Francy/Francis • she/her • 19 • demi/gray • currently very attached to Anime Bois • Requests CLOSED • Masterlist • Request Rules • Prompt Lists • Character List • Art Blog
Tuesday is always the worst day to be around my mother. It's the only day she's physically at work (she works from home the rest of the week) and she's always angry when she comes back in the evening. I get it, your coworkers are frustrating.
But it's also frustrating to sit at home, knowing in 20 minutes she'll be home and scream at you for the first mistake you'll make in front of her. "Oh, how dare you burn your hand while cooking? How can you be so incompetent? Can't you cook right for once? Why do I even bother, when I end up having to take over anyway?" she says while I hold my hand under cold water, desperately trying not to cry.
I bet Jar Jar is fucking hung like a whale. God he can raw me anyday.
I spent like two? Three? Entire weeks with this sitting in my askbox and I just. I got nothing. What could I possibly answer? I tried all the “nope” gifs in this god forsaken website, I tried to draw what my face looks like every time I read this, I tried to find fanart of jar jar with his wang out and the universe was kind enough to me so that I couldn’t find any. I got nothing. Nada. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. What am I gonna say? What in god’s name am I gonna say to that?!
You see, I wanna fuck general grievous. I do. I want him use all his four arms to simultaneously pull both my arms back and touch my tits as he fucks me with his mecha-schlong. I do. I wanna fuck darth Maul, pre-legs cut off or post metal legs+metal dick enhancement. I wanna lick those horns. Okay? I wanna fuck darth vader. Boy, oh, boy, I do. I wanna hear that hard breathing and wrap my legs over that dramatic cape while he force-chokes me and we do the do. Am I a weird robot-fucker? You bet your ass I am! Am I a tad too much on the horny side? Probably. Did I extrapolate my right to be horny on main? Fucking sue me. But this. THIS.
How do you want me to face my family and all the three (3) friends I have irl? How do you want me to walk into an elevator with a bunch of strangers and when an old lady says “the weather has been a little hot lately, isn’t it weird?” just to do small talk like every fucking old people I don’t know do, how do you expect me not to answer her with “y’know what’s weirder, someone at this very moment is thinking about Jar Jar Binks going balls-deep in them and I cannot talk about this to anyone and the knowledge of this? it’s eating me alive. ALIVE, ma’am, and I don’t mean this as some sick vore reference. Someone’s dreaming of those popped-up eyes, of that weird high-pitched voice screaming MEESA COMING while they’re filled up by Jar Jar Bink’s thick seed, and I’m just standing here while this very notion rots me to the core, taking all life away from me. It’s a nightmare. My entire life, a nightmare, because of an anon message from a horny jar jar fucker on tumblr. This is my floor now, ma’am, have a good day”
I leave the elevator. I probably have an appointment, but I can’t remember where, or what for. I sit down on the floor by the elevator doors. I sob for a full minute. I take the elevator back downstairs, I walk home, I collapse in bed and rub one out thinking of darth vader. I feel better.
Five minutes later, I think about this ask again, and my whole world collapses again. It’s only Tuesday. I sigh heavily and sit down to write this reply.-
Edit: a lot of this is exaggeration. Some of it is true. You get to pick what exactly.
The simple thought that the jar jar anon exists in the same world as we do gives me shivers. I bet that if I look upon them, whoever they are, I will die instantly.
I’m sure that somebody has probably pointed it out already, but there is officially published material in one of the art books of naked Jar Jar, and he’s like a Ken Doll down there:
Nope, Gungans are amphibians! Amphibians, while in possession of a cloaca, are not in possession of dicks. They just don’t work that way. When amphibians reproduce, they do something called a cloacal kiss, where the male ejects sperm directly into the female. Tailed frogs do have an extendible cloaca that can help propel the sperm into the other cloaca, and sometimes it comes out in packets, but amphibians have no penises. Jar Jar is packing absolutely nothing.
Also, having a cloaca doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t have a dick. Lizards have two dicks tucked up inside their cloacas. But amphibians just don’t work that way. Frogs, salamanders, Gungans? Dickless wonders the lot of ‘em.
more importantly, why would even want Jar Jar to have a dick when we’ve seen their tongue game in such excruciating detail in the films? I’m a lesbian and am repulsed by men and even I’d consider getting cleaned out by it
Every day and every night, I am reminded by this site that language is a concept humans have created and that words have meaning. I am reminded every day and every night of this fact viciously and brutally by this site. We should have never crawled out of the sea.
Implied to view attraction through the lense of character
they probably don’t view courting/dating through a gender/sexuality spectrum. Mandalorians probably view courting/dating through a romantic spectrum instead. They probably have words for someone who is aromantic to someone who has multiple loves.
While doing some messaging with @crispyjenkins we discussed some ideas for possible Mando'a in regards to a romance spectrum.
I decided to go with kar'ta which means heart as the 'root' word since kar'talyir is the verb for love in Mando'a (though it means 'to know, to hold in one's heart).
Sol'karta - means "one heart" for aromantics. A play off of the Mandalorian Marriage vow "we are one when together, we are one when apart" to imply the person is one whole by themselves.
Aran'karta - means "guarded heart". Someone who is demiromantic or cautious about love.
Ori'karta - means "big heart". For polyromantics. The idea being a bigger heart has more room to hold love for others.
Tenn'karta - means "open heart". Someone who falls in love easily.
Anyone who wants to discuss other terms or different Mando'a choices are welcomed to chime in.
Hiya! The moment I read that you take valentines day requests I had to send one in! Okay, okay... sooo, after you matched me up with Ezra the idea of a stargazing date kinda got stuck in my head... Could you please, please write that? 🥺👀... Gosh, I would melt! But if you don't feel like writing for Ezra at the moment you can totally write it with Din, too, I wouldn't mind! I just want to have a stargazing date with someone😭💜
Hi Hon! Hope you dont mind but I LOVE the idea of stargazing with Ezra, I just maybe wanted to visit 1930′s Woodmere Ezra with some little HCs <3
When Ezra Carstone had been a miner (among the many lives he had seemed to live before he had struck it rich with his adoptive daughter Cee) the stars had often been one of the few things that seemed constant
Back then he had known the stars and their paths to keep himself on track and safe, they had been a tool as well as mysteriously beautiful
Now he and Cee had more money and house than they truly knew what to do with the bright clear nights took on a new meaning, that of learning and dreaming in a way a miner who had just lost his arm on the side of Mt. Antero couldn’t have fathomed
He had a whole library now of books explaining the science behind the practical knowledge he had already acquired and he had been downright GIDDY when you watched him set up a brass and wood telescope this evening on your shared balcony
Once he locates the star formations he was searching for he makes sure you get to see them while he tells you all about the myths surrounding them. There were the main constellations, of course, as well as the lesser-known ones such as the Seven Sisters star cluster also known as the Pleiades
“Wouldn’t that be something, Dovey?”
“What would be something?” You ask a smile on your face at his excitement.
“That someday humankind might figure out a way to travel in the far-flung reaches of the universe with all her stars and planets.” He said, his remaining hand gesturing to said expanse.
“Well,” you said, coming away from the telescope and pulling him in by his suspenders. Your hand coming to play with the blond streak in his hair. “I’m quite happy where I am on earth at the moment, with you and this bit of starlight you have in your hair, Mr. Carstone.”
I received an ask about one of my older fics, it isn't a question just a comment. And even though I believe that ask wasn't written with ill intend, I don't think I will or can answer it. There is one sentence in it that just feels... a bit ignorant and insensitive. And it just hit too close to home and made me a bit uncomfortable. I'm sorry.
If you read this here, thank you for reading that story, I just... don't want to answer your ask.
request please? lately i have been having a lot abandonment anxiety when it comes to friendships and i was wondering how you think javi or din might help someone with an anxious attachment style? thank you lovely 🥰
Irrational (Din Djarin x f!Reader)
Summary: above ^^
W/C: 2.8k
Warnings: language; talk of fighting and weapons, reader has a panic attack PLEASE be aware that it’s coming and somewhat descriptive.
A/N: I really really love this! I hope you guys do too :) as always, thanks to my beta reading babes!
Din Djarin has been abandoned before. Often on a mission, sometimes on a lone planet with no credits or ways out. He always survives, of course, and vengeance is taken. One thing he absolutely can’t fathom is abandoning someone he loves, or more specifically someone who loves him.
Abandonment isn’t an issue when you’ve never had someone to be attached to. Din spent many many years with absolutely no one. When his parents died, it felt like he was abandoned, sure, but it was clearly not their decision to leave him. When he was taken in by the Mandalorians, they kept him at an arm’s length. He was a foundling; they cared for him well, taught him The Way and The Creed, fed him well. But he was never adopted into a specific clan, rather passed around the covert like the communal task each family had an obligation to fulfill.
Then he became a bounty hunter. The life was solitary and lonely, cold and bleak. It was rare that Din would team up with other bounty hunters, really only when forced to. The Razor Crest became his baby, his only possession and love besides his blasters and beskar. The thing was a piece of bantha shit, but he kept it in good shape.
Then came the kid. Din knew it was wrong. Bounties are to be turned in and paid for, then you forget the job happened. But when that little green thing stared up at Din, the big brown eyes seeming to stare through the dark black of his visor, he knew he couldn’t. This was a child, a baby with no family and no way to protect itself. He certainly couldn’t turn it over to the hands of the ex-Imperials.
Din experienced his first real attachment with the child. He cares for that little thing more than he’s ever cared about anything. He’d cross galaxies, kill and maim and injure for the sake of the little green baby.
Oh Maker, then he met you.
Din had never seen anything like you. You were playing with the kids in the marketplace, laughing as they ran and played around you, before you squealed in delight at the sight of a little green toddler wandering up to you. He’d climbed in your lap, looked up at you with those big eyes, massive ears twitching. You’d stroked his head and cooed to him before you looked up to find his father; subsequently, you felt your heart fall into your stomach at the sight of the Mandalorian man.
“You’re good with kids.”
Well no shit. You nodded. “Yes. I love them. Is this your son?” you ask, looking back down at the three green fingers wrapped around your thumb.
He nods. “He is a foundling under my care.” He watched as the baby grabbed at the golden armband encircling your bicep. You’re absolutely gorgeous. The armband glows against your skin, your beautiful body evident even through the loose and flowing clothing you wear. “Do you take care of these children as a job?”
You shook your head. “No. We don’t have jobs here, necessarily. They just wanted me to play.” You scanned the man, searching for skin. You found none. “Are you green under there too?”
The Mandalorian did not answer. “I’m looking for a caretaker for the child while I hunt bounties. You’d stay in my ship and care for him. I pay well and you’d get to travel the galaxy.”
“You barely know me,” you laughed, removing the little green baby’s fingers from their tight grip on the gold band on your arm.
He gave a half shrug. “He likes you.”
And you’d agreed. And it’s been almost a full cycle now, a cycle of living in the beat-up ship and caring for the little green baby. You’ve seen the most beautiful and the ugliest of planets, experienced extreme heat and extreme cold. You’ve been to beautiful cities, unique jungles and forests and ice planets.
In that time, you got to know the Mandalorian too. It took quite some time to crack his beskar shell. He hardly talked to you in the first month. Then your persistence had loosened him a little, then a little more, then just enough.
You know more of him than any other living being does. He’s told you his name: Din Djarin, a name that flows and stops and radiates the power of the bounty hunter. He told you the story of his childhood, of hunts gone wrong and hunts gone right.
You love listening as he tells you and the child the story of the child’s rescue from the ex-Imperials. The baby snuggles against your lap as his father regales the two of you with the epic battles, the fights Din went through for this little child. You both applaud at the end, and put the baby to bed with a kiss between those big brown eyes.
He’s a wonderful man. You’ve formed an easy friendship with him, one that has honestly progressed on your end. At night, you find yourself fantasizing about what he looks like beneath his armor, how the muscles of his broad shoulders move when he climbs the ladder to the cockpit or lifts the child. You like to think he may feel the same for you, but you don’t push it. You don’t want to push him away.
Din has been away for far too long. He always highballs the dates he gives you, saying that an assignment will take three days when he knows it will only take two or a week when it will only be five days. This is a pattern you’ve come to notice; Din is alway back “early”, but now he is late. Really late.
Before he left, Din had opened your bunk compartment, causing you to groan at the light filtering in. You’ve been sleeping since the Crest made a rocky landing on Nevarro a few hours earlier. “Cyare,” he’d murmured, a rare ungloved hand warm on your bare arm, contact broken by your metal armband. You don’t know what the word means. You hope it’s something good.
“What is it?” You groaned, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Leaving?”
He nodded, the silhouette of his helmet-covered head against the soft light of the hull. “Leaving. I’ll be back in four days at the most.”
You offered him a sleepy smile, one that he could see in the warm glow of the lights you’d installed in the ship to navigate easier at night. “Good luck. May the Force be with you,” you teased, making the normally stoic man chuckle a little.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
You didn’t protest, rolling over and letting the heaviness of sleep drag you back under.
Now, you really wish you’d have talked with him more then. You’re almost certain you’ll never see him again.
You’re not exactly sure what it was in your brain that triggered the thought. Maybe Din just actually took the amount of time he’d said for once, you thought on the fourth day. But now it’s been eight days, double the amount that he’d told you he’d be gone, and you’re stressed.
He always makes good on his word. He should be back by now. He always does. Did he get injured or killed, maybe captured by the bounty he was stalking? You ponder your ideas aloud as you pace back and forth in the hull of the Razor Crest, the little green baby tucked in his soundproof pram to sleep.
There’s likely a rational explanation. You’re sure there is. Maybe the bounty jumped ship, completely threw Din off of his tracks. Maybe the bounty is more clever than anticipated and Din is working extra just to find them. There’s surely a reason, but a little nagging voice in your head says that something is wrong.
In the first few days following Din’s date to return, your primary worry is that he’s hurt or dead somewhere on this barren planet. There are many other bounty hunters here, in this haven for Guild workers. What if one of them discovered Din still has the baby? What if they were coming for you here next?
Maybe you should go look for him. Maybe he’s injured and needs your help. He could be held by another hunter, or by the ex-Imperials- you can’t even bear to think of them harming Din for taking their precious cargo back. The thought makes you squeeze the little green baby tighter to your chest, even after he gives a whine of annoyance at the pressure.
But Din would never forgive you if you put yourself in harm’s way for him. This planet is dangerous, full of bad people who will do what it takes to get their credits. Most importantly, you can’t leave this ship with the kid. Certainly people here are looking for him. Someone would spot him and you’d be in for disaster.
The anxiety fills your days and even seeps into your dreams, making you sleep less and more fitfully. On the eighth day, perhaps the most terrifying idea strikes you: what if Din just... left you?
Of course, there are plenty of signs why he hasn’t. The ship is one of his rare material possessions. He’d never give up the machine that’s been a home to him for the last however many years. Weapons are part of his religion, and he only took a sparse amount with him for this hunt. His prized pulse rifle still hangs in his armory, with an abundance of whistling birds he didn’t take either.
Most importantly, you’re still here with the kid. The baby is practically Din’s son. He adores him… but what if it’s all too much? You’ve become like a little family. That may be too domestic for him. Maybe he’s sick of the responsibility, of caring for two beings when so much of his life has been solitary. Even worse, maybe he’s just sick of you.
There are plenty of rational explanations. You know it. The baby can sense your anxiety, can feel the tension running through the air surrounding you, and he feels it too. He’s fussy, requiring more snacks and more attention. He tugs far too much on your armband and it pinches now, his little claws getting too long. You don’t mind- it’s a distraction, really- but your mind is never fully on feeding the baby, rather hyper analyzing Din’s mind as you know it and hoping he’ll return.
The hours pass. Din doesn’t return. You become more and more certain that he’s abandoned you for good. He isn’t coming back, ever, because he hates you. He was nice to you as a courtesy, nothing more, only as a protector of his child. This type of family is too much for the lone-wolf style man. He can’t do it anymore. You’re on your own.
In your head, the thought of him abandoning you is too much. It weighs heavily on your self-esteem, convincing you that this is all your fault and you’ve done too much, or not enough, or something wrong in general that sent Din packing and gone. He did it because you’re annoying, because he’s sick of you.
Rational thoughts are pushed to the furthest corner of your mind. Your brain is occupied by self hatred, by terror, by a sickening buzzing feeling in your head and chest that feels like a parasite eating you from the inside out.
It’s too much. You fall to the floor, sliding your back down the metal wall. Your rear contacts the floor as the tears fall from your face, your emotions drowning out your senses. You can’t use any of your senses, just think and process the agony your brain is putting you through.
Burying your face in your hands, you finally allow the tears you’ve been holding in all week to flow. It’s a relief, the hot tears streaming down your equally hot face, blood rushing to the surface. The anxiety buzzing in your head has reached a breaking point; you’re sure the tension is boiling your brains, making it bubble and roil as the thoughts pull you down and down so far you feel you’ve fallen through the floor of the Crest and into the dry Nevarro dirt.
You nearly wail, wheezing in air only to expel it in harsh sobs as the fear wraps your body and constricts it. You’re enveloped by it, trapped in a coffin mixed with a tornado mixed with a firestorm and a hurricane.
Then it all stops. The heat is broken by something cold- beskar. You force your eyes to see and they finally perceive that Din is in front of you. Then you feel again, feel the chilled metal all over your skin as he wraps his arms around you. You smell him, his faded soap from whenever he bathed last, his sweat and the smell of the Nevarro dust. You can taste your salty tears. The last sense to come back puts you most at ease: his voice. “Talk to me, please,” Din asks of you.
You nod and try to speak, but you’re still gasping for air, your lungs unable to fill. When you slow down and make yourself breathe, you’re finally able to manage words. “Thought you were gone forever. Thought you left because of me.”
The beskar helmet tilts to the side, taking you in. You’re sure you’re a mess; eyes bloodshot, face tearstained, snot probably all over you as well. Din’s quiet for a moment. “Why would you think that?”
“You said four days. You always come back early, but you were gone for eight days.”
His chest rises and falls slowly beneath the beskar plate. “I know. I’m sorry. But why would you think I’d leave you?”
The tears return. “I don’t know, Din, I-”
“No, shh,” Din murmurs and wipes your face. “No more tears. I’m here.”
Din stands and takes you with him, his arms wrapped tight around your body to bring you to your feet. He walks you to the edge of the bunk and hands you a canteen of water to drink. You look at him and he looks back. There’s a silence and an unspoken battle between the two of you over who will break it.
Din breaks first. “I got the bounty easily. I was late because of… something else.”
Your face falls into a frown. “You took double the amount of time and didn’t tell me? Whatever this ‘something else’ is, it better be worth it.”
Din breathes in and out deeply before producing a soft fabric bag. “I didn’t leave you. I’m back. And… I got you something to show that I’ll never leave you.”
From the bag, his leather-covered hand produces something silver. Your eyes, blurry with tears, take a moment to perceive it: an armband of some silver material- oh, it’s beskar. It’s cold to the touch but you take it from him to admire it and find it is emblazoned with an insignia: a mudhorn. “The symbol of Clan Djarin,” he says gently, though he’s sure you know. It’s on his pauldron. It’s on the baby’s necklace. “We… are a family, aren’t we?”
You don’t respond; rather, you throw your arms around his neck and the tears return, but happily. “We are,” you whimper, your throat constricted by a sob. You cry into his neck, staining the fabric of his cowl and cape with your tears.
He understands they’re good tears, and so he lets them flow. His arms wrap around you and rest on your back, gently rubbing it as you cry into him. As the sobs calm, the tears end, you remain in his arms. Din holds you tight against his chest. “I’ve never made a better decision than hiring you. It was supposed to just be a babysitting job, but… I fell in love.”
Your heart stops and you pull back. “You’re in love? With me?”
Din nods. “I… yes. I am.”
A smile crosses your face, the joy emphasized by how wide your smile is in the presence of your tears. “I love you too,” you manage before your throat squeezes off your words, making you cry happily and hug him yet again.
With your face buried in his neck, you nuzzle your face in and are rewarded with a soft patch of stubbled skin beneath the tip of your nose. You can feel his throat vibrate when he speaks again. “We are a clan of three now. I promise you, I will never leave you. Don’t even entertain the thought again. Understand?”
You nod, not wanting to move your face and lose contact with this intimate spot of him, the first humanness you’ve been able to get beneath the beskar. You kiss the skin there softly. Din knows it’s your answer: understood. I love you.
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