#pauldrons and chest piece from hunter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heartlaboratory · 4 months

Text

A crude story:

It is belived that gladiatrices (female gladiators) actually existed, even if informations about them are scarce.

Flavia is a quite well known gladiatrix, specialised in using a long 2 handed sword. Usually, to have a proper defence while not having a shield, she wears a complete armour for her entire body or at least something to protect her most vulnerable part like the chest or the head but this time it won't be necessary. Matches are almost always a secret to participants but sometimes a gladiator can use their influence or money to corrupt officials and gain some knowledge on what is going to happen. She will face a criminal sentenced to the capital punishment in the arena, something not to worry about. In order to save energies for the next fight she decides to not wear her armour, not even the chest piece and utilize just a simple steal pauldron for her left guard.

Sadly for her the official manager this time made a mistake.

You are an experienced gladiatrix pikeman with years of fighting in the arena behind you. As soon as you entere the fighting area you notice something curious: your opponent, Flavia, that famous gladiatrix, is wearing just a water green coloured tunic (with her left breast exposed) and nothing more than a pauldron as an armour. Everybody knows that a swordsman is already in a disadvantage against a pikeman; to join the fight almost naked is simply stupid.

You're standing in front of her, the countdown is running and even if she looks quite calm on the outside there's a strange rhythmic and fast sound echoing almost inaudible nearby... is it her hammering heartbeat?

The fight starts with the public screaming of excitement. You start striking your strongest blows and just after a few blocks, fighting completely passive, she's already exhausted, gasping for air. You relize that inside she's in panic and you know that in few rounds she'll be completely out of stamina so you restart striking.

Each time you suspend your attack she looks more and more drained with the simple act of breathing becoming a burden.

Suddenly you change tactic: instead of keep going on with the attack till total exhaustion, you decide to break her guard with a flat attack using the rod of your pike. The blow is so strong dhe immediately lose her sword violently opening her arm, exposing her full chest.

Your "hunter instinct" immediately identify the target you have to hit to rapidly put an end to the fight: there, few inches above the line that connects her nipples, a little on her left, Flavia's heart is struggling to keep her alive. Her most vital organ is protected only by a thin layer of skin and bones and it's beating so fast it's almost visible on the surface.

Rapidly you direct your weapon to the point you identified. The point of the pike almost ignores the defences nature gaves to her body that obviously didnìt evolved to protect her from steel and sticks right in the center of her heart. She immediately throw open her eyes, her scream completely covered by the public's ovation.

For an instant you seem to feel her pulse propagating through the pike... you rotate the rod to infict more damage and then retract the weapon.

Even if being very strong and well trained, basically cut in half, her heart stops beating almost immediately with just few fibers trying desperately to keep her alive.

In total despair she alternatively looks at you and at the wound on her chest, totally aware of what has happened. She brings her right hand in between her breasts, where her chest should be vibrating like an earthquake over her hammering heart, without feeling any pulse she whispers: "my heart... you hit it" and collapses on the ground.

Each time you suspend your attack she looks more and more drained with the simple act of breathing becoming a burden.

For an instant you seem to feel her pulse propagating through the pike... you rotate the rod to infict more damage and then retract the weapon.

Even if being very strong and well trained, basically cut in half, her heart stops beating almost immediately with just few fibers trying desperately to keep her alive.

The public is in ecstasy, another champion has fallen on the arena.

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #female heartbeat #heartbeat #dark cardiophilia

98 notes · View notes

fablefan · 1 year

Text

What the Heck is the Golden Guard Actually Wearing: A Speculative Guide

So a long while ago, I was talking in a Discord server with a few others about what Hunter's GG uniform might actually be composed of, since apparently a lot of the fandom seems to interpret it as a kind of tunic. With the finale of the show sending us all into tears, I thought I'd take a break from the heartache and explain my theories.

(This might be long, so I'll put pictures in when I can)

So to start with, let's actually begin not with his uniform, but what's underneath it, as seen above.

(So scary, truly)

Now, while some people headcanoned this as a binder (and I'm not one to bash on people's ideas), I think it's actually a kind of brigandine!

(Note the length, the buckles going down the front, and the leather straps going over the shoulders)

This was a kind of armor that knights or soldiers wore, composed of strips of metal fastened between two pieces of heavy cloth or leather to make a vest. It was handy to have because it was fairly durable and lightweight, and offered decent protection without needing all the fancy welding required for full-plate armor.

It was worn on top of a tunic (like he does in the photo), and was usually sleeveless, though it sometimes could come with arm and shoulder protection.

Now, I confess, a brigandine wouldn't normally be worn under armor (too many layers and padding), but that leads us to Hunter's actual uniform!

(Angry cat / big brother energy intensifies)

So while the cloak and pin are common enough that even most civilians in medieval times wore them, this isn't one solid tunic piece -- it's plate mail!

Now, to get the basics out of the way, that little shoulder guard he's wearing is called a pauldron, and was used to keep your opposing, non-dominant side safe when jousting. Knights would normally only wear one, as two would be cumbersome, and holding your lance under one was uncomfortable and impractical.

(It also makes an adequate perch for little bird palismen)

That duller yellow color Hunter wears is the undershirt knights would wear under their armor (for extra padding against chafing and some extra protection). While this historically would be a gamberson (or aketon, depends on who you ask), a thick, quilted fabric shirt, it'd be too bulky for the plate mail he's wearing, amidst other things.

Instead, he might be wearing an arming shirt!

Also referred to as an arming doublet (again, depends on who you ask), these were made later as a thin kind of form-fitting shirt that was more flexible and allowed for ease of motion when wearing armor. Sometimes chain mail was sewn into more vulnerable areas for coverage, like between the legs and the armpits (like you can kinda see in the first pic).

(Also, take notice of the higher sides of the collar, which you can also see under Hunter's cape)

The brighter gold armor he wears is, from what I can tell, not full plate mail, but a kind of cuirass!

These were chest plates that covered both the front and back of a knight without needing all the extras of armor, and could be worn with an arming shirt or chainmail.

They also usually came with hip guards -- those little strips by his pelvis -- and were special attachments called faulds, useful for keeping those areas safe without making things too bulky.

And there you have it! Hope this helps with your art and writing, and thus concluding

✨Weird History With Fable✨

#TOH #The Owl House #TOH Hunter #Hunter Wittebane #Golden Guard #The Golden Guard #GIF #(People kept calling his armor a tunic and it Bugged Me)#(So here I am with some history and explanation)

270 notes · View notes

howtodrawyourdragon · 7 months

Text

Forbidden Relations

Summary: Written for Kinktober 2023 Day 5. Set during RttE’s Gold Rush. Viggo has Hiccup pinned against the wall, but the situation isn’t as dire as it seems.

Warning: Sexual themes

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup

Words: 1 078

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Race To The Edge

Prompt: Against the wall

Author’s Notes: Thought this was the perfect prompt to apply to Vigcup. This one-shot still takes place quite early in their relationship.

Enjoy!

XOXOX

On a quest to get Berk’s gold back, Hiccup and some of the other Dragon Riders got captured by the Hunters, their leader falling directly into the hands of Viggo Grimborn himself. Ryker left them alone, completely handing the young man over to his younger brother, and that’s when a fight of sorts broke out between them.

Viggo doesn’t make it a habit to get physical, preferring to wage war with his mind, but he does get physical that day. He already got Hiccup’s pauldrons off and the seams on the left side of his chest piece are tearing.

And then Hiccup finds himself pinned against the wall, panting with his lips feeling as if they’re bruising.

“I told you,” he struggles for air. “Not now. Not here! What if Ryker comes back in?!”

“While Ryker is my brother, I am still his superior. When I tell him to mind his business, he will,” though Viggo reassures him, Hiccup doesn’t know how well that works. What if Ryker decides he’s done listening to him?

While he still worries, Viggo gets right back on track, diving down to kiss and suck on the side of Hiccup’s throat. He has to bite back a moan. Not just because of what’s being done to his throat.

Viggo is so forward, driven by the time pressure. While his mouth feasts on Hiccup’s throat, his hand holds a knife with which he tears at the seams of his chest armor. The quicker he can get his young adversary’s clothes off, the sooner they can get to it.

“Viggo, I still don’t-” Hiccup shuts up, his eyes growing wide. Viggo has lifted his left leg to wrap around his middle, forcing him to throw his arms around him to keep steady, and then settled between his leg. He can feel it pressing against him, just one layer keeping them apart.

This is his first taste of Viggo’s manhood, his very first. Hiccup wasn’t sure what to expect before this, but the shape he feels is long and thick and barely contained within his trousers.

Cheeks heating at the feeling, Hiccup gives a cautious glance downwards, but only finds the other’s long clothes bunching up. This cop of feel isn’t an accident.

Viggo pulls away just enough to cut through those final seams of Hiccup’s chest piece on his shoulder and it falls away, thrown to the floor.

“You know… I don’t- I don’t know if I can take that,” he moans. In response, Viggo grinds up on him. He can’t see the smugness on his partner’s features.

“Oh, please, no!” Hiccup protests as jolts of pleasure shoot up his core. It’s so big. Are penises supposed to be that big? He’s always been anxious about going all the way with his nemesis for a variety of reasons, but now he’s even less certain.

He doesn’t want to be caught by Ryker or any of his Dragon Riders. He’s not even sure about his own feelings while Viggo has already decided what he wanted from him long ago.

He can’t deny that all of this is making him hot between his legs. Being pinned to the wall, the red marks and blue bruises made on his skin, his clothes torn from his person, the wide girth teasing yet making promises to him at the same time. And then there is, of course, the rush in getting right to it.

A part of him wants Viggo, wants all of what he intends to do to him really badly, but the biggest part of him is afraid that he might not be ready yet. It’s a big step with a lot of consequences and the Dragon Riders are still at war with the Hunters.

As if able to sense his doubts, Viggo pulls away just enough to be able to look him in the eye, their faces barely an inch apart. His pupils are blown just as much as Hiccup’s are, their hearts racing.

“Don’t worry so much, my Dear. Everything will be alright,” he tells him in a buttery smooth voice and kisses him. Hiccup returns it, eyes closing and arms pulling Viggo closer with a hand on the back of his head. He fully gives himself to the kiss.

He moans into it, Viggo dares a grunt. He’s dismayed with the lack of time, he wants to have Hiccup all to himself for hours and hours. He would’ve prefered that. Instead of having him pinned against a wall, he would have him in his bed. Undressing him slowly, his lips tracing every inch of skin laid bare to him. Taking him as many times as he desired with Hiccup under him, unable to escape the pleasure he would hold him with. He would keep him from finishing, quite liking the idea of making him unravel before he would let him reach his climax.

But unfortunately, a quick taste would have to do. He hungers too much for him and can’t wait another day to have him.

His hands go a step further. While his body keeps Hiccup in place and their tongues keeps him distracted, one hand goes up his tunic, gliding over his taut abdomen. The other dives down his leather pants, finding something to squeeze.

“Wait-” Hiccup breaks the kiss.

A second later they’re both thrown by a blast to the ship. Viggo lands on his back with a grunt, Hiccup on top. The older man has his arms wrapped around the younger one. Their eyes meet and Hiccup realizes that he was keeping him safe.

“I… I have to go,” it’s all he can manage to say. His emotions are in conflict with one another, but he needs to return to his Dragon Riders. They have no idea what’s happening to their leader right now and he can imagine that their heads must be swimming with the most terrible of scenarios.

They have no idea about… this.

Viggo’s arms loosen around him quietly. His expression is unreadable, but maybe Hiccup can see a hint of disappointment there.

Another blast shakes the ship.

“I’ll- uh… I’ll be back, I guess,” he tells him. They’re still enemies, they’re still at war, they’ll see each other on the battlefield again.

And to not leave Viggo with nothing, he plants his lips on his in a tender goodbye kiss. And then he’s off, passing Ryker in the doorway as they each rush towards their respective families.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #httyd fics #httyd movies #rtte #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #viggo grimborn #vigcup #nsft #not safe for tumblr #my fics

27 notes · View notes

third-generation-female-warrior · 8 months

Text

(Click for better quality!)

"Lineage"

So, the premiere of the Ahsoka series inspired me to do fanart for @nightfall-1409 's (Re)convene!

Additonal thoughts below!

Also titled: Local Jedi can not stop taking on queer Mandos* as her apprentices

*Maul subject to scrutiny

I just... it's funny how the poses ended up to me, it's like, everyone looks some level of dignified or refined, but then it's just:

Omega's POV: You see Alpha Fett, Jango Fett, Pre Vizsla, Cad Bane, Lama Su, Kal Skirata when he teaches your children Mandalorian swear words, Bo Katan Kryze...

More on Omega, her armor is comprised of pieces from both Echo's kit (pauldrons, undershirt, kamas) and Tech's kit (vambraces, belt, chest plate), painted to fit with the classic Batch Batch gray-and-red theme (as a homage to Hunter) with a shirt that's more traditional for Mandalorian flight suits!

Maul himself, I went into thinking, "Well, what if the Jedi gave him clothes?" and here we are!

I asked Nightfall about Maul's lightsaber, and they answered white for the purification, but also green as a call to the Dathomiran magick. But he's known for a double-staff, so I was like, "Why not both?"

#ahsoka tano #darth maul #sabine wren #tbb omega #sw rebels #ahsoka show #tbb #the bad batch #omega fett #bad batch omega #rebels sabine #star wars #star wars fic #acj draws #rebels #star wars rebels

30 notes · View notes

hel-the-growl · 1 year

Text

Cultural Annotations on New Gods: Yang Jian -Part 3-

Part 1｜Part 2

I counted five periods of Yang Jian’s life that were depicted within the scroll.

1 - his childhood.

2 - teenager cleaving Peach Mountain. His hair is in a half updo, opposed to his full updo as an adult. The totem on his pauldrons is most likely Yazi (睚眦) - the second son of the Dragon King, who has the body of a dragon and head of a jackal. As a creature that likes to fight and is aggressive, Yazi’s image is often used to adorn armor and weapons, normally found on cross-guards on swords. The Yazi here is a cute pup, fitting for baby Jian.

3 - As a general in the war against Shang. His armor is decked with a red cape and he wields his signature trident. On his helmet are a pair of pheasant tail feathers called Lingzi (翎子) - which is indicative of the wearer as a warrior figure. The length of the feathers is also an indicator of the warrior's rank. This event was probably during the Battle of Muye, the decisive battle between Shang and Zhou. These flashbacks, like with Nezha Reborn, are the traditional depictions of the characters and are emphasized by the different art style.

4 - the disaster of the three realms twelve years ago. In Journey to the West, he was described as wearing “boots that were lined with cloth of gold; dragons coiled round his socks; His jade belt was decorated with the eight jewels”. He seems to have gained a new chest plate and notice how Yazi has also grown over the years from a cute pup to a ferocious beast with large fangs.

5 - bounty hunter. A tie-dyed bandanna covers his third eye - tie-dye was popular during the Eastern Jin and Southern and Northern Dynasties, where the extraction method of indigo dyes was recorded in the agricultural text Qimin Yaoshu (齐民要术).

His clothing is also described in chapter 40 of IOTG - “This Daoist wore a cloud crown with a fan, a robe the color of water with a silk sash around his waist, and hemp shoes on his feet.” This attire was typical of Disciples of Chan Daoism.

Wrist guards wrap around his index finger while his bounty hunter’s tally hangs from his belt. Despite falling into poverty, he still maintains an air of aristocracy with his white robes showing subtle intricate cloud details.

Blink and you’ll miss - during the battle at Mount Hua, he ripped his pants at the crotch lol.

Not that I think that the placement of Go pieces have any real significance, but I recreated the board for fun. Despite some minor inconsistencies (some black pieces disappeared and reappeared between shots, and the spot where Yang Jian hovered his piece is an illegal move), the game was mostly accurate. Btw, black is winning.

Yang Jian had a noble upbringing and has retained his discipline over the years - his left hand is clenched while his right palm lies flat on his lap.

What the hell is a Fenix? In the movie, the Xuan Bird was translated as Fenix, however there is no direct english equivalent for this mythological bird. “Xuan” means black or mysterious, so some sources describe it as a black bird, while others call it a swallow. The Book of Songs dedicated a line to it: The Book of Songs dedicated a line to it: "The Xuan Bird of destiny descends to give birth to Shang."

Fa Tian Xiang Di (法天象地) translated as “Heaven and Earth I rise to Thee” is the law of heaven and earth that is commonly mentioned in ancient texts. In Journey to the West, invoking Fa Tian Xiang Di grants the user the power to rise as high as the heavens and as vast as the earth. Only Erlang and Sun Wukong have this ability.

The inscription on Yuding’s giant sword reads “福生无量”, a Daoist mantra. They are written in small seal script, an archaic form of Chinese calligraphy, and a variant form of seal script that became the standard during the Qin Dynasty. The characters are separated by the horizontal lines of the eight trigram figures.

The moment Yang Jian knew exactly what would happen when Chenxiang ran toward his mother, yet was powerless to stop him. This scene BROKE me.

In the post credits scene, Yunxiang (Nezha) asks Wukong “you couldn’t beat him?”, a nod to their battle at the beginning of Journey to the West where Erlang was able to subdue Wukong after 300 rounds of fighting.

In the teaser for the sequel, Yang Jian is seen overlooking East Sea City/Donghai (the same city Nezha: Reborn was set), commenting “so many years have past again”. What he meant was, about 1500 years since Chenxiang cleaved Mount Hua. “So many years” is a gross understatement.

FAQs

What is Yang Jian’s origin story?

Yang Jian is a disciple of Chan Daoism, the third generation disciple of Yuanshi Tianzun, known as the Primeval Lord of Heaven, one of the highest deities of Daoism. The Jade Emperor really is his uncle. According to some legends, his mother Yaoji was imprisoned under Peach Mountain for falling in love with a mortal, breaking the laws of heaven. Yang Jian cleaved the mountain in order to save her.

If he’s heaven's prince, how did he fall so low? And where is his uncle the Jade Emperor?

Yang Jian doesn’t exactly have a great relationship with his uncle. It was the Jade Emperor who imprisoned his own sister under Peach Mountain, and Yang Jian wrecked havoc in heaven over this incident (not unlike what Sun Wukong did a few hundred years later). So obv he doesn’t associate with the other gods in the heavenly court, choosing instead to live elsewhere along with his six sworn brothers of Plum Mountain.

As for the whereabouts of the Jade Emperor, this is something the movie has not hinted. However in Nezha Reborn, Ao Guang mentioned it’s chaos up there [in heaven] right now.

If Yang Jian lost his powers, how was he able to phase through the jail’s barrier and overpower all of his opponents?

Most of the powers he lost pertain to the powers of his Eye of Heaven, which had the ability to differentiate truth from lies and see through deceptions and disguises and be used as an offensive weapon to fire continuous, highly destructive blasts of light energy and/or divine fire. He also lost the ability to manifest his primordial spirit, as well as the ability to fly. He does however retain his skills in the martial arts, primarily his “Nine Turns Mystical Arts” (九轉玄功), which grants him vast, physical durability of undefined limits and nigh-invulnerability to conventional weapons and various magic spells. His 72 transformations should be a part of this skill so whether he retained it or not remains to be seen.

It would be awesome to see him be able to transform though, it would suck if he were stuck bounty-hunting for the next 1500 years.

So how powerful is Yang Jian exactly?

In Journey to the West, he was unrivalled and the most ruthless among all of the gods - even the Monkey King could not defeat him. Another time, he single-handedly killed a beast that Wukong and Pigsy were struggling to fight. At the beginning of the movie, we got to see him finish off the ogre before it even had time to react. When outnumbered by Boss Hai and his goons, none of them could even lay a finger on him. Yang Jian is so powerful that even with his powers nerfed, the toughest opponents seem like small fries to him. During the battle at Mount Hua, his primordial spirit was so unbelievably massive that its body couldn’t even fit in the frame. The combined efforts of four gods could not hold him down and just one swipe of his axe was able to destroy Master Yuding and three heavenly kings. Yang Jian is no joke.

How old is Yang Jian?

We know that Yang Jian was born after Jiang Ziya, a real life figure who was born in 1128 BC. Jiang Ziya was peers with his master Yuding, who already had a head of gray hair when he took Yang Jian in as a child. Going by this logic, we can estimate that Yang Jian’s age was about 20-30 when he participated in the battle against Shang, making his birth year between 1075 and 1066 BC. His age when he cleaved Peach Mountain is a broad estimate, as he looked much older than Chenxiang when he cleaved Lotus Peak, so it might not be that long before the events of IOTG. Yang Jian would’ve been about 1512 years old when Chenxiang was born, 1525 at the start of the movie, and 3093 years old today.

What is Yang Jian’s relation to Nezha?

They were allies. After the final battle in IOTG, a few of heaven’s warriors including Yang Jian and Nezha came to court to inform that they did not desire positions and wealth and asked to be liberated from service.

How does this tie in with Nezha Reborn?

I read a tragic leaked original ending for Yang Jian where they weren't able to free the fenixes and he was the one that becomes trapped under Lotus Peak. It took another 1000 years before Nezha freed him... talk about tragic life. By now, it is pretty much given that Yang Jian ending up in Donghai over a millenia later has something to do with the new Order of the Gods. It was repeated in Nezha that Ao Guang wants to establish a new order to improve his ranking on the list, and some theories say that the the fenixes being freed from Mount Hua heralded the end of the old Order. Sun Wukong also alluded that the list had been re-ordered more than once.

Part 1｜Part 2｜Part 4

#erlang shen #二郎神 #new gods #new gods: yang jian #yang jian #新神榜 #杨戬 #新神榜：杨戬 #xin shen bang #jttw #investiture of the gods #lotus lantern

75 notes · View notes

phantomwarrior12 · 2 years

Text

Reminder

TW: Blood

----------------

Is there anything that can stop her?

Crow watches the Cabal tank begin to destruct and she dives off of it, tucking and rolling as the whole thing goes up in flames. The shockwave that follows blasts across earth and stone and whips both of their cloaks back.

When it clears, Crow approaches the Guardian. She stumbles up onto her feet and suddenly, her shoulders are drawn back with a degree of pride.

"That was impressive," he remarks as she steps up to him.

She gives a nod of appreciation, lowering her gaze to her weapon to reload it.

Crow dares another step closer, tentatively lifting a hand to touch her shoulder and draw her gaze to his. Her head angles back, her form still beneath his touch and yet, he doesn't detect any tension.

"You'll have to–" he pauses when he catches sight of something along her side. He reaches for it, pressing the palm of his hand against the fabric and the Young Wolf flinches. His hand jerks back, crimson coating his palm. A dazed sort of panic wells in his chest and he can barely manage a: "You're bleeding–"

She lifts her arm a fraction, trying to see the injury before she summons her Ghost. Pieces of the tank had grazed her when it exploded. But there's a piece lodged just above her hip and Crow watches in horror as she jerks it out without any regard for further damage to her side and tosses it into the dirt. She waivers a little at what he can only assume is a burst of pain, her legs giving out and Crow grabs her, helping to ease her descent as she grips his forearm.

Her Ghost's shell separates, Light igniting along her frame. Her side is mended in an instant but he can still see the blood stained fabric and his chest constricts.

He registers her hand against his cheek and his eyes snap to her visor.

I'm okay.

It's what she's trying to tell him but all he sees is the blood on his hand and–

"...I've never seen you bleed before," he admits after a moment, struggling just to find his voice. "I forget you're…just like me. That you can get hurt, bleed…die. You always seem so untouchable that I forget–" his voice falters as she gathers him into a hug.

He's not sure if she intentionally guided his head to rest just above her heart or not but he can hear the strong, steady thrum all the same and it soothes away some of his panic.

"Say something," he pleads softly, fingers curling tightly around the sleeve between her pauldron and gauntlet.

Silence hangs between them, his Hunter searching for words but evidently, unsure what to say that will soothe him.

"...I won't die, Crow," she says at last and he hears the soft sound of a transmat above his head. "You don't have to worry."

"But you're always fighting. Hive gods, Scorn, Cabal tanks–" he draws back to see her face. "You're impulsive and…probably the bravest person I've ever met." His laugh is hoarse, aching. For a moment, for a fleeting instant he thought he was going to lose her somehow.

But there she is. Smiling at him with a tender sort of warmth and a fragment of worry. She reaches for him, cradling his cheek in her palm and his head sags into the contact.

"You scare me sometimes with what you can pull off, Guardian."

She snorts softly, sliding closer until their knees brush and she can lean in. She doesn't say anything but she does press a kiss to his forehead. She does brush her thumb along his cheekbone and his hand lifts to cradle it as he presses her palm flush against his skin.

Another kiss against his brow and then the tip of his nose. Finally, finally, her lips press against his and he can breathe again. Finally, there is air in his lungs and the panic has faded from his mind. Finally, all is as it should be.

They stay there for a minute, maybe two before she withdraws a fraction and they both try to catch their breath.

"I'm not going anywhere, Crow. Not anywhere you can't follow, Little Light."

He smiles, resting his forehead against hers, "Is that a promise, Old Light?"

She guides his hand against her chestplate, splaying his fingers over her heart. It beats rapidly but stronger and steadier than his own racing pulse.

She's alive.

This is her reminder.

"You have my word, Little Light. Now and forever."

That's all he needs.

-----------------

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment!

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @forgotten-by-the-stars @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 @avrosaetos

#crow x guardian #crow x young wolf #the crow #the young wolf #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny fanfiction #phantom writes

185 notes · View notes

robotsprinkles · 2 years

Text

Analysing the Evolution of Destiny’s Art Style, Prelude 1: A Glossary

For the sake of clarity and being able to talk about things without constantly confusing people and having to explain what I mean, I’m just gonna write a list of terms I’ll be using and the definitions I’m ascribing to them.

Bits: the models that make up components of armour and weapons. Individual armour panels, visors plates, barrels, dials, hooks, buckles, straps, etc.

BoBs: Bunches of Bits. More complex than a single bit but not quite a full Arrangement/Armour Piece/Weapon, used to create major components of armour and weapons. Bungie’s own example of this is a pair of boots including straps and armor panels.

Armour Piece: Helmets, arm armour, chest armour, leg armour, class items

Skull/Helm: every part of the base helmet excluding the visor (I will sometimes use helm to refer to the entire helmet including the visor)

Visor: plate that covers the face (or eyes if there’s a separate component like a gas mask or secondary assembly that covers the lower face)

Spaulder: small shoulder armour that protects the outside of the shoulder but does not extend to cover the armpits or chest

Pauldron: large shoulder armour that extends to cover the armpit or chest

Spauldron: shoulder armour somewhere between a spaulder and a pauldron. Does not cover the armpit or chest, but too large to be considered a spaulder

Rerebrace: plate that covers the upper arm above the elbow and below the shoulder

Vambrace: Goes over the forearms

Gauntlet: Armour for the hands, may extend to cover the wrist.

Cuirass: torso armour, consisting of the breastplate and backplate

Bevor/Gorget: (yes I know these two are different things and that I’m using them incorrectly. ssshhhhhhhh) armour plates attached to the breastplate that protrude upwards to cover the throat and possibly the lower half of the face.

Tassets: armour suspended from the waist or hips that covers from hip to upper thigh

Cuisse: Thigh armour

Poleyn: knee armour

Greaves: covers the leg from below the knee to the ankles

Sabaton: foot armour

Techsuit: the foundational undersuit beneath the armour. often covered by cloth on warlocks and hunters

Arrangements: Full/complete armour pieces and weapons

Module: extraneous BoBs attached to a weapon or piece of armour that is not foundational to the main item. Horns, visor scopes, laser sights, generally just any sort of attachments, etc

(Bits, BoBs, and arrangements are taken from Bungie’s GDC talk on Building Customisable Characters)

#Robot analyses Destiny's artstyle #destiny #Destiny 2 #Robot's Rambles #Probably gonna add to this as I progress

25 notes · View notes

burnwater13 · 1 year

Text

Grogu loved imagining the first time the Mandalorian hopped up on a blurrg and tried to ride it. He was sure it had gone smoothly. His dad was so good with critters, what could have gone wrong? Nothing, right?

He also wondered what happened to Din’s old armor. He remembered seeing it when they first met and that’s the armor he wore when the mudhorn was less than friendly and Grogu had to stop it from stomping on the Mandalorian bounty hunter.

As he recalled that armor not only got covered with mud (mud horns apparently were named for what they liked), but it had been damaged as well. Grogu was certain that the mudhorn wasn’t the only bad thing to happen to that armor. Honestly he wasn’t even sure if it was Mandalorian armor.

Yes, he knew that Mandalorian armor didn’t all look alike, alike. Some people painted their armor. Some didn’t. Some of them had different pieces that they had inherited from their family members or that were given to them by their clans. Some didn’t even wear it all the time!

Din Djarin had all sorts of pieces of armor. He had the two vambraces on his forearms. He had the cuirass, which covered his chest. He had a piece that was below that to cover his belly. Then the pauldrons, the hip pads, the shin guards, the thigh guards, the back plate… It was a lot. Plus the helmet! You couldn’t forget the helmet because the Armorer wouldn’t let you.

But as Grogu thought about that first set of armor he was puzzled by the central figure. In theory all Mandalorian armor had the same symbol at the center of their armor. The elongated crystal with six sides. Points on the top and bottom. But Din’s original armor (as far as Grogu knew, although their must have been other pieces when he was younger and smaller) had a different central figure. It wasn’t pointy at the top and bottom. It was pointy at the sides.

Grogu wondered if there was a story he hadn’t been told about that. Did other people make armor like Mandalorian armor? Or had there been other Mandalorians that used different central symbols? Was it an older symbol from a different time? Or was it just that another Armorer liked a different design?

When he thought about that he thought about what kind of armor he would have when he was bigger. Eventually he’d grow to be almost a meter tall. He liked the idea of cuirass and definitely a back plate for a flight pack. Maybe a vambrace for his right arm, because he liked to use his left arm for using the Force and he didn’t want anything distracting him when he did that. He would be a pretty small target, so he probably didn’t need much in the way of additional armor.

The only problem would be the helmet. He didn’t want one. He knew it would offer important protection. He knew that if he was going to follow in his father’s footsteps and swear to the Creed the way Din Djarin had, he’d need to wear a helmet. But… he didn’t like the idea of his dad not seeing his face.

How would Din know if he was happy or sad? Hungry? Annoyed? How would he see the smiles or wipe away the tears or laugh because of the face Grogu was making when something didn’t taste as good as Din said it did? Who was going to make sure that he brushed his teeth?

He supposed when the time came to make that decision he would talk to his dad. Maybe the Creed would be different by then. Or he would learn to deal with it as well as his dad learned to ride the blurrg. No problem, right?

#the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #calendar prompt a day #armor

7 notes · View notes

mayxthexforce · 1 year

Text

When The Light Comes Through || Cal & Din

Plotted starter for @foundjarin

Bounty hunters had been getting more and more creative with their strategies to capture a Jedi, and Cal had to run out of luck at some point.

Cal had gotten cocky. Far too confident in his skill with how many times he'd managed to get away from far worse threats. But it's the little threats, the ones you overlook, that kill you. He understood that now, begrudgingly, and he'd been lucky enough to not end up dead, just in that same underground prison as the first time- how long had it been since last time, five years? It felt like less, but he'd been keeping himself busy.

They caught him once? That was fine, he was inexperienced against bounty hunters back then. Twice? That was because they got lucky and he didn't. But a third time, while he was trying to break out? That one was on Cal. He'd given too much away upon waking up that first time he'd been here —in that same cell, too— paying no mind to the possibility of cameras and microphones surveying his every move. Clearly, they'd seen him, they'd studied his actions, and they'd clearly noticed that he was predictable in how he would definitely go back for his droid, no matter what it took. There was no way he would ever leave Beede anywhere, and an underground prison would not be the exception.

They'd caught him again shortly after he'd gotten BD-1 back, and now they were using his safety, along with the heavy handcuffs that kept him from using the force, to lead him somewhere.

He didn't speak the language the guards spoke, so he had no idea where he was being taken. But he was being led through the halls, passing multiple other cells, and even other people walking around- not just guards. Two of them caught his attention. Tall, armed and clad in armor that was very distinctive: Mandalorians. Cal didn't like to profile people based on their appearance or where they came from, but two Mandalorians walking around free and armed? They had to be bounty hunters, and if they were bounty hunters, then that meant they knew how to get out.

His mind worked on a plan just as they were about to walk past. The taller one, his armor a darker, more even gray than that of the other one, passed him with a mere glance exchanged between them, expressionless on both ends. But then, the second one was close behind.

Cal took a step to the side, got in the way of the shorter one- a mere hair shorter than him, and pressed his head forward, connecting his forehead with the helmet. His intention was to use psychometry, to see where that helmet had been recently, to sense his way back to the exit towards the echoes in the force that the piece of beskar could show him. But that didn't happen. Something else happened. It was as if an invisible way had crashed into him, his attempt at psychometry ricochet, coming back at him, making his eyes widen as he stared into a visor that didn't show him anything other than his own reflection.

At first, he didn't understand. Something felt different internally, yes, and it was in a way that went deeper than even the force that coursed through every cell of his body. But he didn't realize what it was until he was yanked away. The man whose helmet he'd just pressed his forehead against's armor was mostly gray, so it wasn't until he was being forced away, pulled back by the cuffs that completely enveloped his hands and kept them concealed behind his back, like a scrap rat on a leash that he realized.

The Mandalorian bounty hunter in front of him– his soulmate's chest plate was a brownish red. One pauldron matched it, the other —a dirty, white color with a light blue line— did not.

He had never seen brown, or red, or blue before. But, somehow, deep down he knew those were the colors he was looking at. It was the first time he saw color. The sudden, dizzying presence of the full spectrum that the human eye could catch made him stumble as he was yanked away from his soulmate. Everything around them was colored now– a very dull and somber place, kind of disappointing to have this be the first place where he was able to see color, but what else could he expect from an underground prison other than dullness? It didn't matter, his soulmate's armor had all the colors he needed and wanted to see.

His captors didn't have time for that. They dragged him away, once again threatening BD's safety to get him to move. Cal was pushed forward and he stumbled, still dizzy from the explosion of color —however dull— around him. He managed to get one foot in front of himself that stopped him from falling face first without his hands to cushion the fall- that would have hurt. He glared back at his captors over his shoulder as he walked, reaching the elevator. Then, his expression softened considerably when he spotted his soulmate, still staring his way from where he'd left him.

"I'm Cal!" he called out to him.

Last time, they'd thrown every creature available at him, he could only imagine what they'd make him face this time. Force knows if he'd make it out. It might be his only chance to let his soulmate —Force, he had a soulmate!— know his name. To let his soulmate know anything about him at all.

As soon as he set one foot on the lift, they tossed Beede at him. The droid was, thankfully, able to grab into Cal's vest and climb to his back, beeping a few unflattering things towards their captors while Cal glared at them before his attention was driven elsewhere by a flash of blue. Holos were even more of an eyestrain in color than they were when they were monochrome.

"Well, well, well, look who is back!" Sorc Tormo's hologram greeted him on the lift. He looked delighted. "Baby, you are a sight! You're not getting away from me so easy this time."

The elevator shook to life and began to carry him towards the arena.

#may the queue be with you #||in character: cal kestis||#& din #||rp: when the light comes through||#||verse: when the light comes through; cal||#foundjarin

5 notes · View notes

hollyoakhill · 3 years

Text

just relaxing in the evening imagining what a grown-up omega could look like

#omega bad batch #the bad batch #tbb #i love her your honor #i didnt put too much effort into designing her armor I kinda picked bits and pieces from the other batchers #pauldrons and chest piece from hunter #helmet and hip sash thingy inspired by echo #pouches like tech #id probably add some more wrecker and crosshair details if I used the reference more hahah maybe later #ive stopped using the character models as references bc they always trip me up haha #only ref images of tem from here on out #the trickiest part is just striking that balance of femininity without sacrificing defining features #I struggle drawing women so bad hahah they’re either super buff or waifish elf ladies nothing in between hahah

1K notes · View notes

littleferal · 2 years

Text

sleeping habits 2

headcanons for din djarin (the mandalorian)

a/n roll on character number 2! my compiled thoughts about how din, our dear tin can man, sleeps rating general. word count 1080 words. warnings none.

Din can sleep practically anywhere anytime and is the lightest sleeper you’ll ever meet.

(Although the anytime bit is pretty much down to the fact that he often goes long periods of time without any proper sleep.)

At times you swear Din doesn’t even actually sleep, how can he be? When he’ll be asleep one moment but wide awake with his reflexes so sharp the next?

Truth is, along with being an exceedingly light sleeper he’s learnt to differentiate sounds even while he sleeps. That noise? That’s fine, the ship does that every now and again. That one? Kid, he’s still asleep. That one? Bad. Immediately awake.

For all that he is large and intimidating during the day, Din is used to making himself small when it comes to sleep. He’s used to sleeping in the tiny space that makes up his cot on the Razor Crest, and pretty much every single cot he finds himself on otherwise while working jobs - cash spent on a bigger room is cash he can’t spend on fuel or food. There’s also many times when Din will sleep rough.

You’ll rarely, if ever, find him asleep on his back. The weight of his armour presses down too much and the back armour piece is uncomfortable to lay on (because this man rarely removes it all and honey. Honey. We need to talk about that)

So given the chance Din would rather sleep on his side or propped up against something. It’s easier to get up that way and much more comfortable

For all appearances Din sleeps like the dead when he’s settled down - too long spent sleeping in that tiny bunk and not having the space, or perhaps used to napping on a job and needing to be more inconspicuous, once he’s dropped off he practically doesn’t move at all.

It soon becomes one way you can tell if he’s still awake; by his hands still slowly mapping your body, the grip in his fingers, the thumb rubbing soothing sweeps across your hairline or circles on your hip

It takes a long time for him to sleep without his armour, and that’s not only a comment on him becoming comfortable enough with you and your relationship, but also him finding peace in his daily life - he does not shed the mantle of bounty hunter and all the dangers that entails easily.

Until then you’ll have to make do with sharing the cot with one ridiculously solid and broad chested man and beskar is not warm.

To start with sharing the cot was a necessity, one that made his heart-rate sky rocket out of sheer nerves - the only close quarters Din is usually familiar with is a fight. But he settles into it as your partnership develops, though he still barely moves while he sleeps, at least until you’re intimate

Squished in as you are, with little space and even less with Din still wearing his armour, of course you end up touching in the night. The pauldrons don’t make for a good resting place for your head and it’s incredibly touching when he realises this and starts to remove them - just them, usually only one - for sleep.

Just one night there was a soft hm, a tilt of the helmet as he looked down and realised, before he quietly shuffled a confused you back so he could remove the offending item and then shifted you right back to where you’d been.

And then it was just habit, a thing he’d do before you both lay down for rest. It means you always sleep on his off side, his weaker shooting side, so he doesn’t have to remove the armour from the other.

(The first time he did it automatically when you’re weren’t set to share a cot - there being two available - was a little confusing to both parties)

Another thing to notice, specifically when you two become close and intimate, is that Din likes to sleep with you held to his chest, or at the very least with a hand on you. While he still wears the armour it’s cold and unforgiving, but it helps Din to sleep so you do. It helps him to feel the pressure of you against him and to know exactly where you are the moment he wakes, in case he wakes to something bad and needs to know that detail.

(He definitely panics if he wakes and you’ve somehow slipped out of his grasp while he slept)

It’s his way of always knowing you’re safe and it carries over even when the armour does eventually come off

And when it does come off? Din is the most touch-starved big spoon ever, congratulations, you’re never sleeping alone ever again

Even as this transition happens and the barrier that is the armour is removed Din still never sleeps on his back. He’d much rather be pressed as close to you as possible at all times to catch up on the years of sensations he’s been denied.

Din still holds you to his chest. He’ll hold you tucked into his embrace and breathe in the smell of your hair. Or he’ll slip down in the cot so he can nestle his face in the crook between neck and shoulder, sighing in content every time he does because that is home. A lot the time if he’s there he’ll press kisses to your shoulder, clavicle or neck, lips never leaving your skin until he falls asleep

Din has also learnt that he loves to be held but he’ll never face away from you when he is, turning around in your arms if you try to spoon from behind unless he’s really too tired to move

Even when he’s being held he’ll hold you tight, rocking back a bit on his side so he can get both arms around you, his head under yours, his face at its home against your neck

Din still sleeps clothed though - even bared as he is with you, to be entirely bare is a level of intimacy that Din finds incredibly overwhelming and easy to get lost in, so he sleeps in the threadbare long-sleeved shirt and loose trouser that constitute his pyjamas. You are, however, welcome to slip your hands under them and he finds your hand at his hip, fingers against old wounds, solidly comforting, if not at times arousing. (Bare skin on skin is often a confusing swirl of emotions for Din)

my masterlist

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal character x reader #din djarin headcanons #the mandalorian headcanons #lissie writes #the tin can man is so repressed and touch starved go gentle with him ;a;#headcanon series #soft hours

442 notes · View notes

winchesterxxi · 3 years

Text

Urges of the Subconscious (Din Djarin x Reader) | PART 1

Gif by @keanurevees

Rating: E (Explicit)

Type: Smut

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Stationed in Tatooine for the night, courtesy of Peli Motto, you and Din are forced to share a room. Thinking that it was more than obvious that the two of you weren’t together, you both expected to find two separate beds - that didn’t quite happen. Sleeping next to the person you’ve been having dreams about for a while now leads to some unconscious shuffling closer to each other - culminating in quite the interesting morning.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: One bed trope, SMUT (wet dream, rubbing, blindfold, nipple play/breast play, fingering)

A/N: I haven’t written for Din in so long, god, I missed my favorite bucket-head. This is also a long one because my gears are oiled and working, so bear with me. Also, part 2? 👀

Buy me a Kofi!

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

When Din had told you that there was a fault in the differential and exhaust manifold of the Razor, you knew that meant a trip down to Tattooine. You weren’t particularly excited about it – the scorching hot weather mixed with the sandy landscape always made you feel gross and heavy, sensations that you weren’t particularly fond of.

The child on the other hand, at the mention of a need for repairs, cooed in excitement, eager to encounter his adored Peli Motto, who he seems to have absolutely smitten. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it was nice to see the kid being in someone else’s arms without fearing for his life.

Down on the rocky ground in front of her secluded shop, Peli looks up at the shadow that suddenly allocated itself in front of the sun, only to adjust her vision and catch the Razor Crest slowly descending closer, until its landing skids contacted the red ground and the large cargo ramp started to lower itself.

Into her vision came what she secretly nicknamed as “The Space Family”: You, with the baby in your left arm, and the imponent Mandalorian just a couple of feet behind, a gothic painting, some would say one that was slowly making their way towards her.

“We brought the Child!” You amusingly exclaimed, grinning as her smile immediately grew and the child was already trying to wiggle out of your embrace.

“Easy there!” she exclaimed as the child cooed and babbled in her arms, content with the reunion

“How much do you want for it?” she asks you “Just kidding. But not really.”

“The kid’s still not for sale. But I have a few repairs that need to be done.” Din intervenes. You know he isn’t being purposefully stern, but the man could sure use some lessons on loosening up and being able to understand a joke.

“Always a pleasure to talk with you, Mandalorian.” Peli greets with an expressionlessly sarcastic face that falls upon her as soon as she looks up from the child “Point me in the direction.”

After a close inspection alongside the Mandalorian, they both returned to where you and the child stood before he reached for Peli once again and you laughed at his tiny attachment problem.

“ I can get you out of here tomorrow at around noon.”

“Noon? Peli, we can’t stay overnight. People need us.”

“People can wait. Can’t they?” She asks the question in a higher-pitched voice directed towards the kid who she bops in the nose before turning back to you and Din. “And sure you can! There’s a small holsterly just a few miles down the sand, an hour walk and you’ll be fine.”

“We only have credits for the maintenance.” Says Din from your right side.

Peli is about to throw a quick answer, as she always does, but something stops her. She closes her mouth and looks down at Grogu, who happily jiggles the tiny ball between his fingers. She smirks and looks up at you two again, adjusting the kid in her embrace.

“Tell you what. You let me take care of the kid for the night, you two go and have some rest, Maker knows you need it… and the maintenance is on me.”

“We’re not leaving –“ the Mandalorian starts but you quickly cut him off, placing a firm hand on his whistling bird, settling him.

“Deal.”

“Wh- What?” He shakes his helmet in your direction.

“Come on.” You tug him along your side, heavy beskar boots reluctant to move, as you wave back at Grogu and Peli who is smiling like two children who will, more than definitely, be up to no good in the following hours.

But he knows better than to make a scene with you when you are playing nice. So he waits until the pair that was left behind to be out of sight to pull you by your elbow to face him.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but we are almost out of credits.” You reason with him, picking up on his sentence. “Din, she did a nice thing… not all people are out to get you.” Your voice is calm, and it takes all of your strength not to reach out and touch him, maybe caress the helmet of his cheek, or his hand. But he’s who he is, and you don’t want to cross any lines.

His towering figure lets go of your elbow and he walks ahead through the sand, talking over his shoulder.

“This is the first and last time we’re doing this.”

You grin and bit your bottom lip behind him, feeling victorious from having him wrapped around your finger in situations like this, before speeding your own stride to catch up to him, feeling the heat reflected on his beskar hit your skin.

It was a small inn, there was no doubt, more like a one night resting home for the looks of it, the offer ranging little above a few sleeping quarters along a hall and a shared bathroom at the end of it.

Once unlocking the wooden door, you and Din stepped into the now moonlit room, which ended up being more spacious than anticipated.

With Din closing the door and locking it once again, your eyes scan around the carved walls and the big window, the tapestry on the floor and then – the bed. The only bed. Not even a couch on the other end of the room. Only a bed.

Din seems to have noticed it too as you feel him come to a halt right behind you, helmet turning to scan the room.

“Why would they give us only one bed? I specifically said it was a two people bedroom.” You can feel his aggrieved tone sip through the helmet, frustrated with the situation.

“Two people. Not two beds.” You scoff and he looks at you, causing you to look away and avert your smile from his field of vision – how unskilled Din was with such mundane tasks always amused you. “I’m afraid this one’s on you Din Djarin.”

You walk over to the bed and start to peel the layers of your leather uniform, down to your undershirt and panties.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Din asks you, turning his helmet away once his helmet falls upon your bare legs.

“Getting to bed. You should too.” You state in a deadpan voice, before sliding your legs underneath the cotton sheet and laying your head in the fluffy pillow – something you haven’t had in months.

“No, yeah, I can see that! But I-… do you… Are you…?” he stumbles over his words, awkwardly still standing in the middle of the room at the bottom of the bed.

“Din, rest. Come on, it’s not every day you have a real bed to lay on.” The man huffs and walks over to your opposite side of the bed, before pulling the covers back, getting ready to seat down, before you shoot up on your elbow.

“Aren’t you going to take the armour off?”

“Why would I? Hostile planet, unknown people sleeping next door. Peli might contact us at any minute.” He has a big list of reasons, and he could more than definitely go on, but something in the way you are looking at him through the visor stops him.

“Din. Nothing bad is going to happen for one night.” Your eyes were honest and they pierced his soul melting his insides and kicking his usual hunter instinct out the window.

Not being able to resist, he drops his shoulders and sighs, before reaching for his chest pauldron and unclasping it while you grin victoriously.

“The helmet stays on.” He warns you, while pieces upon pieces of beskar and leather fall to the ground, placed against the foot of the bed until he is in nothing besides his fitted undersuit and beskar helmet.

Reaching for the covers once again, Din finally sleeps into the bed and as soon as his back hits the mattress he releases a quiet grown and you chuckle.

“Better?” you ask him, face turned his way and cocking your eyebrow up.

“Better.” This time, to your surprise, he’s the one that chuckles, the vibration of the modulated sound going straight to your stomach.

“Goodnight Din.” You whisper, turning your back to him and placing your body in your preferred position to sleep. With one look at you, the only nothing he can now see is the moonlit outline of your curves as your ribcage rises and falls at the rhythm of your quiet breath.

He’d be damned if anything happened to you. For as paranoid as he was the possibility of someone breaking in at the dead of the night and harming you, stopped him from turning his back to you and instead, settling with his chest up to the ceiling, helmet turned in your direction.

“Goodnight.”

For the first time in Maker knows how long, both you and Din managed to sleep during a full night with no sudden wake up calls or alarms beeping around. It was nice, he had to admit. So nice, that his body got a little too comfortable, his hands in his slumber reaching for your body and your own figure, unconsciously draw to his embrace let itself be held by him during the long hours of the dark – none of you being aware of such.

But somewhere along that time, in the wee small hours of the morning, your body rotated in his arms, back to his slowly moving chest and his hands, unbothered, had to keep touching you, they had to make sure you were there, hence gently palming your right boob.

It wasn’t until you felt an involuntary squeeze of his bare hands against your tunic, a definite sleep spasm that you were pulled awake and made aware of the situation.

Heat flooded your whole body once you realized the compromising position you both found yourselves in. Gently humming Din’s name, you don’t dare to move his arm, being very aware of his hunter instincts.

“Din.” You repeat again, this time louder and the man behind you hums. At the same time as the sound leaves his lungs, his fingers squeeze yet again. You suck in a breath and bite your bottom lip, preventing any sort of moan from escaping.

Din groans once, the sleep still gripping his system but he must’ve soon realized where his hand was, forearm trapped beneath your weight as he quickly pulls it away, sitting up straight in the bed.

“Kriff. I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to-“ His chest is rising and lowering heavy, and you can see a hint of the red skin that heats on his neck and upper chest.

“It’s alright, I know.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air, you having since sat up in bed, back against the headboard, only your breathings and and heavy tension floating in the air. You were pretty sure your cheeks were still pink, as they still felt hot.

“I don’t want you to think that I wanted to do anything to you. I would never.” He says, coming off harsher than intended. It’s not that he didn’t want to be with you, Maker, he did, he had fallen head over heels a long time ago… But, maybe you didn’t feel that way. You were too good for him, anyway. A puddle of light in his life that he didn’t want to corrupt with his own being.

“Would it be so bad?” You whisper, afraid that he really didn’t want anything to do with you, slightly hurt by the words he’d just said.

Silence remains and you look to your side only to find the beskar helmet turning in your direction, your hopeful eyes and hung mouth pleading for a genuine answer.

Feeling bold, you reach for his bare hand that rested against the mattress and hold it up to where it was before and he is silently following your actions, but you can feel his muscles tensing at your actions.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” His voice is strained as he looks away but dares not to move his hand.

“Din. Please.” You whisper in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for his helmet to return to face you.

“If I start, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to.”

There is a moment there. One of silence, but that was heavy with unsaid words. A look into your eyes was all it took him to pull your hips gently down and lay you back on the soft mattress while his body shifted to be above you.

His rough fingers gently tugged at one of the straps of your tunic before pulling it down and off your arm, same as with the other one that followed, leaving the thin fabric still splayed over your chest, from where he could now see the hard buds straining through.

Your breathing deepened and you could feel heat pool at your core, shifting your thighs closer together, an action that didn’t go unnoticed to the masked man above you as your knees brushed his crotch.

“Mesh’la.” He whispers, looking down your body, his erection pressing against the fabric of his confined pants.

Putting all of his weight on his elbows, the Mandalorian slides the fabric of your tunic down, revealing your swollen breasts, courtesy of the arousal he was fabricating in you. His fists curled at the sudden need that he had, one that he couldn’t fulfil if there was the possibility of you seeing his face.

Sitting back on his knees, he reaches out to the floor on his side of the bed, where he remembers to have discarded his armour and other layers the night before. When he sits back up, you can see that he is holding one of his undershirts, the one that went directly under the leather layer, made of a soft black fabric.

He motions it towards your head as if asking for permission to put it around your head and all you can do is nod while bitting your bottom lip, eager to give in to the pleasure he intended to deliver.

You lift your head from where it was resting against the pillow and his gentle hands tie the fabric around your eyes, making sure that it was tight enough for it not to slip, but not too much so that it would hurt you.

In the darkness that you found yourself surrounded by, all your other senses tingled in anticipation, especially your touch and hearing as from somewhere lower above you, a hissing sound filled the air, followed by that of metal being placed on wood.

Still sitting on his knees, his eyes could now see you in all of your glory, without the darkening of the helmet. And you were a sight to behold. Hair splayed around your head on the pillow, lips parted in anticipation, breasts aching for him. To the latter he gave in first, lowering himself to attach his lips to your left nipple, his breath fanning over it for a moment before diving in.

You suck in a sharp breath and moan at his action, while one of his hands finds your free nipple, not wanting it to go unattended.

“Din, that feels so good.” Your head lifts up and then drops with a small thud against the pillow taking in shallow and quick breaths as his fingers and tongue continued to tease your sensitive buds.

His mouth and hands were equally skilled, the latter, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, as quick jolts of pain and pleasure rushed through every nerve in your body.

He stayed there for a long time, switching sides every now and then, mouth sucking and tongue lapping and brushing against your nipples.

He sucked and moaned around it every time his tongue stroked the tip of your nipple and your hands fumbled between grabbing the sheets below you or his soft hair, body arching up wanting more. More of him, more of that sensation, just more.

With your tunic still draped over your torso the one hand of Din’s that wasn’t supporting his weight travels down to your core, thick fingers brushing against your clit and soon after trailing a path up your dripping slit, moaning when his digits became wet.

“Did that make you wet, cyar’ika? You like it when I play with your nipples?” his husky voice sent waves of arousal up your body.

“Yes, Din, you’re so good at it, please.” You reach your hand down to palm at his erection “I need you, please.”

Gently he grabs your hand from his crotch and places it down next to your head. “Next time. We need to get going in a few if we don’t want to burn under the midday sun. But I can still make you feel good.”

You moaned at his willingness to prioritize your pleasure over his, going as far as denying himself of an orgasm at this crucial moment, which would have him frustrated until the next time you could be alone together again.

His lips return to your nipples and, at the same time, he slides two digits inside your aching cunt, the warmth and clenching around his skin making him whimper around your nipple, making the pleasure skyrocket on your part.

The outer rim of his free hand now rested against the mound that was free from his mouth’s hold, as his middle finger flicked up and down against the tip of your nipple, making you cry out in pleasure as it synched perfectly with his ministrations against and inside your core.

It was all too much, and tears pooled at the outer corners of your eyes, leaving an eventual wet trail behind as they ran down your cheeks, until being soaked by his shirt that rested around your eyes.

Your body convulsed under his frame, arching against him as a wave of white pleasure washing over you like never before, the joined ecstasy of his two places of stimulation pushing you with full force over the edge you were chasing.

Din rode your high until he felt you could no more, never for once slowing his movement in between your legs as your cum dripped down his fingers and into his palm, and making the most of your sensitive nipples by bringing both your breasts together with his large hand, positioning them in a way that both nipples were almost touching, allowing him to lick and suck at the two simultaneously.

Once your body is spent and limp, chest rising and falling trying to catch your breath and trying to drive some oxygen up to your brain as you felt like being high, Mando finally lifts his face up to your own and, for the first time lets his lips latch onto something other than your chest. The kiss is deep and wet, his tongue roaming your lips before exploring your mouth.

Din then sits back up on his knees, chuckling as your head followed his once your lips parted, not wanting to separate just yet.

His bare hand reaches to the side table where he’d laid the helmet and puts it back on, coming away from straddling you and rather returning to his side of the bed, pulling you in by your waist to his side and sliding the shirt up from around your eyes

He watches you smile, still in the aftereffects of your orgasm.

“Hey.” You muse up at him.

“Hey.” He answers, the helmet preventing you from seeing the lopsided smile that adorned his beautiful face.

“That was…”

“I know.” He completes your thought.

“Was it so bad, after all?” You close your eyes as the question leaves your lips, the exhaustion of this morning activity starting to wash over you.

“Not even close.”

As if on cue, the first ray of sunshine makes its way through the window glass and you know that it means you need to get dressed and out of this place. Din notices it as well, patting your side before slinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up.

“Come one, mesh’la. We need to go.”

“I know.” You groan up to the air. “But this is so comfortable.”

“The faster we get there, the faster we can go into the Razor and the closer we are to putting Grogu asleep.” He tells you, hands on his hips, a teasing tone on his voice and damn it, he got you good.

“I hate that you know me so well.” You huff with a smile, crawling up to his side of the bed so that you’re on your knees on top of the mattress, still, he towers over you.

“Can’t wait to know all of you.” He whispers as his helmet comes closer down your face and his hands travel to your waist. He then gives it a little squeeze before patting your ass. “Come on now, let’s go. I have a feeling someone is waiting to make grabby hands at us.”

“I was about to say you have a stationed ship waiting to take off, but I’m glad to see you have your priorities straight.” You muse over your shoulder, walking to the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.

As you go, Din stays behind adoring the view of your hips swaying and ass jiggling as you walk.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

He really couldn’t wait to know all of you.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

TAGLISTS

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@blondekel77 @pedrobreakmyback

DIN DJARIN TAGLIST

@niall2017

PEDRITO TAGLIST

@weirdowithnobeardo

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!

#Urges of the Subconscious #din djarin #din djarin x reader #teh mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal x reader #smut #star wars #the mandalorian

417 notes · View notes

just-here-for-the-moment · 2 years

Note

Din Djarin/PV👀👀👀

LEAH!!!! I got this weird idea right after waking up the other day, and I hope you’re okay with the fact that it’s not canon… in fact it’s so far OFF canon that it might as well be a crackfic. It’s just a big pile of cheesy chaos, LOL, but I hope you’re not disappointed in me. I love you!

Word count: 4100+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: 19 year old “Mando”/Din Djarin x “You” (late 30s cis/het female bounty hunter; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: curse words and vulgar language; mentions of alcohol; non-canon Din; age gap (both are adults); mentions of canon-typical violence; unprotected P/V sex (I don’t know, it’s magic outer space birth control); stripping; mentions of sex work; groping; naked reader/clothed Din; descriptions of guilt

You stepped into the bar and let the smoke and the darkness settle over you like a curtain falling closed. You were here for your sixth (and last) bounty of this cycle. Your carbon chamber was already full of five idiots who were definitely not going to be running anymore.

The last one had been some jerk who thought he could talk his way out of it by offering you sex to let him go, and you had let him get as far as seeing your bra before plunging a tranquilizer dart into his neck. Karga would be especially happy to see that one, since the low-grade lothario had been a personal vendetta for him, and not just another number on a Guild chip.

Now you were here for some kid, some dumb fucking 19-year-old who thought he could steal from the Guild. It had cost one tracking chip, two months of your time, and way too many credits passed to sleazy informants to get a lead on him. You hoped that the intel was correct, and that you could sidle up to him at the bar, bag him for Karga, and get the fuck away to some kind of hotel for a well-deserved weekend off before starting the whole thing up again.

You rolled your head on your neck and felt a few creaks and pops, thinking that maybe it was time to hang up your blaster. Just a few more cycles, and you could maybe, possibly retire. Just the thought of it was enough to make you tired, so you pushed the hope of it away and focused on your task at hand. The kid.

You scanned the bar and the assorted crush of life forms pressed against it, not seeing any trace of the quarry. He didn’t seem to be at any of the tables, either. The informant had said that he was definitely here, that he had been spotted less than two days ago. You could wait, you decided. You could be patient.

You took a seat at a small table that had just been vacated, sitting with your back to the wall so that you could watch the front door. A peek into your bag at the tracking fob showed that the kid was close, but after an hour of watching creatures come and go, there was still no sign of him. You hoped that there wasn’t an error in the tracking code, but right now the hunt seemed to be futile.

Just as you finished your second drink, the lights in the main room went low, and a hush fell over the crowd. A weak spotlight lit up a sad little stage in one corner. A dusty red curtain and an ancient synthesizer keyboard set up to one side were the only indications that the platform was intended for some kind of performance. Just as you started to wonder what kind of act the bar patrons were going to be subjected to, the music transformed from background buzz to a deep, throbbing baseline. A few people in the crowd started to clap and hoot, and then a figure stepped out from behind the crimson fabric. Holy shit. The quarry.

He was wearing the Mandalorian helmet he was known for, the shiny silver Beskar reflecting the lone spotlight and a few of the candles on the tables, but the rest of his outfit was ridiculous. The pauldrons and chest plates were cheap, flimsy imitations of armor: battered and dented, covered over with multiple chipping layers of paint and looking for all the world like pieces retrieved from some scrap heap. It didn’t look at all like the traditional Mandalorian kit he had been wearing when he raided the Guild stores, and it didn’t fit with his sleek helmet. Was it actually him?

A quick glance at your tracking fob showed that it was, and his broad shoulders and narrow waist matched the form you had memorized from the surveillance video of the robbery. But what had he done with his usual armor, and why was he wearing such shitty replacements?

You watched as he took one step over to the synthesizer stand and tapped a few buttons, changing the spotlight from bright white to a revolving eclipse of colors. The song pumping through the speakers changed, gliding into another bass-heavy number. The kid turned his back to the audience and put his hands on his hips, then started swiveling his ass in time to the beat. Your jaw dropped as the hoots and catcalls from the audience increased in volume. No way, was he…?

You couldn’t believe the sight of your bounty shimmying and gyrating on stage as he started to remove pieces of his outfit. On the one hand, it was kriffing stupid to be hiding in plain sight, working in such a shitty bar, but on the other hand he seemed to be making credits hand over fist as one customer after another approached the stage to drop currency into the jar sitting on the synthesizer stand.

You watched, transfixed, as he shucked his pants, then peeled off the chestplate of his costume armor. Now the outfit made sense, it was a costume, designed to be removed easily. He probably had his real armor stashed away safely somewhere else. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he held one gloved hand up to the audience and then gently tugged at the fingers one by one. He finally pulled it off and threw it on the edge of the stage, where a woman leapt forward to snatch it up before tucking it down the front of her shirt.

Now that he was in just a long-sleeved shirt and tight black underwear, your shock was starting to wear off, replaced by something you were a little ashamed of: lust. The young man was beautiful, and if he hadn’t been a mark, if you weren’t relying on his capture to make a living, you might have bedded him happily.

His skin was golden everywhere you could see, and his broad shoulders and strong arms belied hours of training and fighting. He was cute, you decided, as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and then turned his back to the room to peel it slowly off his shoulders. That left him in just a black sleeveless undershirt and his briefs, and the appreciative noises from the audience reached a thrilling crescendo.

He turned back toward the audience and pulled at the neckline of his tank top, bringing it down to reveal one nipple and then the other. As you watched, he gripped the center of the neckline and then yanked, ripping the fabric down the middle, the clean line of the tear telling you that it had been snipped or prepped to rip cleanly away. A woman at the table next to you screamed and you laughed under your breath. This wasn’t the first time you had seen a show, but it was definitely novel that you were here to capture the main act. You supposed you could just enjoy it, and then grab him out back in the alley when he was leaving.

But as you watched him strip off his black underwear, leaving him only in his helmet, his cock half-hard as he thrust his hips in time with the music, another thought occurred to you...

---

You passed a few credits to the bartender and whispered in his ear, then pulled back to make sure he understood you. He met your eyes, looked at the credits in his hand, and then looked back up at you. His big, wet eyes blinked once and he nodded. You stepped behind the bar and let yourself into the door marked “PRIVATE” in six different alphabets.

Just beyond the door was a long hallway stacked with crates on one side, and an unmarked door. You let yourself in, finding a wide, comfortable couch and one small desk inside. You sat on the couch and waited.

After a minute you heard heavy footsteps from the hall outside. They paused for just a moment, and then the door opened, the Beskar helmet poking into the room first, as if to test the atmosphere. As soon as he saw you he nodded once and then closed the door behind him.

“You the client?” His voice was gruff, low and modulated by the helmet, but it didn’t match his awkward posture. He seemed nervous, like he hadn’t done this before. You hoped the nerves didn’t mean he had figured you out. But then again, if he had gotten any whiff of you being a bounty hunter, he most likely would have disappeared entirely, not come to a private meeting in the back room of a low-grade bar.

You nodded once at him and patted the seat beside you. “Yes, dear boy. Come here and sit next to me.”

He hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room and taking a seat next to you. He held his back rigid, nerves clearly thrumming with electricity as he perched on the edge of the couch, turned slightly to face you. You ran one finger up his arm in a lazy motion. He had dressed again in the long-sleeved black shirt, pants, gloves and boots, but he hadn’t put any armor back on, theatrical or otherwise. He tilted his helmet to watch your finger make its way up and down his bicep.

You purred as you stroked his arm, smiling at the memory of his hardened muscles as they had moved under his beautiful golden skin. You wondered what he looked like under the helmet, but you also knew that some Mandalorians spent their whole lives with their faces obscured. And then to muddy things further, fact and fiction were often intertwined when it came to this ancient group of people.

“I liked what I saw out there, Mandalorian. I’ve got three hundred credits if you have a few minutes to spare for a more…” you paused, licking your lips seductively, “-personal interaction.”

He made a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat, but could also have been a strangled gulp. It was hard to tell through the modulator. You hoped he wasn’t a kriffing virgin or anything. Maybe you should rethink your plan, not seduce him and just tranq him now? But then you would have to drag him out through the entire hallway, and down the street. If you could seduce him here, you might be able to get him to come back to the ship willingly with the promise of sex, and that would save you a heap of trouble. You’d be able to knock him out just steps away from the carbonite chamber. You bit your lip and dragged your fingernail lazily over his shoulder as you thought through your options.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

The declaration startled you, snapping you out of your ruminations. Your eyes flicked up to his dark visor, and for a moment you swore you could feel his eyes boring into your skin. Your face burned with a sudden heat, and you felt your mouth go dry.

“Th- thank you.” You swallowed hard. “You’re not so bad yourself. You put on quite a show, is there a reason you don’t take the helmet off?”

He nodded once. “My creed.”

You waited, but he didn’t add any information, and you weren’t sure what an appropriate follow-up question would be. You leaned closer and placed a soft kiss to his shoulder, lingering a moment to drink in his scent. Whatever he had last showered with was deep and spicy, and combined wonderfully with the saline notes of his fresh perspiration.

You pulled back and looked up at him from under your eyelashes, hoping that he would take the bait. You felt like a pervert, but your new plan was to take him back to the ship, take him to bed, and then stick him in carbonite for Karga. Just the idea of it made you feel so filthy that you swore to the Maker that it would be your last job.

“I’ve got a ship parked just around the corner. Do you want to come back with me? It’s a little more private than this dank office.” You tilted your head and smiled at him, and you realized that your heart was thrumming behind your sternum with an altogether different cadence than usual.

Normally you would have blamed it on the adrenaline rush of tricking a quarry into submission, closing a deal that you knew would fuel your ship for the next few cycles. This time you felt… lighter, almost hopeful. This time your heart was beating because you wanted him, wanted to see him and touch him and feel him heavy between your legs or on your tongue. This was lust with the added taint of guilt - the secret hope that he would figure it out and run, or that you wouldn’t have to freeze him at all.

You held your breath and waited, and then breathed out when you saw him nod the helmet once, a dip of the chin and back up, and you knew you would enjoy this for all that it was worth. You would treat him right before you had to do him wrong.

—-

The walk back to the ship was brief, both of you scurrying through the darkened streets like fugitives. When you finally arrived you tossed your bag down in a corner, and the ship’s ramp was barely closed before he was on you. He pushed, crowding into your space as you fisted your hand into the front of his shirt and pulled, and you ended up with your back up against the wall with one of his broad thighs pressed between your legs. The friction of his strong, hard thigh against your pussy was incredible.

In every other hookup situation you had been in, there would have been kissing and probably biting, but since the Mandalorian refused to take the helmet off you improvised by leaning your head down to nip and bite at his shoulder. The sounds he was making through the modulator were downright sinful, huffs and moans that sent chills up your arms and hardened your nipples into buds. You opened the top of his shirt to get to more of his delicious golden skin, licking and tasting as much as you could since his mouth was off-limits.

He hissed and spilled words of passion into your ear as you tasted him. “Fuck, you’re so… so fucking pretty.”

The compliment gave you a moment’s hesitation, not because it was a repetition of what he had said in the bar’s back office, but because of the earnestness and honesty he displayed. He sounded like a kid on a date. Kriff, he was young. Young, and you were taking advantage of him. The thought made you slow your lips, and you felt guilty for everything you had ever done wrong, and for what you were about to do.

“What’s the matter?” He had noticed your hesitation, how you pulled back a bit, though your hands were still gripping his open shirt.

You looked at him. The reflection of your face in his visor was the worst kind of mirror. All you could see was a wanton, selfish woman who was about to fuck up a young kid’s life, all for her own greedy lust.

“I’m sorry.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

You felt him still, his whole body suddenly going immobile, though he still held your hips firmly in his grasp.

“Why are you sorry? Are you- you’re not married or anything, right?”

“No, nothing like that. I just-” You shook your head and your eyes landed involuntarily on your bag, slouched in the corner.

In a flash he was off you, picking up the bag and opening it, holding the tracking fob up and staring at it. Dank farrik, he was fast. It blinked scarlet in his huge glove, the flash beating so bright you swore you could feel it behind your eyes. You couldn’t breathe, and each pulse of the red light drove the stake of your own guilt deeper.

He lifted his visor to you and spoke short, declarative sentences. He didn’t need to ask questions; the fob and your own face told him everything. “A tracking fob. You’re a bounty hunter. This is for what I did to the Guild.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak again, but all he did was hold the fob and look at you.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to kill you. I was- I just wanted to-” You gulped and tried again. “I was just going to knock you out with a tranq dart and freeze you. The sex wasn’t- wasn’t part of the plan.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying more. Stars, you should have quit ages ago. What kind of hardened bounty hunter spills the whole plan like that? You had gone soft, and now you were going to pay for it. You hoped he would just run, and not kill you or beat the snot out of you.

His next statement nearly knocked you out of your boots. “We haven’t had sex… yet.”

“Y-yet? Yet? Y-you… what?” Your head spun. You knew you had already lost control of the situation, but you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly was happening now.

He dropped the tracking fob and your bag, letting them fall to the floor. Then he took slow, deliberate strides toward you. You felt like you were being hunted, an entirely odd sensation in your current line of work.

He put his two big hands on the wall on either side of your head, and the smell of the leather and his spiced soap brought on a rush of arousal that swept your fear aside so quickly that it nearly made you faint.

“I said, we haven’t had sex yet.” His voice purred out of the modulator with a growl, the deep baritone of it making you damp in an instant. “Do you still want to?”

You nodded. This was insane. How he had managed to flip the tables on you like this was beyond you, but for the life of you all you could say was, “Yes.”

As soon as the word passed your lips, he was back on you, hard thigh once again pressed against your cunt like he owned you. You moaned and threw your arms around his neck.

“Where’s your bunk, pretty girl? Or do you want to do it here in the cargo bay?”

You tilted your head toward the door set into the wall. “There.”

He let you go and you wobbled the few steps on shaky legs, pressing blindly at the button until the panel slid open. You realized that you had neglected to make your bed, but that was fine. No need to straighten the covers when they were about to get messed up.

You turned back toward him and he closed the gap, guiding you backwards into your bunk. You half-fell, half-sat down, letting him crowd into you as you leaned back. He pressed his helmet to your forehead and groped your breast through your shirt, running one leather-clad thumb over your hardened nipple. You threw your head back with a moan, relishing the feeling of his clothed erection against your clit. He pulled away and stood up, and you tried to catch your breath.

He nodded once at you. “Strip.”

You didn’t think to argue, sitting up and unbuttoning your shirt with a haste that resulted in ripping two buttons off. You toed off your boots and then leaned back, shifting your hips up just enough to slide your pants down, kicking them off your feet onto the floor.

You lay there naked and gazed up at him, hearing the sharp intake of breath behind his modulator. You swelled with happiness, suffused with pride that this man was so taken by your form that he was at a loss for words, even for just a moment.

“Fuck…” he trailed off, and you imagined that the rest of his thoughts were a repeat of his earlier declarations, a statement that you were so pretty. You saw his cock jump behind the dark fabric of his pants, and you opened your legs slowly. It felt odd watching his helmet as if you were expecting a change of expression, but he seemed to show his feelings with his stance and his posture. At the sight of your open legs, his shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if he were holding himself back from diving in face first.

You curled your finger and smiled wickedly, feeling back in control. “Come here, sweet boy.”

He didn’t hesitate, simply opened the zipper on his pants and hauled out his meaty cock. You had gotten a preview of it from the strip show, but hardened like this, fully erect… it was something else.

He wasted no time in pulling off a glove and kneeling between your legs to stroke the head against your lips, letting your arousal coat him as much as he could before he pushed into you with one insistent thrust. You moaned high and needy, lifting your legs high to wrap them around his waist. The feeling of him pushing into you was divine, your cunt stretching to accommodate his fluid drags and thrusts. You clenched your thighs tight and hung on, letting him pull out only slightly before he had to fuck back into you again.

“Stars, woman. Kriff…” His voice sounded pained. “You’re holding on so tight, fuck…”

He buried his helmet into the side of your neck and you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, loving the feel of his half-naked chest against yours. You had undone half of his buttons before your guilt had made you confess, and the feel of his clothing as he fucked into you made you feel deliciously vulnerable. The soft material of his shirt rubbing against your nipples, and the rougher fabric of his trousers between your soft thighs made you impossibly wet.

You unwrapped your legs and opened them wide, letting him fuck into you as deeply as he could. He never slowed his pace, and you braced yourself against the rhythmic grind of his hips. The few coarse curls that were poking out of his open pants were grinding against your clit, and you angled your hips just right to catch them with every stroke. It wasn’t quite enough, so you patted his shoulder as a signal to lean back up.

He propped himself up on his hands and lifted his visor off your shoulder. You snaked a hand down and touched yourself, and the feel of your own fingers nearly made you jump.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Touch yourself. Come for me.”

You ached to do exactly that, and you found yourself staring up into his visor as you brought yourself closer to orgasm. Fuck, he was beautiful braced above you like that, his shirt falling open to give you a glimpse of his broad chest, the way his neck flexed and strained with every thrust. You bit your lip and felt the onrush of your climax, and with one more breath you were over the edge and flying.

He felt you clench around him, and that seemed to send him over, too. He spit out one more whispered curse before he buried himself deep and spasmed against you, filling you with the sticky heat of his cum.

You lay there, catching your breath, in no hurry to finish and get up. Who knew what was next? Would he escape? Hurt you? You didn’t think so, not from the way he had behaved so far. And he wasn’t a violent criminal, just a thief.

When you had both recovered, you patted him and he rolled off of you, laying on his back and throwing one hand up over his head.

You sat up to retrieve your pants and shirt, and started pulling them back on.

“You gonna turn me in?”

You paused, not entirely sure of that yourself. “I should, that’s why I tracked you down.”

“What if you didn’t? What if I came willingly and turned myself in? You think they’d be lenient?”

You sat on the edge of the bunk to lace your boots up. “Probably not. But maybe we could work something out.” You thought for a moment. The work had been hard on you lately… maybe you could train him... maybe Karga would let him work off his debt by apprenticing with you, instead of in some seedy Guild establishment?

“How do you feel about becoming a bounty hunter?” You turned to him and smiled. “You’d get to keep your clothes on.”

The sound of his laughter was warm, even through the modulator.

He nodded, “I’d like that.”

---

Din Djarin/Mando character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @astoryisaloveaffair @fan-of-encouragement @nolanell @deadhumourist

81 notes · View notes

missmirakell · 2 years

Text

Even more Ghost Things

Ghosts who tend to the gardens in the Last City, who've been there since they were first planted.

A gaggle of Ghosts who all spend their time together, and don't stop now that one has found their Guardian. ("Woah Guardian, why does the Traveler let you have 6 Ghosts?" "5 of them aren't mine but I can't get rid of them")

Ghosts trying to encourage their Guardians to form a fireteam together, or join one

Ghosts who write novels (trashy, good, some based of their adventures with their Guardians)

Ghosts who hum to themselves while hacking

Ghosts who are hilariously out of touch with like, everything

Ghosts who transmat back samples of plants or planetary materials for research in their down time.

Ghosts doing their best to mimick human gestures (waving a piece of their shell in hello, floating and lightly touching a human's cheeks like greeting kisses, bowing/bobbing up and down slightly in deference or thanks)

Ghosts spending so much time in a place in the City, that people get used to seeing the Little Light there, and are sad to see it eventually go.

Ghosts nestling into the clothes of their Guardian during down time. Hiding in a Hunter's hood, tucked near the chest of a Warlock's robes, resting on the pauldrons of a Titan.

Ghosts who make extensive lists of "Why That's A Bad Idea, Actually" and list them off to their Guardian while they're in the middle of said bad idea.

Ghosts who are quieter than their Guardian, painfully shy except to their partner.

Ghosts who NEVER shut up, and live for banter.

Ghosts who consistently deliver terrible one-liners, automatically making whatever their Guardian just did seem lame

Ghosts who really really want to pilot the jumpship they promise they won't crash it this time pretty please?

Ghosts who freeze their Guardian's glimmer accounts so they don't go into debt

Ghosts who dutifully transmat successively strange items in for a very unique game of poker

Ghosts who threaten to read their Guardian's internet search history aloud on the Tower if they don't stop farming bounties right fucking now

Ghosts who nestle together like birds in a nest

Ghosts who love animals, and want desperately to pet them

Ghosts who play with animals in the City, or work at an animal shelter.

Ghosts who make the saddest noise if they're hurt or stressed, their little shell drooping

Clumsy Ghosts who never watch where they're going, and bonk into things constantly

Easily distracted Ghosts who forget where they were in a hack, or don't transmat things to the right place

Neat freak Ghosts who are always chiding their Guardian for any mess they make -- including the mess of getting blown up

Ghosts keeping tallies and averages of how often their Guardian dies, and from what (they send the data to Ikora and Zavala so they aren't put on Strikes above their ability)

Ghosts that are always embarrassed by their Guardians

Ghosts taking/teaching classes on tactics -- best time to rez, where to hold for a teammate to help, keeping an eye out for your Guardian's flank, etc.

Ghosts dragging their Guardian along to trainings, and introducing them to their classmates

Ghosts using an app to help them find compatible pen pals or something more 👀

Ghosts getting really embarrassed when their Guardian teases them about said app

Ghosts sitting over their Guardian's shoulder while their Guardian tries a dating app

Mischievous Ghosts who push their Guardians off balance or down a drop

Nervous and finicky Ghosts who will appear to help push their Guardian back from falling off a cliff

Sweet little Ghosts who pick up things to surprise their Guardian with when they're having a bad day

Ghosts who will quietly rest against their Guardian when they're having a bad day

Ghosts who've been with their Guardian for a very long time, and have learned exactly how to cheer them up

Ghosts who've been with their Guardian for a very long time, who knows exactly how to cheer Ghost up too

Parts: 1, 2, FotL

#destiny 2 #destiny ghost #d2 #missmirakell #long post #cw long post

67 notes · View notes

mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 1: The Plea ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 1800>

Warnings: canon typical violence

Series Masterlist ** reblogs appreciated!

You were just a child; small and naïve. The screams of anguish and pain that came from outside the palace walls were enough to still traumatize you all these years later. You were the heir to the Mandalorian throne; the daughter of the late Satine Kryze. Her sister, Bo-Katan, had been caring for you since your mother was killed by the treacherous Darth Maul, ally of The Death Watch. After many failed attempts of taking over Mandalore, The Death Watch became part of Maul's Shadow Collective and successfully took control of your sacred home planet. They were responsible for the destruction of your home, the killing of your people and the brutal assassination of your own mother— and you swore that if you were to ever come into contact with a Child of the Watch, they wouldn't live to see the dawn of a new day. To say you held a grudge on that specific Mandalorian tribe was an understatement. If it wasn't for them, your family would still be alive. Your planet would be under Mandalorian reign, free from Imperialism and war.

But now, almost fifteen years later, you were faced with a new problem. A new enemy.

"You have something I want." Moff Gideon snarled, his lips curling upwards into a smirk. His tongue dripped with venom as his dark eyes settled into you.

Your blood boiled as you faced off with the man; an Imperial officer who clearly had more motive than just serving the Empire. You clenched your fingers into a tight fist and took a deep breath, you had to stay calm. Acting irrationally and letting your anger consume you was not the way of Mandalore. You were not a fighter.

"I have nothing. The beskar is long gone— scattered amongst the galaxy for foundlings to utilize. You can't have it," You shot back, folding your arms over your chest. Negotiation was usually your forté but today you were having none of it. "We have nothing here. Nothing you could possibly want."

Moff Gideon chuckled, circling around you. Of course, there was one thing… but surely not. What would a simple ISB officer want with an ancient Mandalorian weapon?

"The darksaber," He affirmed, and your greatest fears had been realised. "Where is it?"

You swallowed, shaking your head profusely. "I have no idea what you're talking about." you lied. Stay calm. Stay calm.

"You are the princess of Mandalore, are you not? Your mother was Duchess Satine Kryze. You were a child born out of wedlock… never knew your own father…" he chuckled as he noticed the way fear flicked in your eyes. He may have had access to the Imperial Security Bureau but how could he possibly know so much? There was definitely more to Moff Gideon than met the eye. "Yes dear, assume that I know everything. I suppose you aren't the first controversial thing to come out of the Mandalorian culture." Moff Gideon made a sweeping gesture with his gloved hand and two of his flame troopers stormed past you, entering the secret underground lair of your palace.

The lair was where you kept everything of significance. Every memory, every piece of history. Your collection of Mandalorian armour, your mother's keepsakes from her time in power, your personal supply of beskar, and of course, the darksaber.

"You and your people have already taken everything from me," you spat, a helpless tear falling down your cheek. "What more could you want?"

Before he could reply, you heard the troopers' modulated voice through Gideon's commlink. "Sir, we've located the weapon."

Gideon grinned and pushed past you, his crimson trimmed cape brushing against your body as he entered the lair. You couldn't even formulate words. Your blood ran cold and there was nothing you could do to stop the Moff. The Imps were raiding your palace and they were taking everything from you, showing absolute no remorse. When Gideon returned, he was wielding the darksaber. He held the fizzling blade to your neck and your whole body stiffened.

"I won't kill you." He said after a few anxiety induced moments.

"Then you are not worthy." you protested. Moff Gideon cocked his head but you did not regret your words. He could strike you down in this moment and it would all be over. He had the power. "Those who wield the darksaber are the rightful rulers of Mandalore," you had no doubt he already knew this, but it didn't stop you from speaking your many thoughts out loud as you desperately tried to comprehend what was going on. If Moff Gideon wielded the darksaber it meant that you had to forgo your title of princess. "You are the Manda'lor now." you confirmed, feeling completely and utterly exasperated. The kingdom was his. You were worn out— you had cried one too many tears. There had been so much bloodshed and you couldn't help but feel responsible. This was your moment of weakness.

"I know that," he scoffed. "But nobody is to know that I took the darksaber. This remains a secret between you and me. Understood?" The Imperial Officer ignited the saber once more and impaled the two flame troopers who had helped him raid your secret lair. "Who would've thought killing could be so fun?" He chuckled as the bodies fell to the floor. The screams of your people became louder, ringing like bells in your ears as you closed your eyes. You could only hope that some managed to flee and leave the planet.

"You're a monster." you gritted out.

"Is that any way to speak to your ruler? Now, I still have things to do… people to see. From this day forward I declare Mandalore under Imperial reign, and you my dear… you are still the princess. I can't kill you because you may be the last of the Kryze bloodline— I need you, here, ruling my kingdom," Gideon turned off the saber and attached it to his belt. "Until we meet again." he smirked before spinning around on his heel and exiting the palace.

You ran to the bay window of your bedroom and pushed it open, clambering out onto the balcony. You gazed upon the horizon as his ship departed the docking bay. The cold air took your breath away and tears glazed your eyes as you watched stormtroopers raid your town, killing anybody who dared to stand in their way. Bodies were piling up. So much death and destruction. You reached up to your chest and pulled out your mythosaur pendant; the one you had inherited from your mother before she died, and let your thumb graze the details of the pure silver beskar.

You felt like a failure. You'd failed your mother, you'd failed Bo-Katan, and you'd failed the Mandalorian creed. You swore from that moment on that Moff Gideon's decision to keep you alive would be the biggest mistake of his life. You were the princess of Mandalore and you would gain control of your planet once more.

One year later, and you were still filled with deep-seated anguish. You hadn't seen Moff Gideon since that dreaded night where his troops raided and took over your home planet of Mandalore. All you could do was smile and put on a brave face— but you were walking on a fine line and every day was becoming more and more and unbearable. More death and decay. You were losing hope. You wanted to fight this yourself, just like your mother had raised you, but you knew that you were no match against an army of Imperials. So you sent out a distress call to any living Mandalorians. You lived in a vast galaxy and you knew you couldn't be alone. There had to be someone who could help you. There had to be someone out there.

The Armorer was forging a new pauldron for Din Djarin when the call reached her. Upon hearing your voice, she dropped everything, her tools and the beskar clinking as they fell to the ground. She raced to accept your plea for help, noting down every ounce of information that you provided her with.

"The princess of Mandalore lives." she gasped, turning to Din.

"The princess?" Din asked, furrowing his eyebrows together in bewilderment. Despite his face being masked by a helmet, the Armorer was Din's mentor and she had known him long enough to sense when he was confused. "I thought she died during the great purge… I thought that-"

"Mandalore was under Imperial reign?" The Armorer cut him off. "It is. But the princess somehow lives."

"As an Imperial?" Din beckoned further.

"As a hostage to the Empire." The Armorer revealed, shaking her head in disbelief as she tried to process everything you told her.

"What did she say?" Din questioned. The Armorer pondered for a second before looking up at the bounty hunter and placing her hands on either side of his broad shoulders.

"She requires help— protection, if you will. She wishes to form a rebellion against the Empire and restore Mandalore to its former glory."

"There's no way," Din huffed. "She must have a death wish."

"I know… everything about this is unusual. But the last time a Kryze sent out a distress call was after the death of Duchess Satine. It sounds serious. And she is the Manda'lor therefore we must do as she wishes." The Armorer informed Din coldly.

"And what is that?"

"As a Child of the Watch I am sending you out to Mandalore to protect the princess."

"Me?" Din gasped, his voice rising an octave as he pointed his own fingers into his chest. "No no no. I live here, on Nevarro. I'm a member of the Guild. I can't leave that all behind. What if it's a trap set up by the Imps?...And I have Grogu now."

"Sometimes there are sacrifices you must make as a Mandalorian, you know this," The Armorer said matter-of-factly. Din hated that she was right. "The Princess of Mandalore needs you. I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

"And when I get to Mandalore, what do I do?" Din sighed.

"You marry her, of course. Before Clan Kryze, we were the ones who ruled Mandalore. Our tribe are the rightful leaders of that planet and to have one of our Children of the Watch marry into the monarchy would mean you could not only restore Mandalore to the Mandalorians, but you could restore it to the old way, the right way. The way of tradition and the way it used to be. It would change the galaxy forever."

Din blinked momentarily and looked to his feet. Marriage? To a princess? There was no point in arguing with the Armorer because Din knew that deep down, she was right, and he could not deny her. The creed had brought him in and gave him everything. They provided him with a family when he'd lost his own, and if marrying a princess was what he had to do to respect his honour, then so be it.

"This is the way." The Armorer chanted, picking up her tools and walking back over to her work station.

She was right. "This is the way."

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

Borrowed Time taglist: @rye-flower @technicallykawaiisoul

Let me know if you wish to be added to my permanent taglist or my Borrowed Time taglist.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the Mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #grogu #baby yoda #moff gideon #giancarlo esposito #mando #mandalorian

537 notes · View notes

silvereddaye · 3 years

Text

Sith Empress Shmi WIP

Summary: In a galaxy where the Sith Empire rose far earlier, Shmi Skywalker has killed Sheev Palpatine and taken the Sith throne. It would be perfect except that her son, Anakin, has run away and joined the Rebellion and claiming he’ll become a Jedi. Now after three years of being a successful Rebel general, Anakin Skywalker has been captured and brought before his mother.

-- -- -- -- --

Shmi Skywalker stood in front of the tall wall made completely of windows. It gave an impressive view of Coruscant’s skyline. The sun had just set and there were still a few streaks of orange and purple in the sky though most of it was covered by towering skyscrapers and the crosshatching lines of traffic.

The room she stood in was large and bare. There was nothing in here. No chairs, tables, or even drapes on the windows. It was an audience room, nothing more and nothing less. The only things in here were herself, the view, and the darkness as the only light came from the city.

She was one for theatrics like her predecessors. She would do away with them completely, but she couldn’t completely get rid of them. For one, it was expected. And two, it did serve as a reminder of who was in power here. There was nothing more or less in this room. Only herself, the darkness, the city, and the stars beyond. All of it was hers. She was the empress.

She stood tall with her chin held up high. She was dressed in black leathers with deep crimson and sapphire accents and details. A lavish cloak was draped across her shoulders, chest, and down her back with durasteel pauldrons on her shoulders. The cloak could be easily tossed aside in case she ever needed to pull out her two lightsabers. Her entire outfit was made to be moved in. She never wore anything she couldn’t fight in.

Would she need to fight? Would she draw her lightsabers?

No.

Surely not.

It was another several minutes before the door opened and the sound of boots approached her. She kept her back to them as she stared out the window even as troopers came to a stop. They dared not be the first to speak, which was smart.

Shmi ever so slightly turned her head and in a voice rich with authority she said, “Leave us.”

There was hesitation in the troopers, she could sense it. They were unsure if they should leave her with the prisoner, especially this prisoner. He was the most wanted man in the galaxy and most dangerous. But they were smart troopers. The hesitation only lasted a few seconds, before they turned and walked away leaving the Empress alone with the man.

She could hear him. He had slumped to the floor when the troopers let go of his arms. His breathing was ragged. He was injured. He hadn’t been taken easily, but the problem was he had been taken. He didn’t make mistakes like that. He didn’t get caught. Despite the injuries, he had let himself be captured. Let himself be brought before her.

Why?

Why now?

After three years, why had Anakin Skywalker, her son, decided to return?

He had been nineteen and deeply in love with that senator when he had followed her to the Rebellion. He had thrown away everything she had ever given him. He denounced himself as the crown prince and as a Sith. Said he was going to become a Jedi of all things and help the rebels.

She believed him foolish in leaving her. Alas, if only he was foolish in everything else. The truth was her son was brilliant. He was a genius engineer, an amazing pilot, a masterful military commander, and extremely strong in the Force. None of this surprised her. She knew from the moment she learned she was pregnant that her child would be different. He would be special.

It was annoying that his brilliance was being used against her and the Empire. Anakin Skywalker was just the piece they needed. He complimented the other key players of the Alliance and brought out the best in them. Over the past three years, the Alliance had gained in strength, numbers, and support. They had secured several victories over the Empire, all of which Anakin was present for.

And no matter how many bounty hunters or Sith she sent to bring her wayward son home, Anakin always managed to slip away. Until now.

What had changed?

Slowly, she turned around and looked down at the prisoner who sat on his knees staring up at her.

It took everything in her to keep her face even and emotionless because inside her heart was breaking.

It was her son. Her Anakin. The reason why she had run away from the Sith Order when she learned she was pregnant. The child she had birthed and kept hidden for years on the run. He was the reason she found other Sith to rally to her cause. He was the reason she killed Darth Sidious, the former Emperor, and take his title.

He was . . . her son . . . and she had missed him every day. All she wanted to do was fall to her knees, wrap her arms around him, and pull him tight to her and never let go. But she couldn’t. She was the Empress and he the rebel general.

He was face was bruised and scuffed up with dried blood. His long hair was slick with sweat. He now had a scar next to his right eye given to him by Ventress when she had gone to try to claim his bounty.

She had expected anger-filled eyes and insults hurled at her and long rambling arguments about democracy. None of that was there. Nor any sign of the young Sith apprentice he had been before he defected. He had been young, cocky, and a bit arrogant who liked to joke.

But this man . . . this Anakin Skywalker . . . was broken.

His blue eyes were watery; his body slightly trembled. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to her, but she had never expected to see this in her son.

“M-- mom,” he stuttered.

The air rushed out of her as a dozen needles stabbed her heart. Her hands tightened into fists and her lips slightly turned downward, but that was the only outward signs she gave to the turmoil inside of her.

“Please,” he pleaded, no begged. “Help me. Help me save Padme.”

Ah yes, Padme. The woman he had run off with. The woman he had married. The woman that had stolen her son. Though if there was ever a woman worthy of Anakin’s love, it would have been Padme Amidala. It was a shame that such a woman worked the Rebellion. Even more of a shame it was the woman that had Anakin’s heart.

“I keep . . . I keep having visions of her dying,” Anakin said. “She’s pregnant.”

Oh. Oh.

Her spies hadn’t reported this to her. How far along was she?

“Every vision I see her dying in childbirth. Mom . . . I can’t . . . I can’t live without her. Please, help me. Save Padme’s life.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. They didn’t move. Gold eyes met blue for several long moments until finally, the Empress sighed. She slowly lowered herself down to her knees so she was at the same level as her son.

“Of course, I will help you,” she said softly. “But you must know, I will only do this for my son. My heir and prince to my empire.”

Anakin’s gaze was unwavering. He already knew what the price would be. He wouldn’t have asked her otherwise. She wasn’t going to help him and let him go back to running wild, especially with her grandchild.

He closed his eyes and a few tears streamed down his face. “I know,” he whispered.

#my writing #wip #sith empress shmi #shmi skywalker #anakin skywalker

355 notes · View notes