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limnsaber · 1 year

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Mandalorian Slash Fic Rec List - DinLuke Volume I: Big, Medium, Heartfelt and Solemn

Hello!! Welcome to the first volume of Mando Slash Fic Rec- Dinluke! This is a collection of Dinluke fics that have a notable wordcount and fics that have a more heartfelt/solemn tone, sorted under headings that make the most sense to me personally. For reference, 🔐 means a restricted work and 💜 means an personal favorite. Check out Mando Gen lists I, II, and III. Please enjoy and give love to our cherished fic authors who we owe so much to!! -Yours, Limn <3

Big and Long and Impressive

💜 The Wanderer and the Seer by @kevystel (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Politics, Original Mandalorian Characters, Mandalorian Culture, Diaspora, Teen, one of my favorites!!, 98k)

Din Djarin is temporarily relieved of a single dad's responsibilities, only to be saddled with the much greater responsibilities of Mand'alor. Temporarily. Hopefully. This is not the story of a great man becoming king; it's the story of some dude finding his place in the galaxy, freedom, and personal happiness through having some goddamn decency and good manners. Also the power of love, or whatever.

finding the lost and losing the found (series) by deniigiq (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Politics, Romance, Family Dynamics, Political Alliances, Teen, 35k)

“So you’re not stealing my ship?” Mando said. “What do I want with your ship?” Luke demanded. “I don’t know. I don’t usually ask,” Mando said. (Luke tries to help his student stay focused on his studies by helping his student's father. It's harder than it looks.)

A Near-Mythological Event by SybilStarnes (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Force Sensitive Din Djarin, Mand'alor Din Djarin, Living Waters of Mandalore, The Mandalorian Darksaber, Explicit, 116k)

Desperate to rejoin The Tribe, Din Djarin (with Grogu) travels to Mandalore to seek the Living Waters. Once they're in the caverns below the destroyed mine, a cave-in cuts off their exit. Grogu calls for help, and the legendary Luke Skywalker responds. Cleansed by the Living Waters, Din returns to his Tribe to reswear to the Creed. He discovers it has new members, attracted to a Child of the Watch bearing the Darksaber. Meanwhile, Luke has offered to help Din learn to use the weapon. The Mandalorian finds himself on a new path, one that draws him deeper into Mandalorian politics and closer to the Jedi. With the help of several guest stars, including one fat and sassy Force ghost, Din struggles to free Mandalore from Imperial dominance.

All the pretty places that feel like home (series) by SunshineAndaLittleFlour (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, two dangerous warriors coparenting a tiny frog, Explicit, 73k)

“Would you be more comfortable if I called you something else?” Luke asked, and it should have been teasing, but it was genuine, the soft freedom to be who he wanted in this place. And that careful gift, that offer of being who he wanted, uncontrolled and unfettered, filled Din with a lot of hope and a little bit of terror. Who was he without the creed? His people? Who was Din Djarin, standing in the halls of someone who had once been his people’s greatest enemy? Din shook his head, hearing his own breathing echo inside his helmet. “No. You can,” he faltered briefly, then took a deep breath. “You can call me by my name.”

buy a big house where we could both live by @villanellve (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Post-Canon Fix-It, Slow Burn, Mature, 73k)

Din trails behind them and reminds himself this is temporary. He’ll make sure they get to the temple safe, and once he’s sure that Luke agrees to continue training Grogu, he’ll leave them. Grogu reaches up with his hand to tug at the edge of Luke’s shirt, and Din’s fingers flex at his sides. This is the way, he tells himself.

🔐 Get Back Homeward by berryfunkedup (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, POV Alternating, Jedi Tradtion & Culture, Clones, Getting Together, Teen, 42k)

Luke is at a stalemate with the New Republic in the aftermath of everything he lost in the war and his inheritance of the Jedi’s legacy. Din seeks his tribe and takes bounties, living according to the Way. And Grogu and the Jedi are not part of the Way. But he is definitely not the new Mand’alor, no matter what Mandalorian tradition about the Darksaber says. After Moff Gideon is assassinated while held in New Republic custody, Din and Luke must work together to clear the Mandalorians from blame and uncover the real culprit. Along the way they encounter terrible politicians, fights over naps, old secrets, and just maybe, find their way forward.

Medium and Impressive

parry, parry, strike by @alchemyalice (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Post-Season 2, Teen, 18k)

“Oh? What are you, their king?” the Senator says sarcastically, and then freezes at the same time Din does. “...No,” Din says. He does not sound convincing.

I have made this place around you by HeadOn_HelmetOff (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Dialogue Heavy, Early Relationship, Introspection, Teen, 25k)

“Do you know who you are, Din Djarin?” Survivor of Aq Vetina. Mandalorian. Bounty hunter. Apostate. Father. Mand’alor. “...No,” he uttered. Luke nodded sagely. “Then that’s what we’ll focus on first.”

💜 A different kind of blood by HeadOn_HelmetOff (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, The Armorer, Paz Vizsla, Good Parent Din Djarin, Good Teacher Luke Skywalker, Pre-Relationship, Mandalorian Culture, Jedi Culture & Tradition, The Mandalorian Darksaber, Teen, 25k)

A slight twist on events in Ch. 5 of The Book of Boba Fett: when Grogu is afflicted with visions of his father injured on Glavis, he and Luke make a decision that will greatly influence Din Djarin's journey toward redemption and reconciliation with the survivors of his covert.

where the spirit meets the bone by @ebonybow (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Developing Relationship, Intimacy, Canon Divergence, Explicit, 28k)

He dreams of his head feeling too-heavy on his shoulders, his helmet filling slowly with water. - Din navigates new feelings regarding his creed, himself, and a certain Jedi.

pluck a heartstring, duck for cover by owlerie (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Canon Divergence, Mand'alor Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Slow Burn, Sparring as Flirting, Mature, 28k)

“He's a bit of a sex icon, your Mandalorian," says Leia over breakfast the next morning, nose buried in a sea of taxation reports. Luke promptly inhales caf three inches up his airway and doubles over hacking gracelessly. “I— wait— he's not my Mandalorian," he chokes out, to which Leia raises a single dubious, well-groomed eyebrow.

Heartfelt and Solemn

crystals in the current by @willowcrowned (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Romance, Family, Luke Skywalker's Jedi Temple, The Force, Teen, 22k)

Luke gets the message from the child in the early evening. It’s spring on Yavin, and the wind smells like the glowing purple blossoms that cluster in the corners of old rooms and spring up through the pavement. The air is heavy with twilight, the orange-violet of the sky creeping its way down, filtering through the new-leafed boughs and down to where he’s sitting under a tree. or Luke takes Grogu, but the sundering on the lightcruiser isn't an ending; it's a beginning.

Timshel by skywalkers (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Force Visions, Hurt/Comfort, Order 66 (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Teen, 5k)

“I think there’s something I can do to help him. A technique I could try.” Luke says. “I could use your help.” “What do you need?” Din says. Anything, he thinks. Anything. “I think he would be more open to the process if you do it as well.” Luke’s eyes, keen and ever-blue, that have the impossible ability to find Din’s own behind his mask every time, meet his own. He looks unsure. It’s not something Din ever thought he’d ascribe to Luke Skywalker. “But the process can be...intense. I understand if you don’t want to do it.” Din flips it over in his mind for a moment, considering. He’s not exactly sure what Luke is asking of him. But what kind of an example would he be if he asked Grogu to do something he refused to? And, looking at Luke, how could Din refuse him anything? Not that he could ever say that. Din nods. “‘Course. Show him there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

resonance by pixie_rings (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Kyber Crystals, Planet Ilum, Gen, 10k)

Rebuilding a dying Order is never easy. While exploring the ruined planet Ilum, Grogu gets a calling, and Din and Luke reflect on their son growing up - with and without them.

the unbearable loneliness of distant stars by Liathejedi (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Teen, 10k)

Din wonders when the Jedi became Skywalker, and when Skywalker became Luke, or when the lines between stranger and friend had blurred and left him standing in an unfamiliar ship, folding bare hands around a man he barely knew and feeling like his breath had been lost to the stars. A Jedi and a Mandalorian face down the ashes of the Empire and learn what it means to rebuild a broken people.

Mand'alor, The by scheidswrites (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Grogu, Bo-Katan Kryze, Gen, 3.5k)

They called him Mand’alor the Reclaimer, Mand’alor the Unifier. Some have started to call him Mand’alor the Vanished. The rumors run rampant that he is dead.

#dinluke #skydalorian #din djarin #luke skywalker #the mandalorian #star wars #long awaited fic rec! *blows party horn* hope you guys enjoy #figured it was time to post this actually! i get so much enjoyment out of reccing these & reading #them that I hope authors honored know that. consider this another comment on ao3 full of insane paragraphs.#recs? this is my appreciation post #vols II and III forthcoming.#lim's fic recs #star wars fanfiction recommendations

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danaewrites · 4 months

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Helmet Over Heels

part iv: hooked on a feeling

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 5.7k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

this chapter officially marks the beginning of the *main* plot arc. if you’ve stuck with me this far, please accept my endless gratitude and know that things are about to get exponentially more interesting ;)

p.s. if you want faster updates, my ao3 readers usually get new chapters a week earlier than the tumblrinas <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

Weeks passed, and you settled into a routine on the Crest with unexpected ease. You split your days between caring for Grogu—which consisted mostly of cooing enthusiastically at his crayon scribbles and soothing his tired cries until he fell asleep—and testing out which recipes garnered the best reactions from his stoic father. On a particularly busy morning, you’d left a tray of rolls in the oven for too long and didn’t notice the smoke until Mando burst through the doorway in a panic. That was definitely a reaction, though not quite the one you’d been hoping for. And a rather expensive one, too, since he’d broken the automatic closing mechanism with the force of his entry.

But your nights… the best of your nights were spent in the passenger seat of the cockpit, eyes tracing an endless path through hyperspace until you drifted off to the sound of breaths under beskar. You’d bought enough blankets in Nevarro to stay comfortable in the leather seat, although you still woke up to find Mando’s cloak draped over you when the icy chill of deep space permeated the ship. On a good night, one where he’d returned quickly from a hunt and had energy to spare on conversation, you’d punctuate the quiet with the occasional question. They ranged from serious—whether he’d been born Mandalorian (no), why his beskar was so important (forging and wearing the sacred metal was an essential part of the Mandalorian Creed)— to absurd.

He’d been rather bemused when you asked him what his favorite flavor of sprinkles was, but you remained stubbornly tethered to your position that questions like those were quite important when judging someone’s character. That was, as long as the interviewee had an actual answer. Apparently, growing up in a hidden Mandalorian covert limited one’s interaction with dessert toppings.

And to your surprise, he returned the gesture. You’d stumbled into the cockpit late one night, wide–eyed and restless. Grogu had been particularly fussy that day, and you’d assumed that the exhausting effort you put in would shuttle you straight to dreamland. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning for hours in the soft nest of blankets Mando had previously arranged into a makeshift bed for you. So you’d quietly climbed out of the hull, hoping to find some rest under the stars—or at least allow their muted glow to numb your racing thoughts.

He’d silently acknowledged your arrival by unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto your lap. You’d mumbled a soft “thank you,” simultaneously embarrassed that he knew you preferred it to a blanket and pleased at the attentive gesture. At least he didn’t know why you liked the charcoal fabric so much, you reasoned. Your hand found the button that released the backrest, and you exhaled softly as your torso dipped backwards with the seat. You curled up underneath the cloak, letting its heavy weight slowly subdue your tense muscles into a more comfortable position.

“I never thanked you for what you did at the cantina.” Mando’s baritone broke through the quiet, low and soothing.

You blinked, gaze traveling from the shooting stars above you to his silver outline in the pilot’s seat. “You don’t need to,” you insisted, but his posture remained stiffly tense.

“I was out of vambrace fuel that day,” he admitted. “Without the alcohol, I wouldn’t have been able to use the flamethrower. And my blaster charges were… limited.” He was silent for several long moments, then spoke roughly. “Without you, I—wouldn’t have made it back to the kid for a while.”

Your heart softened at the way he clearly struggled to get out the words. “You would have figured it out,” you murmured, the sides of your mouth curving up into a small smile. “I mean, my next step was to start chucking spotchka bottles at their scaly faces. I’m sure Mandalorians are trained to use more complex fighting moves.”

At that, he released a wry, surprised huff of a laugh that warmed the atmosphere of the small cockpit and set butterflies alight in your stomach. You scrunched your face up and yawned, choosing to ignore that particular feeling. Slowly, the comfortable silence relaxed you into a peaceful, half–drowsy state. Minutes ticked by in the blur of hyperspace, and then—

“Have you always lived on Nath?”

You glanced over, surprised that he was still initiating conversation. “No, I’m from Odala,” you spoke softly, the word dropping off your tongue like a bittersweet hymn. You watched his gloved hands pause their track across the control panel, his silver helmet tilting ever–so–slightly towards you.

“Odala,” he repeated. “Isn’t that planet—”

“Destroyed?” You sucked in a breath, wincing as memories rushing through your brain in a flood of sudden pain. “Yeah. By the glory of Imperial superlasers, as if the plague the soldiers brought wasn’t devastating enough.” You looked down at your hands, embarrassed by the sarcastic outburst.

“I just miss it. So much,” you spoke, half–whispering the words. “My family had a workshop there—we crafted music boxes, radios, metal instruments. Four generations of art, wiped out in an instant.”

Mando remained silent, but his posture was attentive—a quiet invitation to continue.

“I tried to help as much as I could when it all fell apart. Working in the med tents, sending tools from our shop to the rebels. None of it was enough. My mother sold her wedding ring to get me passage on the last cargo freighter to Corellia, a day before the bombing started.”

You sniffed, trying desperately to regain control of the floodgates that threatened to spill over from behind your eyelids. “I had cousins, as close as siblings, and I just—left them all behind. Didn’t even make it to Corellia before the pilot kicked me off the ship.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone was gentle, but the words were firm. You started to shake your head, but he stopped you, turning fully to face you.

“You did everything you could. Your family would be proud that you survived.”

At that, your face crumpled. You pressed it into the cloak to hide the silent tears that streaked down your cheeks at his words, saltwater soured by years of pent–up feeling. You never thought you’d reveal those parts of your past to anyone, let alone a man whose face you’d never seen. Somehow, though, his quiet presence grounded you, allowing the waves of your grief to wash over you and slowly recede with your pain.

You finally looked up to see Mando’s head bowed, his deep baritone echoing an unfamiliar language. “O’r ibic aay’han, ni partaylir gar.”

“What does that mean?” You asked softly, hands twisting the cloak in your lap.

He straightened, helmet tilting towards you. “In this time of mourning, I remember you,” he repeated, voice stronger but still reverent. “It is how Mandalorians honor the warriors who have gone before us.”

“This is the Way,” you whispered, and he made a small noise of surprise in the back of throat before affirming your statement.

“This is the Way.”

***

You touched down on Vati in the early hours of the morning, stirred from dreamless sleep by the gentle thump of the Crest hitting the terrain. When you opened your eyes, Mando was gone, but the unmistakable sound of the boarding ramp unlatching echoed up to the cockpit. Curiosity fueled your careful movements as you climbed down into the hull. When you finally stepped out of the ship onto unfamiliar, bluish dirt, your eyes widened with dazed surprise at the sight before you.

Giant, puffy clouds hovered low in the purple–tinged sky, low enough that it felt like you could touch them if you stood on top of the Crest. The land that stretched out before you was barren of trees, dotted instead with thick bushes and tall grasses that waved in the cool morning wind. And to your right—twin suns peeked out from the horizon, piercing the clouds with dazzling beams of pink and orange.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured with awe, head tipping back as you took in the wide, brilliant expanse of the sky.

“Mesh’la.” You whirled around to see Mando standing behind you, helmet turning from the majestic landscape towards you. Your confusion at the unfamiliar phrase must have been painted across your face, as plain as the wisteria stripes on the bush next to you. He coughed self-consciously, then muttered, “That’s—it means beautiful, in Mando’a.”

Your face lit up with understanding, and you slowly repeated the word. Your pronunciation was nowhere near the way it’d rolled off his tongue, somehow sounding both fierce and tender, but he nodded.

“Quick learner,” he hummed approvingly, and stars, now was absolutely not the time for that feeling curling up in your belly to appear at his praise.

You placed your hands on your hips, turning around before your flushed face could betray you. An idea sparked to life in your mind as you surveyed the majestic landscape. You bent down and snapped a twig off of a bush near your feet, bringing it up to your face. You rolled it around in your palm for a moment, testing for moisture. When none revealed itself, you shot a bright grin at Mando over your shoulder.

“Want to try something fun?”

Twenty minutes later, you had a fire crackling and a scuffed pan suspended over it on a makeshift tripod. You handed Grogu a pile of branches, showing him how to select the ones that would make the best fuel and carefully toss them into the fire. It was a work in progress; he wasn’t as interested in the twigs as he was the ruby flames, and you had to keep snatching him back before his tiny green hands could get burned. You’d assigned Mando the job of stirring the batter—a surprise, you’d told him. You weren’t sure whether he was the sort of man who’d be too macho to eat something you’d named Pancake Sprinklesplosion as a child, so you figured the mystery might be a good idea.

When you’d finished flipping the blue bantha–milk pancakes over the fire, you set a towering stack next to the three precious sprinkle jars you’d bought in Nevarro. You fixed the beskar–clad warrior with an expectant beam, pointing to each of the containers in quick succession.

“Chocolate. Caramel. Rainbow. The three pillars of dessert decoration,” you explained, clasping your hands together with a determined gleam in your eyes. “Prepare for your shiny mind to be blown, metal man.”

Mando’s helmet tilted slowly towards the jars, then back up at you. “Am I… supposed to eat them?”

You gaped at him, seriously considering whether you needed to check him for a concussion. The armored man seemed to pick up on your train of thought and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s just the, uh,” he gestured to his helmet. Your eyes widened again, this time in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot! I can…go inside, if you want? With the kid?”

Mando hesitated for a few long moments, then shook his head. “No, just—turn around. I’ll do the same.”

You bit your lip nervously, thinking of all the ways you could mess this up. Kriff, what if the kid twisted around before you could stop him—

“I trust you,” he added, interrupting your panicked train of thought. The sincerity of his tone was enough to settle your nerves into firm determination. Not on your life would you do anything to break his Creed.

You sighed. “Alright, then.”

You turned around, bending down to strap the kid into his floating crib and sit down on a nearby log with your own plate. You heard shuffling, the melodic clinking of beskar on beskar, and then—a pressurized hiss that made your heart skip a beat. You kept your eyes trained on your pancakes, only glancing to the side to make sure that Grogu hadn’t climbed out of his pod to go looking for amphibious snacks. You didn’t plan on moving from his view for a moment. If the green child thought he had a chance to waddle away on a frog hunt, he’d take it, consequences be damned.

A few minutes passed, and the silence became suffocating. You cleared your throat nervously.

“Mando? Are you… okay back there?”

“It’s been a while since I saw the sky like this.” He confessed, and stars. Without his modulator, his baritone was richer, deeper—somehow more warm than you’d imagined. You choked on a bite of your pancake. Apparently, your body was either going to make you acknowledge your not–so–little crush or asphyxiate trying.

“Take your time,” you gasped out, trying not to alert him to the fact that you were currently losing oxygen from the effect he had on you. Kriff, this was embarrassing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You thought you’d get over your initial attraction once you became more familiar with him, once you’d knocked him off that shiny silver pedestal in your mind. Yet somehow, the closer you grew to the man, the more you felt a breathless tug in your stomach at his presence. You watched him: interacting gently with Grogu, piloting the ship with an air of assured control, even sacrificing a much–needed storage closet so you’d have a place to rest outside of the cockpit.

You felt... Safe. Protected, for the first time in your life. It made your heart ache with a strange mix of yearning and contentment, as if having everything you’d ever dreamed of had only encouraged you to search for more.

To your relief, he didn’t seem to notice your internal distress, and you heard the familiar scrape of cutlery against his plate after a few minutes. You settled into a more comfortable position against the log, your head tipping back to watch strange, elongated birds swirl against the painted canvas of the sky. You were lucky to have landed on Vati at the break of dawn—its twin suns would produce an almost unbearable heat during the peak of the afternoon, but the way their soft warmth kissed your skin right now was exactly what you needed. You closed your eyes, letting your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind that ruffled the tall grasses. How long had it been since you’d had the chance to just breathe? Life on Nath had been cold and chaotic, but now you felt at peace—ready for whatever adventure the ship might take you to next.

Grogu’s stomach suddenly gurgled loudly. You glanced over to see that he had somehow gotten ahold of your remaining pancakes, those big, dark eyes staring guiltily at you as he gulped down the last of your breakfast. You sighed as he suddenly looked uncomfortable, his wrinkled face scrunching up in an expression you’d seen very, very often in the last few weeks. Apparently, that next adventure would be changing diapers.

“Not to rush you, metal man, but I think the kid’s going to need the ‘fresher soon,” you called out behind you.

Your armored companion grunted in acknowledgement, and you heard him stand up behind you. You waited patiently, covering your vision with both hands until you felt him gently tap your shoulder. Your eyes flew open at the touch, and you found the Mandalorian standing in front of you—helmet back in place, as if it had never been moved. You wondered if it was hard for him to put it back on. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, since he’d been wearing it for most of his life. But something about the way the beskar settled on his shoulders now just seemed… heavier.

Your gaze trailed down to where his empty plate and the sprinkle jars sat, the latter looking significantly lighter than they were when you’d handed them to him. You gave a delighted wolf–whistle when you noticed how the container with chocolate sprinkles was barely half full.

“Who would’ve guessed that the big, scary Mandalorian has a sweet tooth,” you teased, grinning up at his broad figure. “Stars, at this rate you might get a stomach ache worse than the kid’s!”

He shrugged in a cocky motion that had no right to be as endearing as it was. You wiped your hands on the faded overalls you’d bought in Nevarro, bending to pick up Grogu before he could make himself sick with more food. You wrinkled your nose when the mischievous green child burped—how the kriff did he make those so nostril–burning? Clearly, his cuteness was a necessary evolutionary mechanism, because no one in their right mind would volunteer to wipe his wrinkly butt for fifty years straight otherwise.

“Okay, that’s my cue to take this guy inside.” You sighed, surveying the messy remains of your picnic. “Sorry, I’ll be right back to get this packed up—”

Mando interrupted you, shaking his head. “I’ll take care of it. You have enough to handle already,” he insisted, gesturing at the squirming child in your arms.

He gently nudged you aside and began picking up the dishware that had somehow gotten scattered across the sandy terrain. Your heart warmed at the sweet, unexpectedly domestic action, and you shot him a grateful smile. As you made your way up the boarding ramp, you heard Mando swear under his breath. Then, louder, he called out your name.

“Don’t let him near the cockpit—he puked blue cookies all over it last time, made a hell of a mess to clean up—”

You looked down at the pouty child in your arms suspiciously. “Bantha milk doesn’t go down too well for you, huh?” You turned back to his armored father, an angelic expression on your face as you shifted the kid to your other hip. “Sorry, I can't hear you!” You sang out, sweet as a sprinkle. “Leave him in the pilot’s seat unattended? Sounds great to me,” you beamed, whirling on your heel.

The sound of Mando’s exasperated groan of laughter echoed your steps all the way back into the hull.

***

Somehow, without realizing it, you’d started singing again.

The girl you’d been before the war—the one who’d so loved the ballads the elders cried out during festivals, each note a fragmented burst of joy—she was slowly thawing, emerging from the icy burial you’d unceremoniously given her on Nath. A soft melody while you showered, an old Odalian lullaby when you tucked Grogu into his hammock… your whirlwind infatuation with music was beginning to sweep you off your feet once again, almost frightening you with how intensely it begged to be acknowledged.

Like all good things in your life these days, it was Mando’s fault.

You’d been laying on the floor, Grogu blowing raspberries at a nearby sparking wire for your entertainment, when he descended from the cockpit with a mysterious bag in hand. You watched him unfold a panel from the ship’s wall to reveal a surprisingly well–crafted workbench. When he’d started to peel off his beskar chestplate, your hands flew to cover your eyes in a panic. You tried to reach out blindly to cover Grogu’s vision, too, but yelped when your hand hit a sharp corner of the hull instead.

“Son of a porg–kissing nerf herder,” you groaned, rubbing the sore spot. You kept your eyes scrunched tightly shut as heavy boots stepped closer to you, then paused.

“What are you doing?” Your shiny companion sounded completely baffled by your antics. You winced, wishing that you had a Mandalorian etiquette book handy—a thought that had recurred in your thoughts more frequently as of late.

“Am I… allowed to look? When you take off your armor?”

You couldn’t see his expression, but you would bet good credits that his eyebrows were raised behind that silver helmet. “Yes. It is the revealing of our faces that goes against the Creed.”

“Oh,” you muttered, face red as a Tatooine sunset. You dusted yourself off and stood up awkwardly, trying to regain a bit of dignity as Mando resumed his careful disrobing of the beskar.

After a few moments, he added, “It’ll be your fault if his first word is ‘kriff’, you know.” His tone was deceptively even, but you sensed the undercurrent of amusement that ran through it.

You shot him a look. “Says you, Mister ‘Dank Ferrik’. At least if this career path doesn’t work out, I can always go be a pirate,” you sniffed. You picked up a fine red cloth that he’d set on the edge of the workbench, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment. “What’s this used for?”

He wordlessly motioned for you to place the unusual fabric in his hand, and you obeyed. You watched as he spun the cloth in an unfamiliar, geometric pattern across the metal of his chestplate, leaving a polished silver trail in its wake. The side of your mouth curved up. “So that’s why you never looked scuffed up when you came into the cantina.”

He nodded, then walked over to the other end of the hull. You watched his retreating form begin to sort through the supplies in the armory for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the beskar. It shimmered a strange color in the light, like the reflection of the fuel puddles that dripped beneath the Crest. You extended a tentative fingertip and gently flicked the silvery metal, eyes widening when it vibrated with a melodic echo. You hummed softly, trying to replicate its pitch.

Suddenly, an idea struck you. You glanced over at Mando—he was still working, seemingly consumed by the arduous task of reloading his ammo. You carefully picked up his pauldron and tapped it against the side of the chestplate. A clear, proud note rang out, albeit much louder than you’d expected. Your face broke into a delighted smile at the sound, reminded of the wind chimes your mother had hung above your cottage door.

“Having fun?”

You startled, turning around to see the tall man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, observing your little experiment. Your face heated as he pushed off the hull and walked towards you. He nodded at the glimmering plate in your hands.

“You are not the first to appreciate the sound of beskar. It is traditional for each Mandalorian clan to have a warrior who plays the bes’bev, the sacred war–flute.”

You peered up at him curiously. “I thought beskar was only to be forged into weapons or armor.”

He tilted his helmet in acknowledgement. “Yes. The end of the bes’bev is sharpened to double as a long knife.”

You carefully set his pauldron down on the cloth with a thoughtful hum. Stars, your grandfather would have been instantly inspired by the musical weapon. The workshop would’ve been full of prototypes within a few days at most, a meticulously crafted instrument in your hands within the week. It had been too long since you’d so much as whispered a tune, you realized with a start. Perhaps it was time to start reconnecting with your once–beloved hobby.

Suddenly, your ears perked up with apprehension. The ship was quiet. Too quiet. You scanned the area, a feeling of dread creeping up on you as you realized what was missing—

The room suddenly lurched, sending you flying into the side of the hull. Your hands grasped for purchase on the edge of the workbench, but just as you were about to pull yourself up, the ship spun again and your ankle twisted beneath you with a violent snap. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to ignore the sudden shoot of pain up your leg.

“The kid,” you breathed, Mando seemingly coming to the same realization. He swore loudly and fumbled his way to the ladder, narrowly avoiding slamming into the workbench. You slid across the floor, hoisting yourself up onto the ladder after him with a wince. When you finally entered the cockpit, he’d already crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching Grogu up from the control panel. But the damage had already been done—the ship shuddered once, twice, then abruptly dropped out of hyperspace with a dull roar. Mando tossed the misbehaving green child to you, and you quickly buckled him into his seat with a stern look.

“What’d he do?” You called out from the back of the cockpit, frantically trying to make sense of the flashing lights near the door.

“Don’t know,” he yelled back, voice barely audible over the sound of the sputtering engine. “Damn it—asteroid field coming up, get ready—”

You paled, whipping around so fast you might have broken something in your neck. “Did you just say asteroid field?”

But it was too late for him to respond, as the intimidatingly large space rocks spun closer and closer to the Crest’s glass panelling. You scrambled to strap yourself into the second passenger seat as Mando skillfully piloted the ship through the dangerous patch of space. You didn’t understand how he did it—it was like he knew where an asteroid would appear before it even flickered on the radar screen. He’d grown quiet, gloved hands moving smoothly across the controls like he was locked in a dance with the machinery.

Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t predict every meteorite. You breathed a sigh of relief when a burnt–sienna planet came into view, signaling what you assumed was the end of the asteroid field. But right when you had started to relax back into your seat, a fragment of rock broke off from a passing meteorite and slammed into the side of the Crest, sending it spinning on its side through the field. A gasp escaped your mouth at the impact, your arm reaching out to hold onto Grogu as the ship hung upside–down.

“New plan,” Mando muttered, flicking a series of switches on the transmitter. A squeaky voice crackled to life over the comm. “You have entered airspace under control of the Mos Eisley Spaceport. Please state your reason for—”

“Engine failure, requesting immediate emergency landing,” he interrupted, doing his best to balance the ship as it hurtled towards the surface of the planet.

The voice paused, then continued, sounding more annoyed this time. “Request denied until further information has been given—”

Mando scoffed in frustration, punching the button to end the transmission. He guided the shaking ship through Tatooine’s heated atmosphere, just barely regaining control of it before it crashed into the open hangar. You waited for him to carefully stand up before rushing over to Grogu, checking the small green baby for any injuries. Seeing none, you gathered him up into your arms with relief, but not before sending him a look that promised a very serious scolding in the near future.

You followed Mando down the ladder, but you couldn’t contain a tiny whimper of pain when your injured ankle hit the rungs. You closed your eyes, steeling yourself against the throbbing feeling, and slowly continued your downward climb. When you reached the ground, you found Mando staring at you. Oops.

You shot him a bright smile, praying that he’d buy your cheerful act until you had time to fix your injury on your own. You thought he might have been about to say something—but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the boarding ramp hissing open, clouds of steam obscuring the entrance to the hull. He immediately stepped in front of you and the kid, hand poised on his blaster. When the dust settled, a short figure with wild, curly hair appeared, soot-covered hands reaching up to pop off dusty welding goggles. The woman gave an impressed whistle at the sight of Mando, spreading her hands wide.

“Phew, what an entrance!”

***

Peli Motto was not someone who lacked personality. She kept up an incessant stream of chatter as you subtly limped into the hangar, commenting on everything from the smoke pouring out of the Crest’s left engine to the ineffectiveness of her droids. She’d eagerly stretched out her hands to hold Grogu when you first stepped off the ship—a request that made you nervously look to Mando for approval before granting it. She was certainly one of the odder characters you’d met so far in your travels, but she seemed to hold genuine care for the kid beneath all that boisterous energy, and that was good enough for you.

“I gotta say, Mando, when I saw your ship crash into my hangar, I thought there was a good chance you’d died trying to pilot the damn thing.” She shook her head incredulously. “Musta been quite the asteroid field,” she muttered as she surveyed the damage to the ship.

“How much will the repairs cost?”

She made an exaggerated walk around the outside of the ship’s hull. “Hmm.. the wiring here’s toast, the engine repair’ll cost me a few good tools, and—kriff, it’s not even legal to fly with a stabilizer this outdated!” She paused, giving the Crest a final once-over. “Seven hundred credits.”

Mando scoffed. “Seven hundred? Even a Jawa wouldn’t charge that much.”

Peli shrugged, unbothered. “Take it or leave it. No discounts, even for cute little womp rats like this one,” she spoke, ruffling the wiry hairs on the kid’s head.

Mando grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly dropped the money into Peli’s eager hands. He turned to head back up the boarding ramp, but she stopped him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going? My droids need to work on that overnight, unless you wanna pay for an extended stay,” she exclaimed.

Mando crossed his arms. “And we need to sleep overnight. I’m not making them—” he jerked a gloved hand towards you and the kid—“stay outside in the hangar.”

Peli brushed aside his annoyed tone with a wave of her hand. “Ah, I have a spare room in the back. A bit dusty, but I suppose you can use it.” She shrugged.

“There’s only one bed, but I assume that won’t be a problem, considering…” she waggled her eyebrows at the two of you, and your face heated at the assumption.

“We’re not—” you started, unintentionally speaking in unison with Mando. You glanced over to the tall man, making awkward eye contact for several long seconds before he sighed and turned back to Peli.

“Fine. But I’m not handing over another bag of credits,” he warned. The smaller woman rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.

You made your way to the tiny room, slumping against the speckled wall with exhaustion. You bent down and inspected your ankle, wincing, as you tried to remember where you’d stored the last of the bacta spray. First the scrape on your cheek from the Tradoshan’s claws, and now this—apparently, you really couldn’t catch a break when it came to needing medical attention.

You heard a sudden noise and turned, only to see Mando paused in the doorway—his gaze trained on the bruise already forming on your ankle. Kriff.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his deep baritone sounding strangely frustrated.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle (a lie—it hurt worse than the time you’d accidentally pressed your palm onto the hot cantina stove), but he’d already left. He returned before you had the chance to question his disappearance, carrying a scratched black case under one beskar-clad arm.

“Sit on the bed.” His tone brokered no room for argument. You gingerly limped over to the old mattress, fighting back a sneeze when dust puffed up from the sheets. Mando clicked open the medkit and began sorting through the supplies.

“I can do it,” you spoke softly, but he tugged the case away from your outstretched hand.

“I know.” He found a small packet of bacta gel and motioned for you to hold out your ankle, carefully dabbing the tincture onto your aching skin with a cotton pad.

Minutes passed as you waited for the cool gel to dry. The silence became suffocating—the armored man seemed angry about something, and you hoped to Maker that it wasn’t you.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke suddenly. Your eyes widened. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. You had a feeling that his apologies were rarer than the beskar he wore, especially when they were spoken with this much sincerity.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt—at the cantina, or back on the ship. I… understand, if you feel that this is too much to handle.” He crouched down, wrapping a rolled-up bandage around your ankle.

You shook your head incredulously. “It was my fault that Grogu was left unsupervised,” you began. “It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. If anything, you’d have every right to kick me out after today,” you muttered.

At that, his helmet snapped up to meet your gaze. He sounded almost offended. “I wouldn’t just drop you off at the nearest outpost,” he scoffed.

You blinked, feeling rather exposed. Somehow, he’d guessed the thing you were most terrified of happening on the first try. “Well, then I’m not leaving,” you replied. Your mouth curved up in a tiny smile, and you tried for some humor. “The kid’ll have to work harder if he wants to get rid of me, anyway.”

Just then, the door swung open. Peli stepped inside, cooing at a drowsy Grogu in her arms.

“Hey, the little womp rat looks ready to go nighty–night!”

She paused, taking in your position—Mando’s hand on your ankle, you smiling down at him from your seat on the bed. You flushed bright red as you realized exactly what it looked like.

Peli’s eyebrows raised as she eyed the two of you. “On second thought, he and I will just spend some bonding time together instead.”

Mando shot to his feet. “That won’t be necessary,” he began, but Peli was already halfway out of the room.

“Don’t forget to name the next one after me!” She called out, shooting you a wink over her shoulder as she slammed the door shut.

You both stayed frozen in place for a moment after the curly–haired woman’s departure. Eventually, Mando cleared his throat.

“You take the bed. I’ll, ah…” he gestured awkwardly to the pile of throw pillows and scratchy blankets on the floor. You didn’t have it in you to argue, nodding mutely and desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He walked stiffly across the room to the light switch, cloaking the room in a blissful darkness that hid the crimson splotches of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You buried your face in your hands, praying that whatever deity was listening would take you now before you had to face Peli again in the morning.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @aheadfullofsteverogers @dindjarinsmut @orcasoul @maellem @pigeonmama

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part v coming soon!

p.s. @djarins-cyare thanks for the extra motivation to build on my sprinkles idea!! your 'sweet' comment totally made my day and inspired a couple hundred extra words about the Pancake Sprinklesplosion TM <333

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teecupangel · 6 months

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Since a lot of animals have been suggested as Desmond reincarnation, I thought about a more angst path idea, Desmond as a feral child.

It would go somewhere that Desmond had run away from home around a very little age, growing up around (idk it depends of the character(s) you want to take care of him like an eagle for altair or a wolf pack for the whole Kenway's-Auditore's- Ibn-La'Ahad's as family's, even all the assasins as a big pack idk) but neither the Creed nor the Templars can find him, all they know is that he is nowhere to be found, since Desmond didn't go to the city as or try to get the motorcycle as the original. The whole Farm would have look around near forests, city's, towns, everywhere, everything, but they just found and old stuff animal (also yours to choose) ripped apart, and some drops of blood, no signs of fight, just the infance of the little boy left behind. From his things where missing some clothing and a little knife so at leat he could defend himself. Even Minerva and Juno start to freaking out, because time is running away to save the world, and their key is missing.

I mean…

Black Hills is pretty isolated and it’s a mountain range so they will definitely have problems finding him. Just trying to search the entire range is dangerous even for Assassins.

In this one, maybe instead of running away, it’s a training gone wrong?

Desmond did say in his memories in AC Revelations that they have exercise before breakfast and used the creek to get clean (I assume this meant that they would clean up after exercise before returning to the Farm) so maybe, in one of these exercise sessions, things got chaotic.

Maybe Desmond was separated from the others.

Maybe a wild animal forced them to run in different directions.

Maybe the weather turned severe all of a sudden…

Whatever the reason may be, it ends with Desmond being separated from them. He’s too young and lost so he keeps walking until he meets a wolf cub who hears his crying. The wolf cub leads him to their den and he sleeps there.

From there, he ends up being raised by a pack of wolves that acts… both wolf-like and not wolf-like at all.

What they find later on would be the ratty remains of Desmond’s clothes, dirty with specks of blood. Enough blood for them to fear the worst.

If they had the proper equipment they would have known it wasn’t human blood but animal blood.

They were the sounds of howling sometimes but they never see the wolves.

(Instead of weaponry though, there are articles that talk about how feral children have similar characteristics as the animals who raised them so, in this scenario, Desmond would rely on sharpened claws and teeth)

After the world burns, humanity tries to build from the ashes but chaos and distrust rule among them.

They do hear the whispers of a wolf pack with a strange humanoid being with them. The wolf pack is well known because they travel into cities. Many believe that they are traveling to cities maybe because the Solar Flare had destroyed their original habitat.

The strange thing is…

The wolf pack seemed more intelligent than normal canines.

#ngl #i kinda like the idea of desmond becoming more like san from princess mononoke #but she’s not feral enough #maybe if desmond was adopted by the wolves around the great purge (13)#we can make it work?#otherwise #the only thing keeping desmond from being fully feral #is his pack being the reincarnation of his ancestors and certain assassins of the past #so he’s maybe sorta three-fourths feral only #assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #desmond miles

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draculasfavoritewife · 1 year

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Din Djarin x Reader Headcanons Pt. 1

Summary: How you met the Mandalorian and eventually became his lover.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon violence, a shower massage. Very slow burn because I like suffering haha.

Yeah so these started out as headcanons but because I can't write briefly to save my life, it basically turned into a fic in bullet point form lmao. There is a second part coming soon once I dig the rest out of my notes app!

Also, because I like to create origins for reader characters, she is culturally Mandalorian by birth, but because I'm a huge nerd she was raised by the Lorrdians because I always thought their nonverbal language skills were absolutely badass.

*Translations of words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You and the Mandalorian first crossed paths on a wild outer rim planet somewhere, having been sent after the same bounty by the Guild

He questioned why you wore a beskar breastplate, thinking you had stolen it from his people

The bounty had escaped, and against his better judgment, he brought you with him in pursuit, especially after you told him your armor had belonged to your buir

You were born into Clan Viszla, but your family had escaped to Lorrd during the unrest, where you had been raised in the traditions of the Mando'ade but also learned the Lorrdian language

Because of this, you quickly became accustomed to reading his body language, as he rarely spoke

He doesn't know what to make of you, since you long ago abandoned your helmet and thus in his eyes broke your creed

For your part, you're aware he must have been raised by extremists, but you respect his religious beliefs

The two of you make a surprisingly good team and end up splitting the bounty

Neither of you could say why you stayed, and why he didn't drop you off somewhere, but you kept working together

As you get more comfortable, your sarcastic nature begins to surface more often

He can't tell if he hates or enjoys your constant commentary, but he's occasionally willing to give back; most of the time you just get a long-suffering sigh in response

Although he stays mostly aloof, you can read by his gestures eventually that he pretty much considers you friends by now

The problem with this is that you're an extremely touchy person physically, having grown up in a very intimate community, and he is not

At first he shrugs you off whenever your hand brushes his armor as you pass by, but after months of patience from you, he finally accepts your friendly hand on his arm with a grudging sigh of defeat

You get to know each other a little better with all the time you spend patching each other up in hard-to-reach areas

Now you know the color of his skin, which, although such a small detail, makes you feel immensely honored, since hardly anyone else ever will

For his part, he's surprisingly gentle at tending injuries, and you just wish that someday he might take off his gloves to touch you

Little facts about each other keep surfacing during these vulnerable sessions

"What are these for?" he asks you once when he has to pull your braids away from your neck; he's perceptive, to have picked up that they mean something

"The Weequay started that custom, each one stands for a year I've been away from Mandalore"

He's quiet for a long time before asking one more question

"Do you ever mean to go back?"

"I don't know if I want to anymore; but it feels right to honor my first home"

When he's finished cleaning up the lacerations across your upper back, you rise to your feet and let your hand linger on his shoulder

"Thank you, Mando"

"Din," he murmurs, so soft you can barely pick it up over his modulator "My name is Din Djarin"

He trusts you with his actual name

"Din," you smile, warmth spreading beneath your skin at finally having cracked his shell "Thank you"

After that, your interactions shift a bit

He's a little more welcoming of your casual touches

He would never say so, but you can tell he almost leans into them now

You can also tell by his posturing that he hasn't really been touched by anyone for a very long time

Does he realize he craves the contact?

Chasing that one bounty all over Tatooine did a number on both of you

You didn't know sand could get some of the places it's gotten

"I need a shower" you tell him as you step back into the Razor Crest, sand trailing in your wake

"I know you must need one too, Djarin, don't pretend that fancy beskar suit keeps it all out"

"I'll wait" he grumbles

"You can join me, you know" you offer "Another set of hands always helps with sand"

He stares at you for so long, you start to wonder if you've been too forward, but you mean exactly what you've said and nothing more...don't you?

Finally he wordlessly gestures at his helmet

Of course, his creed

Wait, does that mean he actually considered it?

You smirk up at his expressionless visor, feeling his sharp gaze fixed on you

"What, Din, don't tell me you've never showered with the lights out?"

You're very satisfied with how your idea unfolds, and he accepts without too much further need for convincing, so here you are, sharing the small 'fresher shower with the Mandalorian himself

Din stays mostly silent as the two of you work to rid your bodies of sand, though you can hear him sigh softly every time your skin kisses his for a moment

He's almost too much for you in this cramped space, smelling of sweat and smoke, solid and muscular where you've collided, and all your other senses are on overdrive since you can't see a thing in the darkness

And that's when it hits you that you've fallen for him

But you keep that thought to yourself

He makes an excellent platonic shower partner, attentive to when you need help scrubbing the grime from areas that are hard to reach

His hands are wonderful without those gloves, so much larger than your own slender ones, startlingly tender despite their roughness

And so warm, his whole body is so warm

You return the favor, and feel how tense he is beneath the surface

You can't tell for once if that tension is caused by you or if he just carries that much all the time

So as you wash the grit from his broad back, as your fingertips skate over the scars of his brutal lifestyle, you experimentally nudge into those rigid muscles, in an attempt to loosen him up a bit

The sharp inhale makes you freeze

"Forgive me --"

"No" your heart jolts at finally hearing his low voice so clearly without the modulator "Don't stop"

So you continue to massage out the stiffness wherever you find it, trying not to let his clipped breaths affect you too much

Then you part ways without a word once the water is off; he leaves you alone there in the 'fresher to dry off with the lights on, wondering if something went wrong

Buir = Parent

Mando'ade = Children of Mandalore

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #headcanon #slow burn #part 2 coming soon #I am SO in love with this man #hes so hot #i love him #romantic #x reader #female reader #star wars #bounty hunter #absolutely not simping over here in my corner hehe #he's so soft under that beskar we know this #this is the way

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anavi-vrg · 5 months

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Undead Unluck Cinderella!AU: The Masterpost

Hi :3 it's been a while, but i had been non-stop drawing to bring you all the Cinderella!AU cast with UU characters, i will write the basics of the story later bc i'm incapable of writing long paragraphs.

The drawing that made me start this AU

Let's start with our protagonist, Fuuko as Cinderella:

But our dear protagonist needs her mice friends:

We got our mains first: Haruka, Top, Gina, Sean and Chikara, taking the places of Jaq and Gus

I remember that there were mice kids/children, the younglings!

Phil, Bunny, Tatiana, Lucy and Betty (almost forgot her)

Mice! Veronica and Tella are here to take care of them/protect them from the evil cats

With how many chores have to be done everyday around the house, there have to be some specialised mice:

In the kitchen, Billy works with the sweets, Enjin helps with the almost everything (he's too passionate for this job) and Rip cuts the veggies. Yusai can´t be let near the drinks alone, but she always knows the best one for the occasion.

There's so many clothes that need mending and cleaning, the Sewing Team: Latla, Kurusu and Leila, are the right mice to do the job.

(ps. i bet Kurusu and Gina smugled that book to make cute dresses for Fuuko)

Sooo many books to keep clean and organised in this house, good thing Mice Anno Un and Akira are doing their damn best to keep the house library in peak condition, they even have the time to dramatise Fuuko's favorite romance books for everyone

Mouse Feng does everything around the house, why? because he wants to be better than Fuuko in everything

Miscellaneous Mice bcs i don't know in what role do they fit: Grandpa Isshin, Creed, Mei, Shen, Mui, Mui's little brother (do we even know his name?), Ms. Hawkins and Void.

And we can't forget our dear doggo Burn, taking dog Bruno's place

This Au is not complete without some villains

Human! Luna as Lady Tremaine, BUT she's not Fuuko's stepmother, Lady Luna is a distant relative, grandfather's niece and further kinda deal

Lady Luna has three kids:

Big Brother Soul, the kind of person to say "BuT wE aRe FaMiLy" when he does something bad to Fuuko but would absolutely not tolerate any of Fuuko's mistakes

Middle Brother Apocalypse, evil? no, no, no, he's a tsundere, the kind to say "i'm not washing the clothes because i want to help you or anything! it's just that you are too clumsy". Fuuko sees right through his bullshit and thanks him eveytime she can to Apocchy's embarrassment

And Little Bother/Sister Ruin (i'm more inclined to fem!Ruin), she's considerably more aggressive to Fuuko than the rest, her aggressiveness spurred on by her mom Luna and big brother Soul. Apocalypse has tried to help her to no avail.

THE CAT! Why should we limit ourselves to one evil cat, when we can have FOUR?

Shadow hides in the dark corners and stairs, waiting for an unsuspecting victim, putting themselves in the middle of the path to make them trip

Blood wakes up and craves violence, he scratches the furniture, the curtains and people... Fuuko stays the fuck away from this evil cat

Spoil can't be let alone with the food, he steals it but he doesn't eat it, no, he enjoys watching it spoil and the faces of disgust from the people that find his masterpiece, fortunately dogo Burn is always guarding the kitchen.

Seal enjoys watching the desperation in peoples' faces as he slowly pushes the fine glassware from the top drawer to the cold hard floor, unfortunately for Seal, Mouse Feng is always watching

Do you remember the Gran Duke? the poor man was so close to die, but for this AU, we have the Grand Duke and Duchess, Nico and Ichico (Which one is who is up to you)

We got our King! King Juiz, KING JUIZ, KING JUIZ!!!

If you saw the third animated Cinderella movie, you would remember the Queen's paintings, and i decided that we need a Queen (an alive one), salute our dear Queen: Queen Victor!! (do you forgive me for putting him on a dress? 🥺)

At last, we need our prince for this AU, but why have only one?!

Crown Prince Andy and Second Prince(ss) Julia

We need our Fairy Godmother to bring some miracles to life! And i couldn't pick anyone else for this role than my beloved, Spring 🌸

Let him have some fun!!

This is the real last one, but although it wasn't a sentient character, it would be unforgivable not casting Clothy as Fuuko's dress

(Can you imagine what Andy would do to Clothy once he discovers that he's Fuuko's dress? 💀)

That's all the character designs for this AU, and now i can start drawing some scenes for this AU.

Enjoy this AU compiled timelapse for all the designs in the meantime!

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jpdoingwords · 2 months

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The rewrite of this part is complete!

The Warmth of Home (53712 words) by brasideios Chapters: 17/17 Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alexios/Thaletas (Assassin's Creed) Characters: Alexios (Assassin's Creed), Thaletas (Assassin's Creed), Myrrine (Assassin's Creed), Kyra (Assassin's Creed), Barnabas (Assassin's Creed), Lykaon (Assassin’s Creed), Mikkos (Assassin's Creed), Lykinos (Assassin’s Creed), Timotheos (Assassin’s Creed), Demosthenes (Assassins's Creed), Nikolaos (Assassin's Creed), Archidemos (Assassin's Creed), Kassandra (Assassin's Creed), Stentor (Assassin's Creed) Additional Tags: Relationship Development, Mutual Pining, thalexios, Romance, Past Relationship(s), Developing Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Post-Canon, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Romantic Fluff, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, There are some heavy topics discussed in this fic, Slavery, War, Loss, Grief, about what you would expect in the background of a fic set during this period of time Series: Part 1 of Another Kind of Odyssey

Summary: After the events of Odyssey, Alexios has been hiding from the world, loitering in the northern regions of Greece. When he decides to return to Athens for the winter, Demosthenes seeks him out for a job only he can do - whether he wants to or not. This leads him to cross paths with Thaletas again, discovering that this old flame burns the brightest of all. Most of the characters are taken from the game, with a few exceptions, and I've ignored most of the mythical stuff and the DLC's. I hope you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome! Jenn 🤍

#jpdoingwords #fanfiction #fanfic #assassin's creed odyssey #ac odyssey #alexios of sparta #thaletas #thaletas of sparta #thalexios #alexios #TheWarmthOfHome #AnotherKindOfOdyssey

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brujitaadinbo · 9 months

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They say that love manifests itself as if it were fire, like flames burning you, like something that leaves you breathless, I and others can say the opposite; It manifests itself to each person differently; But when we talk about love in general, the healthiest, the best way we can live it is when it gives us that calm in times of storm, when it gives us tranquility and not anxiety and makes us feel comforted.

Love, affection or that feeling that begins to be born in you and that sometimes you cannot show it, because of your past wounds, for fear of being rejected, because you are just beginning to connect with that other person, etc… You begin to show it in a way in which the majority can label it as something "not romantic" because society is still locked in that cliche that is sometimes very toxic and very unreal. Sometimes it is not necessary to wear flowers and exaggerated decorations, , expensive details or that very typical scene that sometimes tends to handle sometimes very cold or very superficial kisses. Most of the time your actions and your words are what demonstrate your deepest feelings and your most intimate emotions. How much you care about that person and you begin to be consistent with what you think and feel and what you do for them and you show it like this.

I will explain this to you first, so that you can understand the context of this analysis dynamic that I am going to start uploading here. Very iconic couples, famous in pop culture around the world, being known in many places, through movies, series, books, etc… managing this dynamic that I explain to them and managing the deepest feelings like love, that way. different way that sometimes people don't usually understand or it bores them and they begin to disqualify it as "there is nothing between them" when in reality there is something there and they are wrong! It suddenly becomes canon…

Coincidentally like what has been happening with Din Djarin and Bo katan Kryze, yes coincidentally… aha (remember well what I tell you, coincidences do not exist here)

For me Faramir and Eowyn are a beautiful couple and one of my favorites in books and movies, I am a fan of Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings is… poetry, love, magic, so much that I can't explain it in words. And definitely if you have read Faramir and Eowyn's interaction in the book, you will understand my point, since in the movies, that interaction was so short but it was still a very nice reflection of the book.

The parallel between them and Din and Bo is that these characters find themselves in a critical situation, surrounded by war, conflict, pain, wounds from the past, an uncertain future, everything is against them and love is a word and a feeling that It cannot cross your mind even for a moment.

Eowyn, a warrior princess full of pain from rejection, from loss, because the war has consumed her innocence and that hunger for battle has consumed her. Bo Katan is a warrior princess consumed by the pain of loss, because the war has subjected her to living a cold life without hope for anything, because her proposal was taken away by a sword, where all her value is measured by that.

Faramir rejected by his father, having the position he has, yet he is seen as nothing by him, not meeting the standards he has and not being able to be like his brother, always living with that feeling and now the pain that he lost him in a battle where he also lost his hometown. Din Djarin lives with the pain of having lost his parents, he lives with people unknown to him, trying by all means to fit in and be recognized by this new tribe, his family that has welcomed him all this time. Live this way or survive under this creed.

Both couples in the depths of their lives, when they are hitting rock bottom or when they begin to experience a new way of redeeming themselves, cross their paths, with pain but with that hope of being able to heal and flourish again, that is when love, too, something that could not be in their lives suddenly becomes like a vitamin that gives them the strength to take that first step.

Faramir and Eowyn in the healing temples, healing and realizing that maybe the pain was just part of that growth and that process to find healing and start living a different life, if all goes well, living outside of war , from sadness and everything that hurts them, they allow themselves to get to know each other, interact and at the end of the day they manage to love each other and live a happy life within their possibilities, because in this work good triumphed over evil.

Din and Bo are in this process of achieving their purposes, suddenly they come together, they visit Mandalore, they visit the living waters, they somehow manage to redeem themselves, they work together, in the hope of recovering their planet and achieving this new purpose, of reclaiming to their people and their planet and in the process, they resolve their differences, their bond grows and becomes more intimate. From pain a new hope is born, it is part of growth, they accept it, they know that their paths were wrong and by agreeing and doing it together they feel comfortable and know that they are doing it right, they both protect each other in a very bilateral and synchronized way. . . and it is seen that there is something more, because in the end they do not know and we do not know what can happen, there is still the doubt of who will win in this battle. Hoping, of course, that that balance is achieved and by this I mean that good definitively triumphs over evil.

And what I love is that Filoni has worked on symbolism from Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings and especially Peter Jackson. Faramir and Eowyn are a couple who never showed a kiss on stage, but their looks, their approach, their words, their actions, said it all. In the books, the way they love each other is shown in how they talk and interact, Faramir's words to Eowyn are very beautiful. It reminds me of a certain Mandalorian couple, casual (lol) where their interaction and attraction is unspoken, visible but hidden in elements like body and non-verbal language and those words of the oath, that is definitely the moment for these two. But now time is what will write the last part of his paths. Let's hope it's a journey together too,

#this is the way #the mandalorian #star wars #din x bo #clandetres #din djarin #bo katan kryze #dinbo #bo katan x din #bokadin #lord of the rings #dave filoni #faramir x eowyn #eowyn #faramir

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magnoliabutters · 1 year

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• BROKEN PROMISES •

pairing: din djarin x (she/her, 18+) mandalorian reader

summary: does one feel relief or distrust upon hearing another mandalorian has graced navarro with their presence?

word count: ~3k

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon related violence & action (pew pew), loosely following season 3; slow burn, upcoming series with eventual smut; tw - hints of alcoholism, self-degrading thoughts, etc.

reblogs, comments, & thoughts are greatly appreciated 🤍

note: trying something new and doing my best to stay realistic with canon. hope my fellow star wars and mandalorian friends enjoy! we find our characters at the beginning of season 3 ...

You feel honor in being a mandalorian. Your people may be dying off, spread as far as the stars in the galaxy, but they are taking out others ten to one. The purge is only temporary. A mere blip in the mandalore history. The Creed propels you forward with ease, strength, dexterity. This is all you have known. It is in your blood, and the blood of those before you. The armor strapped against your chest, filled with kinks and scratches, scream stories that your enemies will never share. Mandalorian pride is all you know. This is the way, after all.

After a run in with a rebel squad, your ship finds itself missing a landing pad. Your less-than graceful entry into Navarro is one for the books. Droids' eyes peer up at you, hesitant in your placement. There is no better parking than right at the front archway of the young city. You stand from your pilot's seat, carelessly pressing the button on your left. The door slowly opens, revealing the burning stench of the nearby lava pits. The smell only further confirms your location.

You make your way down the steps with your eyes set on those before you. Your hand ready by your holster, yet hiding behind your cloak as usual. The element of surprise is always at your advantage, despite your beskar chest plate and crimson helmet. "A fix, mandalorian?" the short droid shouts your way. You throw credits in its direction, never wasting your time with something as useless as eye contact. "Back right pad and the nav system," you announce. "I'll be in the bar. Find me when it's done."

Immediately, the sanctuary's change resonates with you. Karga's done well in this sector. The previous dirt path now rattled with stone. Vines and brightly colored flags fill the freshly painted white walls. Even the people appear happier, welcoming - almost as though they have been paid to do so. It feels disingenuous, but you have also been told that paranoia is one of your most pronounced attributes.

Entering a town’s dining area is almost always a show of looks. Every patron sizes up the individual, creature, or machine that walks through the front doors. For Navarro, it means taking your first glance at the competition. Who will get the highest bounty? It will easily go to whoever has the most beskar armor no doubt. Navarro may be making its way to a trading post, but it will always have its roots deep within the Guild.

“Take a seat, anywhere,” the bartender yells out. You peer over the hall. Two bounty hunters rest in the back corner. A mother and child to your right. Nobelmen, who you assume are anything but, sit at the high tops. Their eyes drawn to you, particularly your chest. You often have to remind yourself that the armor is what draws attention before punching your fist through anyone’s skull.

“Spotchka,” you say as you point towards a table against the wall. The blue iridescent drink now your primary source for hydration. Life is easier to float through when you are intoxicated half the time. How are you expected to complete your bounties sober? “Must be a special day,” the purple-skinned individual mutters before slugging the jug of blue hell onto the table. “Special?” you ask, barely attending for an answer. You reach for the cup he sets before you before popping the cork off the jug. “Yeah, two mandalorians in one day. High magistrate must be throwing a party,” he adds.

Now that catches your attention. Your movements stop suddenly. It makes the man jump beside you, hesitant to your next move. “Another mandalorian is here, in Navarro?” you ask, slowly looking up to him. “Y-yes, he just walked by with the high magistrate and-and a child,” the man shares, taking a step away from you. Your gaze falls to the surface of the table as you attempt to understand the information presented.

You have not seen another mandalorian since the armorer denied you. The word “apostate” leaving burns in your mouth, like sipping on battery acid. You did what you had to. The old ones knew it too - knew that redemption may be needed. Little did they know that the great Mandalore would become inhabitable. Therefore, any hope of redeeming oneself is quickly put to rest.

Your mind races, as the bartender hesitantly returns to his post. Your grip tight against the neck of the bottle, but your eyes focused in front of you. You came here for work. The last thing you need is an actual comparable competition. Let alone, one who will share your current status with those of the Guild. Without a mandalorian’s wage, you will get next to nothing from a bounty. Offered scraps and disrespect. You can feel the blood in your cheeks. Your nostrils flared as you think of the possibilities.

Navarro is burned. No - you do not have a choice. You will not be able to pay for your ship's repairs. You will be stuck here. All your credits gone to lodging, to food. Always in debt. No! You slam your fist onto the table, drawing the attention of those around you. But let us not pretend you care about them. You stand and furiously walk from the room. You must find this mandalorian before they find you.

Standing back on the main road, you desperately look for some indication of where to find the Magistrate. You settle for a vendor alongside the path. Your voice harsh when you ask, “Have you seen the mandalorian?” The human jumps at the sight of you. This seems to be a common occurrence in your presence. Confusion across her face as she takes a long look at your armor. “Is that a trick question?” she lazily jokes. “There’s another,” you reply with a monotone.

“I’m not sure if I know,” the woman stalls. She reaches for her fruit basket. Her free arm shrugging. “I’ve been selling all day.” You sigh, an involuntary roll of your eyes to go along with it. Humans are always so predictable. You quickly reach into your satchel and drop credits into her hand. “The mandalorian,” you repeat. The woman smiles, cheek to cheek. A sour sight. “Town square,” she says pointing off to her right. “There’s a statue of an IG droid. That’s where I saw him last.”

You nod, walking off. The information was weak. Not at all worth what you paid for, but you figure that was the best you would get with the time crunch you were on. The street is bustling with people. Busier than you remember. Twice as annoying. You find yourself regretting the choice to find work on this planet. Of all the systems, you chose the one that a mandalorian had already laid claim on. Maybe you did deserve the title of "apostate."

“Mando,” the strong voice rips through the crowd. You immediately turn to see Greef Karga with his magnificent floor lengthed robe across the town square. The glistening grey of beskar armor shining back at you. A full set. You cannot help your gaping mouth at the sight. This individual is more than just a mandalorian. You could clearly see it, even with their back turned to you.

A Phoenix rising against their back. Whistling doves upon their cuff. The armorer has taken great care of this one. Jealousy stings at the back of your throat. What did they have to do to get a full set of beskar armor? You know how far you went for just your helmet and chest plate. The sorrow it’s memory causes you. This meant that they were a threat.

You decide that the best course of actin is to continue observing. It appears their business with Karga is complete. Maybe they will leave the system soon. You adjust your stance to find more space amongst the crowd. Your vision blocked between hurrying peoples. With another step, you see a dome like shape floating beside the mandalorian.

In that moment, you remember the child. A foundling, no doubt. You have heard rumors of a mandalorian bounty hunter who claimed his bounty as his own. You thought it was just a story. A funny one, seeing the juxtaposition of the statement. Mandalorians breed nothing but success, yet this one fails and fails again. Failure, yet with a full set. Curious.

As the high magistrate walks away, the two trek down a side road. You assume back to their ship but follow loosely behind to ensure their departure. The mandalorian seems to be talking to his companion, the child. As they turn a corner, you see the large, pointed green ears of the foundling. It is amusing to think of how a helmet will rest upon those wings. Will the armorer make one special for you, little one? you think to yourself. A smile broadening across your lips.

Body language may not be one of the options for your optics, but you can read the happiness in this particular mandalorian’s step. Happiness is not something you find common amongst your people. Not lately that is. A bond lives between these two. It may not be physical, but you can feel it from yards away. It’s strong, unmoving, relentless. It reminds you of your connection with your mother. The thought wrinkles your brow. Another strong reminder that happiness is not well known by a mandalorian. Yet here one is, happy as a jawa with parts.

Rounding another corner, you allow a few other individuals to walk before you. The distance building between you and the pairing, strategically. However, when you turn the bend, you lose sight of the individuals. Your entire body freezes. Eyes raise up to the roofs of the buildings around you. Pins and needles ridge throughout your skin. All the citizens are gone and you have easily walked into a trap. Maybe the armorer was right about your new title.

A blaster presses harshly against the back of your neck, just below your helmet. “What are you after?” a deep voice flows from behind you. Your hands slowly raise. “Who says I am after anything?” you ask slowly. The sides of your eyes follow your cuffs. The light beside your flamethrower blinking, ready when needed. “Is this how you treat your kind?” you muster. The barrel still tight against your skin.

“You were the one tracking me,” the man bellows. You hear a gurgle of a child behind you. A smirk pulls on the side of your face. “The foundling. Do you intend to raise him according to the Creed?” You tilt your head as you take a small step forward. Your hands remain high as you turn to face him. The blaster now pointed at your throat.

The familiar beskar helmet staring back at you. You find an old sense of comfort within the reflection of yourself. You missed your home, your people. Regardless, you were not going to further your embarrassment by staying under someone else’s gun. With a swift movement, your helmet plows against his. A large clang is heard throughout the neighborhood.

The man stumbles back before raising his blaster towards you once more. Your arm swings through his grasp, dropping the weapon onto the floor. You thrust your fist at his face only for it to be swiftly blocked. An uppercut falls against your stomach, carefully placed between your armor. A groan of pain falls from your lips.

Frustration fills your body. The title reeling in your mind. Your fist flies through the air, landing against his lower back. Another fist falls between his ribs. A grunt escapes your lips, this time fueled with anger. You rev up a kick, aiming it for his chest plate, but the mandalorian finally wises up.

He catches your foot, throwing you down onto the ground with full force. A fast glance up and your anger is recharged. You watch him reach for his holster. Quickly, you extend your wire and wrap it around his wrist. With a strong pull, his arm is pulled from its socket. He steps forward, off balance. You swiftly roll closer to him, kicking your foot out. His legs fall from under him as he smacks firmly against the hardened surface.

You furiously crawl over to him. Your fingers curl in the cloth behind his armor, pulling him closer to you. Suddenly, fire bursts through his cuff against your helmet. The heat burning at the metal immediately drops sweat from your pores. With your surprise at his disposal, you pull away enough for his fist to explode against your side. In tandem, both your and his wrist are pressed against the opposite’s neck - beneath one's helmet. The fire readily set between the two.

Heavy breaths are expressed against the notable mandalorian helmets. The awkward silence of a draw between two always leaves you in discomfort. Your entire body weight upon him. You rapidly push away the enjoyment felt when acknowledging his body beneath you. Both of your fists never leaving their spot, never relieving the pressure.

With a slight twist of your head, you add space between his fist and the skin of your neck. His allowance of your movements grants the pull back of your own fist from his throat. You gently push up, retreating back into a crouch beside his resting and hesitant body. You note the sudden crowd circled around you two. A mandalorian fight - usually one would need to pay for such high stakes combat.

“I’m here for work,” you share. You extend your hand out to him. He reluctantly takes it as you both support each other standing up. “Didn’t need another complicating that.”

With a quick movement, the man retrieved his blaster back into his holster. Your eyes watching him closely. A true mandalorian would never disgrace a draw, but nonetheless you are ready. “No need to worry,” he starts. “I have my own business to attend to.” With curiosity, you peer around his body and note the sweet green ball of innocence staring back at you. “Yes, I see,” you smile. A small hand raises as you wave back at it.

“A foundling acquired within a bounty,” you state, returning your gaze towards the blank helmet. “Curious place to find such a sweet thing.” The mandalorian steps to his left, blocking your view of the delicate soul. A frown forms upon your face, not that he will ever see it. He is protective of the foundling, as he should be. "This is the way," you mutter begrudgingly before turning around.

"Wait," the man hurriedly says. Your body pauses, slowly turning back. "I came to Navarro to find another of our kind," he states quietly. His body language timid. The hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. "An apostate." Without a moment, your blaster is pointed at his face. His hands raised defensively. A mild murmur escaping the foundling. Your heart hurts knowing that you have caused it concern.

Your breath harsh and heavy. It sightly fogs your optics. Your grip tight against your blaster. Your finger at the ready against the side of its barrel. Still unsure of whether or not a pulled trigger will be needed. "What need do you have for an apostate?" you ask harshly. "The armorer," he starts as he steadily approaches you. His hands still raised to the sides of his helmet. "She told me of your title and where to find you." Your heart races as your arm's stance weakens.

"What need do you have for an apostate?" you repeat loudly. The words firmly annunciated upon your lips. You will not ask again. "I, too, am an apostate," he states with a hitch to his voice. The manner of which he speaks of it confirms his title. The nervousness, the embarrassment, the disgust of the words falling from his mouth. You know better than to ask him what he had done to deserve such a title.

"Do you seek redemption?" the mandalorian asks quietly. His hands lowering as he takes another step before you. You promptly holster your blaster, keeping your eyes to the ground. "Redemption is impossible," you mutter under your breath. "If you believe that to be true, then why do you still wear beskar?" he brutally asks. The words harsh within your ears. You pick your head up in disgrace. "The Creed is all I know," you seethe through your teeth.

"How do you seek redemption?" He asks. His stance vulnerable, yet steady. An underlying trust rests between you two. The mandalorian way. But here he stands, testing you. "Bathe in the Living Waters," you answer reluctantly. You have done it once before, as a child. "Yet, you look for work in Navarro," the man states with a careless attitude. Almost as though he looks down upon you. That fire builds within your chest once again.

"And how might I bathe in the waters of a dying planet?" you spit out. It pains you describe your home in such a manner, but its current state is inhabitable. Mandalore is too far gone, but you will never take off your beskar. "Mandalore is not dying," he says quietly. His head lowers almost as though he is steadily observing your reaction. Your body stands still, immediately deflecting his hope inducing statement. "I have an artifact, recently taken from its surface," he continues.

Your eyes watch as he slowly reaches into his satchel. Your hand instinctually held against your blaster's holster. The mandalorian reveals a green crystalized fossil with a clear mandalore inscription. "Redemption is possible," he says as he hands the artifact to you. The crystals harsh and prickly against your gloves. The words reflective of the books you once read as a child in the great library. "The armorer tasked me to find you," he states. You lift your chin to watch him in shock. "So that we may both be redeemed for our broken promises."

Hope, a fluttering feeling. Something that you struggle to recognize. It has been some time since it has been sincerely expressed within you. You stare into the empty face of the mandalorian helmet before you. Your eyes fall upon the beskar present within all of his armor. You note the sigil of the mudhorn on his right shoulder. He watches as you rake over his pieces. He can imagine the thoughts flooding through your mind.

"I am Din Djarin," the mandalorian states plainly. Your attention is immediately called as you follow his voice. "Lara Fink," you reply courtly. A fake name you graciously give to those who fall under unfamiliar. "This is the way," he states before nodding forward. He begins to walk past you. The child floating alongside him. Those big brown eyes peering right back at you. "This is the way," you mutter as you follow along.

note: thank you for reading! hope you liked it! your thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated! i cannot wait to hear what you think!

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

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mysteriousmaninthesmoke · 3 months

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UNDEAD UNLUCK UNDAY Chapter 213

Today is just a simple chapter, but also a preview of what's to come.

with Fuuko being aware that getting her parents hitched and getting Kurusu was easy, only for her thoughts to be interrupted by Void reporting they got Bunny. (Also I am happy Leila is helping out and I moving around)

Now I want to talk about Bunny. I am not afraid of Tozuka just not explaining her or giving her backstory. He wouldn't have pulled her containing God if he didn't. He has plans for her. Just like the other negators that haven't got screen time. we still have UMA Burn and Summer quests to do.

We even have Creed, Enjin, Yusai, Haruka, and Top getting ready to take on Summer at the same place it was at last time.

I belive we get more from charcters like Bunny, Kurusu, Phil, and other negators that have been underused. Bunny gives me hope.

But before that we have Tatiana to deal with. A model and also still a kid. If Untochable manifests it would it would be like her life, the childhood she knew would be ripped away.

But Fuuko goal isn't about Untouchable. It is about keeping a promise. To become friends and fill her with joy. Just like she did withe other neagtors. After that she plans on using Remember.

Fuuko has beenplanning this from day one. Now I know some people are afraid of it, that we would just be getting the old characters back. But that's not what going to happen. Fuuko has been working to take away what sent them down their dark path. Loop 101 nico is still Himself, not loop 100 Nico.

They will rember what they are fighting for, they won't be held back by their pain, their sadness, they will just be them.

Now it is time for Fuuko to finsh her last promise and put together the ultimate Union

#undead unluck #undead unluck manga #uu #uu manga #udul #udul manga

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offrozenmemoirs · 9 months

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Creed sighs as she affixes her clockwork arm to the mechanical stump that's replaced her left shoulder. It takes a small moment, but she feels the gears clicking and whirring into place, and flexes her fingers. Admittedly, she was still getting used to the sensation, there were periods of numbness, and when she wasn't wearing her new arm...She swore she could still feel her old one, or at least all of the pain of having it flayed and seared away at the same time. It had been merciful when she had it removed.

Now it was a bit of an unfamiliar weight, a little heavier than her old flesh and blood arm. Sometimes she had to remember to be a bit gentler with her grip with it, lest she accidentally crush whatever was in her left hand. Still, the loss of an arm was a small price to pay (in her mind), for restoring Cassius. She stands up, rolling the arm around and sliding her coat on.

"Ah well, it ain't all so bad...I can add stuff onto this arm at least. Soon as I figure out what I want to do with those add-ons."

She steps outside of her tent, yawning, and perks up at the sight of a young, blond boy sitting outside.

"Mornin' Cass! Surprised to see you up this early."

@ofthescatteredstars

#the burning path (in character; creed)#ofthescatteredstars

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lessthantwelveparsecs · 7 months

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Chapters: 24/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker Characters: Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin, Han Solo, Leia Organa, Grogu | Baby Yoda, Fennec Shand, Boba Fett, Wedge Antilles, Hera Syndulla, Carson Teva, Trapper Wolf, Cara Dune, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jacen Syndulla, Merrin (Star Wars), Cere Junda, Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus, Padmé Amidala, The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV), Ahsoka Tano, Lando Calrissian, Bo-Katan Kryze, Sabine Wren, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus, Ursa Wren, Alrich Wren, Tristan Wren, Axe Woves, Koska Reeves

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Din/Luke is endgame, Canon-Typical Violence, Reclaiming Mandalore, Found Family, serious fic with lots of funny moments, Processing Grief, mythosaurs!!!, mental health is a big theme, Mandalorian Culture, Nightsister magic, Healing, growing together

Summary:

A chance meeting puts Luke Skywalker and Din Djarin back on the same path. As Din comes to terms with his obligations to Mandalore, Luke begins to question his commitment to the Jedi Order. Together they learn that the truths of their creeds are mutable, but their faith in each other is absolute.

---

Or, the one where Luke learns Nightsister magic.

#dinluke #skydalorian #last of the old gods #my writing #new chapter #happy friday #surprise surprise #I'm not dead yet #pspspspsps

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chronussy-bc · 6 months

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Annon-Guy: What's your stance on the main theme of Black Cat, Daia no Hana (Diamond Flower)?

Lyrics:

It always starts like this, I took a vow under the ultramarine sky, and now I start walking.

Yah, the golden shining desert (burning wind), searching for the diamond flower (keep wandering) for the first time, now I'm living for someone

There's something I want to protect, so I don't lose it ever again.

Yah, in order to make the wish in my heart (wavering) come true, I'll hurt myself as much as I want (I'll get hurt as much as I want) because I want you to smile, so now I'm holding the blade.

Inside my torn memories, these claws cut through the overflowing red shadows. Even if it cracks, if it's something precious that I want to grab and protect.

The diamond flower that bloomed on the night I cried thinking about someone

There's something I want to protect. I'll never lose it again. Let this heartbeat, smaller and more ephemeral than anyone else, tougher than anyone else, ring out.

I understand that the lyrics refer to Train in regards to his past with Saya and the present with Sven, Eve and Rinslet, but can the theme also be tied to Eve and even other anaime/manga characters with a mindset to Train and Eve?

I think this lyrics applied to all the key characters in the anime ver: Train, Eve, Sven, Saya, Sephiria, Creed. It can be the case for some supporting characters as well, but the depiction is not as clear. You may ask why Sephiria is also a key character here, it’s because she represents a major party in the main fight (Chronos) and she also has a crucial impact on Train’s character (they have a bonus ep just for her and Train to see eye to eye). These characters all have an idea that they’re willing to dedicate their lives to, a darker side of them that they have to balance out/grow out of, and they never give up on the path they have chosen. About protecting, the anime messed it up with its change of plot, but in the manga it’s obvious that they all have someone very dear to them, whom they would want to be safe at all cost. For the main trio, it’s each other; For Sephiria, it’s the Numbers; For Creed, it’s himself, and maybe Echidna in the future. It may sound absurd that Creed’s important person is himself, but it makes sense if you consider his past.

#black cat #anime and manga

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boogiewrites · 2 years

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Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Javier Peña x OFC

Never Break the Chain 5 Part Series (Javier Peña and the original character Esme) Complete

The story follows the moments in their relationship in which things change, carrying the story of their romance from being young and in love in Texas at age 18 to the modern Narcos timeline. We follow Esme on her rise to being a top thief and Javier Peña's rise in the ranks. We see how their paths inevitably intersect in Columbia and how they handle coming face to face after a faked death and decades apart. It's dramatic, it's a cop loving a criminal and them being torn between their ways of life and their love. There's a happy ending among the angst.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Another Man (One Shot)

You see Frankie in a new light, and that light just started a fire inside you.

Explicit 18+ : Dirty Talk, Rough sex, p in v, oral f receiving, talk of bodily fluids, ownership.

Din Djarin x Reader

Burning Star Din Djarin is a long-time associate and friend. When faced with the truth about the creed he's taken, doubts begin to grow in his mind about his choices. He comes to you, looking for a confidant and he finds more than he bargained for.Begins latter part of S2, porn with plot. A growing romance between two characters that thought of themselves as solitary creatures now wanting to no longer be alone. But with The Mandalorian being who he is, things can never be so simple.

Chapter 1

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mass-convergence · 2 years

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The Bonds We Forge, Chapter 3

Summary:

Soma had always considered herself too preoccupied with Grantebridge to even consider a relationship with another. Romantic or otherwise. The arrival of a new blacksmith in her city has her questioning if she was really preoccupied or if it was something else.

Basically: Soma is an aroace lesbian and this is most definitely a fix-it fic.

Chapter 3: A celebration of Yule, a gift, and plans for the new year.

This Work be on AO3 feel free to leave Kudos + comments there

Fandoms: Assassin’s Creed Valhalla

Characters: Soma, Original Characters

Pairings: Soma x OC

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Yule was a magical and beautiful time in Grantebridge.

Colorful decorations adorned the structures in town and everyone allowed themselves time to drink and be merry and forget their duties for over a week as they feasted. Everyone including Soma.

Soma enjoyed Yule as much as any Dane or Norseman would. She drank and feasted with the citizens of her city; enjoying the fruits of her laborious efforts to make Grantebridge into the prosperous city it was.

And what a prosperous city it was.

Bonfires burned in the middle of town, Gyda dutifully helping Helga and her father with carrying stacks of wood to the blazes to keep them burning. Jólablót, the final night of Yule and the night of the sacrifice, approached as the moon waxed to near fullness.

Soma was standing by one of the bonfires, enjoying a quiet moment to herself before she was pulled away to help in more of the festivities (she supposed she never really got a break during Yule … but it was a welcome change in pace). A light snow had begun to fall over Grantebridge but that didn’t stop the preparations for the final feast of Yule. Drengrs hauled barrels of ale to the longhouse and farmers led livestock to the center of town to be sacrificed for the feast.

“My eyes must be deceiving me, you’re actually not working for once.”

Soma turned to see Ratha walking up to her with a smile on her face and bundled up against the chill of the night in a dark blue wool cloak. Ratha had practically disappeared into her forge for the past week, rarely coming out except to spend a few hours at the longhouse before disappearing into her shop once again. It was honestly beginning to worry Soma.

She had asked Gyda, who was at least marginally more available when she wasn’t dutifully helping Ratha in the forge, what was going on. Gyda had shrugged, “We’re still pretty busy with repairing tools after the harvest season and Lif put in an order for nails and rivets.”

Lif had mentioned putting together a few more ships now that Grantebridge was growing - as well as a need to repair some of the older ones that were damaged. Still, he wouldn’t be working on them during Yule and spring (and the time for the farmers to actually need their tools) was still months away. Ratha could take a bit of a break. Of course there was the matter that Gyda was an abysmal liar. Soma noticed how the younger woman had never looked her in the eye when she provided those “explanations” as to Ratha’s sudden occupation.

Soma was about to march down to the shop herself and ask what was going on before Gyda had apparently been tasked with playing interference once more. She assured Soma: “Ratha will be there for the Yule feast, she’s just putting some finishing touches on - er - something”.

With that, Gyda excused herself to help Helga with carrying stacks of wood.

A strange emotion took hold of Soma when she saw Ratha walking up the path, cheeks rosy with the cold and a lopsided grin brightening her features. It was a feeling of giddiness, of an excitement that one felt when seeing an old friend after a long while. She noticed with some satisfaction and pride that Ratha’s limp was improving.

Soma crossed her arms and grinned back, “Speak for yourself. I thought it would take Ragnarok for you to leave your forge.”

Ratha’s cheeks turned a brighter red for a moment as she rubbed the back of her head, “I apologize for my absence from the festivities. I forgot I am more of an armorer than a jeweler and this took me much longer than I’d care to admit.”

Soma’s smile waned, now replaced with a curiosity as she saw Ratha reach into a pouch on her belt and withdraw a smaller pouch wrapped in cloth. Her hand shook slightly as she handed the item to Soma, “I had to ask for a little help from Gyda and Nok with this.”

Nok was one of the other smiths in Grantebridge, he specialized more in jewelry and trinkets than armor and weapons. Clearing her throat slightly, Ratha handed the pouch to Soma, “Think of this as a thanks … for everything.”

Soma took the proffered gift and unfolded the linen to reveal a pendant and a chain. It was forged of iron and inlaid with an intricate gold braid pattern. Two serpents curled around the perimeter of the circle and at the center of the pendant was a tree of life.

“It’s beautiful,” Soma said with a wide smile as she traced the outline of the pendant with her thumb, “thank you.”

They stood in comfortable silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and the bustle of people around them. Soma glanced at Ratha, noting that she was staring around her at the scenes around the town. She had a far away look in her eyes, a wistful and sad expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is the first Yule I’ve spent without…,” Ratha faltered and took a moment, clearing her throat, “It’s my first Yule here.”

“You miss them.”

“It’s strange,” Ratha said, “I don’t really remember much from before, well …”

She lightly tapped her head.

“I know that I loved this time of year. I know that I loved spending time with my kin,” she stared off into the flames of the fire, “So I do miss them. Or rather I miss what I had with them.”

Soma felt her heart breaking at the sorrowful tone in Ratha’s voice, “Do you wish to search for them?”

Ratha offered a shrug of her right shoulder, “I remember my childhood being rather harsh. I remember being taken in by my clan - and I remember we were a hard people. We believed in strength above all else and as much as I’d hate to admit it: they’d never accept me like this.”

“Anyway,” Ratha said as she stared after Gyda who was showing off her strength to an amused Helga by carrying far more wood than she probably should have (the stack she carried teetered precariously in her arms and blocked her view), “I have a good reason to stay.”

Soma smiled briefly at that, following Ratha’s gaze to the young couple. Gyda had stumbled, unable to see a rock in the road, and dropped the wood. She was red with embarrassment as she bent down to pick up the fallen logs and Helga put a hand to her mouth to hide her giggling. Ratha let out a snort and shook her head with a smile, “It’s nice for us to be able to take a break from the shop. We need to have Yule more often.”

“It only comes around once a year I’m afraid,” Soma said with a small smile, “You’ll have to find more reasons to take a break.”

“There aren’t too many I can give to justify me leaving my shop for any period of time,” Ratha sighed, “That is one thing I miss about raiding - you got to see the countryside a lot more.”

Soma’s eyes lit up with an idea.

“Come with me,” she said.

Ratha looked confused, “Come with you where?”

“Oxenforda,” Soma said, “We are to open a trade route with them. What better way to show off the wares Grantebridge has to offer than to show them the woman who made them?”

Ratha worried at her lower lip, “There’s so much to do …”

“And you’re not the only smith in Grantebridge,” Soma reassured her, “They can do with your absence for a few weeks.”

“Says the woman who never seems to take time off,” Ratha countered with a smile.

“Well this will be for the purposes of helping Grantebridge,” Soma said, “Though I’m sure we can take a couple of side trips to see the countryside.”

“You really don’t have to invite me; I wouldn’t want to interfere.”

Soma clapped a friendly hand on Ratha’s shoulder, “Ratha, I want you to come with me.”

The smile that crossed Ratha’s face was the biggest Soma had seen on her since she arrived at Grantebridge. Soma returned the smile and began to lead her up to the longhouse, “You’ve finished your work just in time for Jólablót. Forget about your troubles for the night, let us celebrate until the mead runs dry.”

Ratha looked up to the drengr still carrying barrels into the longhouse and she realized it was going to be a very very long feast. She looked forward to it.

The night had grown old and the full moon was sinking behind the horizon when Soma stepped over the sleeping bodies of her drunken clanmates. Her mind was fogged with mead but she managed to keep her balance as she navigated the obstacles in her path. She was proud to admit that no one celebrated Jólablót quite like her clan - she wasn’t kidding when she told Eivor that they threw the best feasts. Her eyes scanned the longhouse … her longhouse in the city she had worked so hard to raise from a backwater into a prosperous port. Her lips curled into a proud smile to see the fruits of her labor and the labor of the people who called it home.

Her eyes wandered to one of the darker corners of the longhouse where three women slept. Helga had curled up into Gyda’s side and Gyda’s arm was protectively draped over her back. In the corner beside them rested Ratha, her back against the wall so she was sitting up with her arms crossed and her chin tucked in apparent slumber. She stirred slightly and Soma caught the glint of candle light in her half opened eyes. Ratha tilted her head up slightly as if to affirm Gyda was still there before she noticed Soma’s presence.

She gave her jarlskona a tired smile before relaxing back against the wall and letting her eyes slide shut once more.

#Soma Jarlskona #soma x OC #I still have yet to receive guidance on if a queer platonic relationship should be denoted as like soma/oc or soma x oc #Soma's getting some goddamned armor #no stabby stab #mass writes fanfic #mass writes shit

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