant for the three of us. There's the main outline, which is mine, the middle outline, which is yours and the centrepiece of all, well, that is Grogu's. We're a family now, and nothing will take that away." You looked up into his deep chocolate brown eyes, which had a mischievous sparkle in them, "Thank you for everything, including taking your helmet off." As you flashed him a wink, his lips curled into a smirk, and then without a warning, they came crashing down like a mass tidal wave onto yours. This was it. This was the way your life had panned, and it was written in the stars.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 7

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/67350442

previous | next

7. i carry more than you see

A gloved hand meets smooth steel and pushes gently, opening the door. The hinges whine for a moment before going quiet. Bloodhound exits their apartment, locks the door behind them, and heads for the stairs to the roof.

They know they can very well take the elevator and avoid the extra strain, but a part of them needs the burn. They need the dull scorch in their chest to keep them going. To keep them sane. To remind them why they’re here. After all, it’s only a few flights from their floor to the roof. They can manage.

They pass Octavio’s apartment on their way, and they smile. Loud engine noises beat through the walls as Octavio plays yet another racing game. Bloodhound was sure his pursuit of speed and adrenaline would slow to a crawl one day, but certainly not yet.

Reaching the stairwell, they pull out their phone for a brief moment. It’s a simple thing, not at all fancy like those belonging to their fellow Legends, but it does the job. As usual, the screen is blank and wordless, showing only the time in white numbers against a blank background. For a moment they wish that someone would send them a message, but who do they know that would? They stuff the phone back into the pocket of their thick outer jacket and sigh, annoyed with themself.

As they ascend the stairs, the familiar ache in the lungs reminds them of the first time they’d tried to navigate a stairwell after the accident. The steep, sturdy staircase leading up to their room in the loft of Artur’s home became a behemoth, an impossible obstacle to overcome for so long. They had made it up halfway before their lungs screamed at them to stop. They’d collapsed onto the steps, weeping brokenly, and abandoned their attempt, opting to burrow into a pile of warm furs on the bottom floor instead. The coolant in their lungs had frozen and damaged some of their lung tissue, and the village medics told them they were extremely lucky to be alive. The respirator they had found proved to be an essential part of their life, and they had used many over the years since then.

Now, as they near the top, their lungs burn but they do not falter. They scale the last few steps with ease, inhaling deeply. The air that passes down their throat to their creaking lungs soothes each protesting corner and calms the heat that circulates inside. Bloodhound places a hand over their heart, willing it to slow, willing it to return to its normal rhythm.Their blood pumps hard, flowing throughout their body, filling them with a sense of satisfaction. It had been many, many years since the accident, but they still felt a quiet sense of pride and assurance when they could scale a flight of stairs.

Quite ironic, is it not? Bloodhound thinks. They risked their life every day, killing and hunting and killing again, but the most meaningful victory was standing at the top of a staircase, knowing they had made it. But why? Why did that matter so much, when their prowess as a hunter was so much more important? They push at the door to the roof and it swings open with a heavy creak.

A cold chill runs across their skin and they stuff their gloved hands into their pockets. Bloodhound breathes deeply, letting the cool air tickle their throat on the way down.

“Um…”

They jump, and turn to their left. To their surprise, Elliott stands there in the corner, holding a bottle of beer, and the energy around him is suspiciously sad and forlorn again. His eyes are gleaming dully, and Bloodhound realizes they have walked in on a very private moment.

“Elliott,” they say, their voice coming out much too high, even through the modulator. They clear their throat, and continue. “My apologies. I do not wish to interrupt you. I will leave, if that is what you desire.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Really.” Elliott’s voice is quiet and tight, like it was the last time they had found each other here. He sniffs, and Bloodhound averts their eyes as he turns away, a hand going to his face.

“If you are certain…” Bloodhound trails off, waiting for a response. Elliott gives none, so Bloodhound crosses over to him, but leaves a respectable distance between them.

Neither of them say anything for several minutes. Elliott occasionally takes a drink from his bottle, and soon drains it completely. It clinks as he sets it down on the ground. He sighs and leans against the balcony, propping himself up with his elbows. Bloodhound runs their fingers over the rough stone. They let their thoughts wander here and there, but they occasionally glance over at Elliott. His expression is far away and glassy, but not from alcohol- he doesn’t seem to be drunk.

“What troubles you, félagi?” they ask softly.

Elliott snorts, a short sound filled with derision and a surprising amount of venom. “What doesn’t trouble me?” he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seems like I can barely keep my head on straight these days.”

“What is it you need?” Bloodhound asks, and a strange desire to put their hand on his arm takes place under their sternum. They ignore it.

Elliott sighs heavily, and massages his temples. “I…” He breaks off, his voice giving out. His next words come out in a tangled, frustrated tumble. “I need to stop being such a useless mess in the Games, I need my mom to stop losing her goddamn mind, I need my dad to stop being such a dickhead, I need my brothers to come out of whatever fucking hiding hole they’re in and help me, goddammit-” His voice breaks again, and his jaw is set and trembling. The sudden surge of anger startles Bloodhound; he had not seemed to be quite so agitated when they arrived. His eyes shine again, and he shakes his head, staring at his hands.

Bloodhound moves as though they are in a dream, and before they know what they’re doing, they’re at his side. They touch his shoulder, and squeeze it gently. Elliott jumps, but relaxes into their touch. He stands straight for a few more moments, shaking slightly, then he groans. “God, I’m so pathetic, sorry,” he says, his voice constricted. “I can’t believe I’m actually crying right now. And in front of you, too. The last person I want to cry in front of.” He wipes his face angrily and shakes Bloodhound’s hand off as he walks away. His foot collides with the beer bottle, and it goes skittering across the floor, clinking faintly.

Their hand is cold as they bring it back to their side. Discomfort and rejection pool in their stomach, but they press it down, promising themself they will process it later. “You are neither useless nor pathetic, Elliott,” they assert. “Your emotions do not make you a lesser person. They make you strong.”

“Strong?” He laughs, and it hurts. “Strong? You’re kidding, right? You’re going to stand there and look at me and tell me I’m strong?” His words are scathing, and he glares at them, angry and in pain.

“Yes, Elliott, I am,” they shoot back. “Because despite your poor opinion of yourself, you are a worthy teammate. I quite enjoy fighting by your side.”

“But why?” he asks, his voice becoming more emphatic. He’s pacing, his hands knotting in his voluminous hair. “Why, Bloodhound? Nothing about me has been strong lately. I lose it every time I hear my mom’s voice on the phone and she asks who she’s talking to. I’m her son. She should know me!” he gasps, anguish working its way across his face. “And my useless shithead of a dad d- des- abandons us just as soon as things get shitty, only to come crawling back the second he gets wind of his youngest son being in the Apex Games. Everyone knows the only thing he’s after is the money- he can’t be bothered to step back in and be an actual dad. He wasn’t even that great anyway.” Elliott trembles as he speaks, spitting out the words like they’re poison in his veins, left by the gaping maw of some unseen, ravenous creature.

“And then my glorious, wonderful, perfect brothers all ran off to join the fight when the war started. They all had something to prove, something to hold themselves up to. Dumbasses just wanted to be better than their dear old dad. They just left behind their kid brother to grow up alone and wonder where they’d gone.” His voice breaks again, and Bloodhound has to resist the sudden urge to gather him in their arms. He turns away, and they avert their eyes once more as he shakes.

Bloodhound waits, struggling and grasping to find the right thing to say. They feel different- exposed, or scrutinized, even. They had always been a sympathetic person, but it had been a very long time since they wanted to hold someone the way they wanted to hold Elliott.

“You are very well within your rights to feel scared and powerless,” Bloodhound soothes, trying to quiet their intrusive thoughts. “All of this is enough to make anyone deeply upset.”

“I don’t have time for this!” Elliott yells, waving his hands wildly. “I don’t have time to process all of this. I need to focus on the Games. It’s been weeks since I came out on top. Every damn time I get close, something goes wrong. I slip up, or I make a dumb decision, or I just sit there staring at you like a dumbass because you’re so—” He stops abruptly, eyes going wide, cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red. “...because you’re such a badass,” he finishes lamely, and he turns away.

Bloodhound remains quiet for a moment, mulling over the implications behind the unspoken words. What was he about to say? It certainly wasn’t “beautiful”— anyone would agree that Bloodhound’s chances of being attractive had splintered like their skin all those years ago. Perhaps it was “skilled”? But no, why would he stop himself from saying that? They close their eyes and push the question away, resolving to think about it another time.

“My success does not invalidate your worth as a person,” they reply. “Elliott, you are a smart man. You are capable and strong. But if you do not allow yourself to feel these things, they will haunt you forever.”

“And how exactly do you propose that I feel things, huh?” he asks, exasperated and impatient. “This shit sucks, and I’m trying to get rid of it, not keep it around!” He throws his hands in the air and strides away, still fuming.

Bloodhound sighs. Elliott was many things, but a patient man he was not.

“Vinur minn. Do you trust me?” they ask, both expecting and dreading his answer.

Elliott stops, and turns around just enough for Bloodhound to see the frustration in his eyes barely give way to something softer. Kinder. “I mean… yeah.”

“Come.”

Bloodhound turns away from the city lights and turbulent distractions, heading for the opposite side of the roof. They pick up a pair of cushions from the chairs there, and place them on the floor. The sun is sinking in the sky, and gives the far off trees a golden aura. Bloodhound wishes they could be running among them, feeling the day’s last rays of warmth drain from the world. But it does not matter. Elliott Witt has lost his light, and Bloodhound is here to help him find it again.

They settle onto one of the cushions, sitting cross-legged. Elliott has followed them, but he stares down at them, confused. “Uh… what are we doing, H- I mean, Bloodhound?”

“Please, take a seat,” Bloodhound says, gesturing to the pillow next to them. They pause, then begin to remove their gloves. The scarring is not as severe there, they think. But why are they rationalizing? Why are they worried? They trust Elliott not to tell anyone, and they trust him to not ask any ill-willed questions.They lay the gloves in their lap and weave their fingers together, bringing their hands to rest as Elliott settles on the pillow, still looking bewildered.

“Please take my hands,” they ask, their voice nigh a whisper. Elliott suddenly flushes, but extends his hands nonetheless. A spark of warmth ignites where the first contact is made- his middle finger graces their palm ever so softly- but it spreads and matures into something much more familiar, much more intimate. His hands are bitterly cold. Bloodhound wants to wrap his hands in theirs and hold them until they’re both warm. Part of them retreats and cringes when his fingers pass over their scars, but they resist the urge to draw back. Elliotts emotions are rattled enough, and he does not need any more rejection.

“Breathe with me.” Bloodhound inhales deeply, and Elliott follows suit, looking more and more at ease as time goes by. Air swirls into their lungs, expanding and filling their chest to a comfortable volume. The spaces between Bloodhound’s ribs stretch and extend as they pull their diaphragm down, drinking in the air like it’s a fine wine. Their gaze locks perfectly to Elliott’s, and even through the goggles, Elliott makes direct eye contact. His deep brown eyes are tired, and the bags under them look purple and dark. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, even though Bloodhound knew that couldn’t be the case. He had very nearly beat them yesterday, after all.

The two of them breathe in tandem for a few moments more, and Elliott’s energy progresses from a writhing roar to a light buzz. “Better?” Bloodhound asks.

“Yeah,” he replies. “How-”

“Trust me,” they implore.

He nods.

“When we focus on the breath of life, we are able to filter out the distractions,” Bloodhound says. Their thumbs tenderly caress Elliott’s fingers in a calming motion, pressing soft arcs into his skin. “Tell me, what do you feel when you think of your mother?”

Elliott’s face falls ever so slightly, but he recovers. “I guess… I guess I’m just really… sad,” he murmurs. “I feel… helpless. Powerless. If it was a person causing all of her problems, I would have taken care of it a long time ago, but… this is different.” He swallows hard. “I can’t fight this. Not with a gun or my fists, anyway.”

Bloodhound nods. “And how do you feel about your father?”

A spark of anger returns to Elliott’s eyes. He grunts in annoyance, deep in thought for a moment. “He pisses me off. I’d punch him right in the face if he were here now. It would serve him right.”

Bloodhound smiles. The thought of Elliott socking his father in the face seemed amusingly petulant, but they hope they are around to see it one day. “And your brothers?” they ask. “How do you feel about them?

A mix of emotions runs through Elliott’s visage- happiness, fear, despair. “I…” he starts. “I really don’t know. I don’t know how I should feel about them. They piss me off, but… they’re my brothers. I don’t even know if they’re still out there.” He releases Bloodhound’s hands and begins to fidget with his fingers in his lap.

“It is all right to have complicated feelings towards those that have hurt us,” Bloodhound remarks as they settle their own hands onto their knees. Their hands are warm and tingly where he had been touching them. “Our emotions come for us at different times. Some are more devastating than others. Some feel as though they will last forever, but some are fleeting. They can make us feel insignificant. Small, compared to their weight and power. But their gravity cannot consume us unless we allow it to.”

“How do I stop it?” Elliott asks, his voice small and uncertain. “How do I keep from getting sucked in?”

“The answer is simple,” they reply, and they almost smile anticipating his response. “You do not.”

Elliott’s brow furrows, and he gapes at them, open mouthed. Bloodhound wants to laugh, but they hold it back, grateful for their mask for the millionth time. They are not too sure about how he would respond to being laughed at a second time. “Uh… what?” he questions. “You’re telling me that in order to stay in control, I have to… let go of it?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell does that work?” Elliott asks, his tone slightly accusatory. He shifts his weight so that he is leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“Imagine you are in a spacecraft orbiting a planet,” Bloodhound instructs. They gesture with their hands as they speak, weaving their story into being. “Think of that planet as an emotion. It has its own pull, its own gravity. If you turn off the engines, you will be stuck in orbit. If you leave, you will never know whether or not that planet had something valuable for you to discover.”

“So, you’re saying…” Elliott pauses, comically confused. Finally, he sighs, and rubs his eyes tiredly. “What are you saying?”

“Our emotions are not inconveniences, Elliott,” Bloodhound says. “They are lessons in disguise, planets waiting to be explored. We do ourselves a disservice by pushing them away and ignoring them. If we are patient with ourselves, there is much to discover.”

Elliott considers this, his hands still fidgeting. “You’re essentially saying that I need to let myself feel,” he says. Then, the realization drops on him like a ton of bricks. “Oh. Ohhh. You- yeah. Of course. Duh.” He blushes red again, and buries his face in his hands.

“Yes,” Bloodhound replies, smiling fully now. “Allow yourself to experience the emotion. Instead of pushing it away, explore it. Travel alongside it, and take note of what you see. The way may be uncomfortable at times, but you are allowed to feel the pain you bear.”

Elliott remains buried in his hands for a long time, clearly deep in thought. When he emerges, Bloodhound notices that he seems calmer and more level-headed. He looks up at them and smiles, and a strange stilted feeling skips through Bloodhound’s chest. It was almost as if their heart had lost its rhythm for a moment.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his face red. “I can be a stubborn idiot sometimes. Doesn’t do me any good.”

“We all have our moments of difficulty,” Bloodhound soothes. “But they do not make us less worthy of assistance.”

“Caustic would disagree with you,” Elliott scoffs.

“Caustic would be incorrect,” Bloodhound assures, a flash of annoyance flitting through them at the mention of Nox. “That andskoti would benefit from a great deal of assistance.”

Elliott laughs, and his smile alone is enough to break through the gloom that has been surrounding him all evening. “What does that mean, anyway?” he asks, shaking his head in amusement.

“It most closely means ‘devil’ or ‘demon’,” Bloodhound answers. “It is… unkind, but Doctor Nox is-”

“An asshole, yeah.”

“That is not quite the word I would pick, but yes.” Bloodhound chuckles. “He is.”

They fall quiet, content to sit with him in silence. He’s not even looking at them, but for some reason, it doesn’t matter. Just sitting here with him was enough to still Bloodhound’s thoughts and bring a peace to their soul they had long forgotten.

“And one more thing,” they say, remembering. “The outcome of a match does not lay entirely on your shoulders. The team must work together to bring about a victory.”

“Yeah, but my dumbassery certainly doesn’t help anything,” he grumbles, rolling his neck. Several cracks pop through the air, and he sighs. “I’m sure you never have trouble.”

“We all struggle in the Games,” they respond. “Myself included. Your idolization of me does not improve or indicate my skill level. I am mannlegur, just like you. Human.”

Elliott’s cheeks flush, and he shrugs. “I definitely don’t believe that,” he mutters.

Bloodhound rolls their eyes. They want to take him by the shoulders and hold him there until he stops devaluing himself. “Elliott, the Games are not for the faint of heart,” they assert. “If you were incapable, you would not have survived the first season.”

“You can say I’m a dumbass, you know,” Elliott says, running a hand through his hair and stretching.

“I do not wish to insult you.”

Elliott rolls his eyes, but smiles faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“That is a shame, Elliott,” Bloodhound replies. “I would not consider you to be such.”

He is quiet for a few moments, deep in thought. “Then you’d be a r-rar- you’d be one of the few who didn’t.” He pushes back the sleeves of his sweater, and Bloodhound is momentarily captivated by his well-muscled arms. Something inside them freezes for a half second, then drops into their stomach, and they are very glad he cannot see their face.

“I am sorry you are feeling helpless,” they say, tearing their eyes away from his warm skin to look into his face. “That is a feeling I am familiar with. Please know that you are not alone.”

“I appreciate it.” Elliott smiles at them again, before getting to his feet and returning to the balcony. Bloodhound follows after putting the pillows back where they belong.

Several silent moments stretch out between the two of them. Bloodhound waits patiently, and gazes out over the busy city. The sun is just setting, and it leaks down past their view, painting the higher windows on the buildings around them in fiery orange. They used to wish they could catch the sun and suspend it right there forever, giving them all the time they needed to think and to grieve. But many years have passed since they were a child, and life does not see fit to slow down and allow them anything.

The last vestiges of the sun soon creep beyond the horizon, and a cold chill fills the air. Bloodhound is quite insulated beneath their thick jacket and woolen sweater, but Elliott begins to shiver, presumably because he is only wearing one layer of clothing.

“Yikes. This weather’s kinda crazy, huh?” he remarks, rolling his sleeves back down.

“I had hoped the seasons would delay their changing for a while longer,” they say, “but time waits for no one.” They’re already shrugging off their jacket before they fully register what they’re doing. “Here. Take this for the evening. I will leave you with your thoughts.” They hand their jacket to a bewildered Elliott, who takes it, unsure.

“Um, are you sure? You wear this thing all the time,” he asks, staring at them hard, his cheeks redder than ever.

“Quite. Leave it on my doorstep, and I will retrieve it in the morning.”

“Okay… if you’re sure.” He slides into the jacket with ease, and Bloodhound is pleased to find that it fits him perfectly. It complements his outfit well, and accentuates his features nicely. “What do you think?” he asks, and he does a slow twirl, examining his new look.

A strange leaping sensation in Bloodhound’s abdomen crackles through their body.

“It suits you,” they say, nodding in approval. Their eyes seem to be glued to his form, admiring his strength and the effort he put into his appearance. Finally, they break their gaze away, shake their head, and begin to move towards the door. “One more thing, Elliott.”

“Yeah?” His head pops up,

“Do not forget what I told you. You are-”

“‘Allowed to feel the pain I bear’, yeah, I got it,” he repeats, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Don’t you worry about me, Bloodhound, I’ll be just fine.” He gives them an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up, and they can’t help but smile.

“Have a good evening, Elliott,” they say, pulling the door open, making sure it would remain unlocked after they left.

“Thanks. You, too.”

When Bloodhound lays in bed that night, their fingers fidget with their hair, working it into twists and plaits and many stranded knots. Their thoughts wander, but always seem to arrive back at Elliott- Elliott smiling, Elliott laughing, even Elliott staring out over the balcony, his eyes shining. As they yank a brush through their hair, their chest pulses pleasantly with the memory of Elliott wrapped in their jacket, and they smile freely, openly, unobscured in the darkness of their room. Elliott Witt, they think. What a lovely person he is.

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