#her storytelling is amazing and this took her so so much work

[journal-three]

COOL NEW SERIES I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH!!

GUYS my friend Digi is premiering her minecraft storytelling series she's making all on her own at 5PM EST TODAY!!! and it'd mean the world if any of you watch it live (or after!)

ITS VERY FUNNY AND EERIE WHICH IS AN INCREDIBLE COMBO!! she worked very hard and I want her to be motivated to make more for the very selfish reason of I WANT TO SEE MORE!!!!

I'm forever indebted if you drop a sub, if nothing else !!!!

she really is hilarious, she's on my streams all the time and absolutely carries for me. and tortures me. its great PLEASE help me support her!!

[fujoshimenacecw]

A conversation between Moto Hagio, Hideaki Anno, and Shimako Sato

In our first ever translation work we share a riveting conversation between Moto Hagio, Hideaki Anno, and Shimako Sato! Read on our wordpress or keep reading on tumblr under the readmore

For the 189th issue of the Magazine House publication Hato yo! published January 1st 2000, movie director and screenwriter Shimako Sato leads a three way conversation between herself and her acquaintances, the anime and live action movie director Hideaki Anno, and manga artist Moto Hagio. Together they discuss their respective admiration for each other’s work, Anno’s past statements on otaku, their takes on parent-child relations, how to escape puberty, and why Anno finds it scary to be around children. 

To Me, There is 5 Ways To End a Story

Hagio: I got really into Neon Genesis Evangelion after it finished airing (laughter). I had been told by an acquaintance that Eva was a work that had “fans who were looking forward to watching the series so enraged by the developments in the final episode that they broke their TVs” (laughter). I wondered what could a work that evokes such strong emotions be like? I was really interested, so I borrowed the VHS tapes from a friend of Shimako-san’s, then I started watching.

Anno: I’m a big fan of Hagio-san’s manga, so when Shimako-san first said she could introduce us and arrange this meeting I was truly happy. The fact that you took an interest in Eva is an honor but… When I first heard “to me, there are five ways to end a story” I thought “as expected; amazing!” So after several twists and turns I finally reached a conclusion

Sato: Anno-san, when did you first encounter Hagio-san’s work?

Anno: The first one I read was They Were 11! during its serialization. In elementary school I read it at the Ear-Nose-Throat Doctor. I generally read manga at the waiting room there or at the barbers, since I didn’t really get any manga to read at home. When I read They Were 11! back then I was blown away. After that I read Hyaku Oku no Hiru to Senoku no Yoru [trans: Ten Billion Days and One Hundred Billion Nights, original story by Ryu Mitsuse]. My favorite work is Half-god [Hanshin]. The fact that such a meaningful story could be told in only 16 pages is amazing. I think Hagio-san is a genius storyteller, but her art is amazing as well. In middle school I thought that if I copied Hagio-san’s art I’d become better at drawing.

Sato: If you had also imitated her storytelling would that perhaps have changed Eva’s final episode? (laughter)

Saving the world, love and hatred

Anno: You know, I don’t have much interest in concluding a story.

Sato: Do you hate wrapping a furoshiki? [trans note: a traditional wrapping cloth]

Anno: No, it’s that I think you can do more with a furoshiki than tie it up pretty. Like break it or tear it to shreds, all kinds of things.

Sato: If we include all that, isn’t that still doing the act of wrapping?

Hagio: In your case Anno-san, I find your way of grasping the world unique.

Sato: For both Anno-san and Hagio-san, even with the differences between manga and anime you’re making a serialized work, right. When you make a long-form work, is the ending something that is already decided? Or is it something that changes?

Anno: For me it’s something like a live performance, and ends up gradually changing as I create the work.

Hagio: I’m a bit too careful, so I can’t draw if I haven’t thought of the ending. An exception is when I made Star Red. Otherworld Barbara which I made later also ended up becoming an exception 

Anno: Star Red’s ending was magnificent. I was also influenced by Star Red. Actually, I’ve written some dialogue similar to the one in Star Red’s ending 

Sato: Which of the characters do you like?

Anno: Well, the protagonist.

Sato: I like Elg. At first I thought he was a rather unreliable person, but he gradually came to play an active role. By the end he revived a dead planet through love.

Hagio: I also like characters like that!

Sato: When I watch Anno’s works like Eva I feel like you are more the kind of person who saves the world through hatred, what do you think?

Anno: I don’t know 

Hagio: That feeling of uncertainty becomes the foundation of your storytelling doesn’t it? I come to think that that feeling is something so overflowing you can’t tie it all together. 

Sato: It seems you have some differences when it comes to making a story, but I think one thing your stories have in common is perhaps parent-child relations?

Anno: That is true, Hagio-san. Your relationship with your mother appears in your work…

Hagio: When I was a child, my older sister was my mother’s favorite, I was always compared to her. It seemed my mother thought that compared to my sister I was unreliable so she always worried about me, even when I was into my thirties she’d tell me to quit making manga.

Sato: And that was during The Poe Clan’s heyday wasn’t it?

Hagio: (laughter) When I was watching Eva, something that really caught my attention was Shinji-kun worrying about whether or not he was useful to his father. Yet there was a distance between them. During that time I was very interested in, to put it into words, “broken relations.” 

Otaku Are Generally Uncool

Sato: Anno-san, in your work I think father-son relations is something that makes an appearance. Are there any real experiences behind that?

Anno: My family was normal. If I have a complex it would be that we were a poor family rather than a just normal one, and my father has only one leg. Regardless, I think stories about parents are the simplest to make, it’s easy. 

Sato: So since Eva is a parent-child story it ended up like that?

Anno: What makes it easy is that we have some preconceived assumptions about [parent-child relations], “have you argued with your parents?” and such.

Sato: What appears in your work isn’t those things, but your own internalized problems don’t you think.

Anno: That appears to be it. As for my family we truly were the archetypical lower middle class household. My father was a good person. A sensible man. When you’re under circumstances like my father was you have to live sensibly or else you’re excluded.

Sato: So in opposition to that, you became an otaku.

Anno: That might be it. Your most important model for what normalcy is is your family. But I have a younger sister and she is exceedingly normal. She doesn’t read manga, there is nothing twisted about her at all.

Sato: And by twisted you mean?

Anno: That she’s not an otaku.

Sato: Anno-san, you’ve said that you hate otaku, haven’t you.

Anno: It’s not hate. It’s just that I think otaku are uncool. To otherwise not notice that you’re uncool or purposefully suppressing that fact makes me feel disgusted.

Sato: What about The Matrix? Isn’t that a cool otaku movie?

Anno: That one is also uncool.

Hagio: Even though Keanu Reeves is cool.

Anno: Keanu is cool. Because he is not an otaku. The otaku are the Wachowskis. They can’t get out of the confinements of their otaku-ism. So for example, even if they make something cool, part of it will for certain be otaku-like Even though I say this I don’t hate it. If I truly did I’d quit being an otaku.

Sato: Hagio-san, would you say your family was normal or was it perhaps affluent?

Joh (Hagio’s manager): Hagio-san and her mother actually have a similar biorhythm. It was perhaps due to that fact that Hagio rebelled by pursuing the path of becoming a manga artist. 

Hagio: I might have been running away by drawing. But, if I had rebelled by becoming a delinquent I think it perhaps might’ve been more enriching to me as a person.

Anno: To become a creator is not something I think is a happy path to go down. In order to not be unhappy you have to work for dear life. At the very least create works as if you’re going back to zero [from the negatives].

Hagio: Is it a negative? Because you are an otaku?

Anno: Being an otaku is a huge negative. You make up for it either by relying on others or by producing creative works. With that said, I think my generation has it easier than yours, Hagio-san. This is an era where even old men read manga. My parents even now have no issues with my line of work. I appear in Asahi Shimbun, I appear on NHK, they have nothing to worry about. That is also why I will try not to ever refuse any coverage from my hometown newspapers.

Hagio: But don’t you think parents don’t truly understand? Even if I become famous, my parents will say; can’t you quit drawing manga? And just appear in the newspaper? (laughter)

Sato: But if you quit drawing manga you won’t appear in the newspaper. (laughter)

Hagio: In that context, a part of me still expects too much affirmation from my parents. Not externally but internally. Even if I appear in Asahi Shimbun I still end up thinking it’s not good enough.

Sato: The fact that you still worry so much about what your parents think at your age Hagio-san, it’s so strange.

Hagio: Yes, I think so too

Anno: Could it be that you have to become a parent to change that part of you that worries so much about what your parents think?

Sato: I don’t worry at all about what my parents think.

Anno: I also don’t care even a little bit. As far as I’m concerned, I’m bored if I get my parents’ approval. When I did Nadia: The Secret Of Blue Water for NHK I felt that feeling.

Sato: Do you have a replacement parent figure?

Anno: Well, a man without imaginary enemies is no good. For me right now, I think I want to make works that have Hayao Miyazaki beat.

Sato: Hagio-san, your worries might also be what gives birth to your works.

Hagio: That might be the case.

Sato: Anno-san, earlier, you said “you have to become a parent to change.” I personally don’t think if you don’t have children you can’t become an adult. I think that being an adult is being independent in everything you do. That’s why I think marriage or having children doesn’t change anything.

Anno: You can become a parent without being an adult. At 17 or 18 you could become a parent. To become a parent without even being an adult, that is the problem I think. 

Sato: Do you consider yourself to be an adult, Anno-san?

Anno: I guess I’m a child. 

Sato: I don’t consider my parents to be adults.

Hagio: I’m very discontent with the fact that my parents aren’t adults.

Anno: I’m not discontent.

Sato: For me realizing that my parents aren’t absolute adults was a relief during my middle school years. Until then I had played the role of an exemplary student, but when I realized that fact I stopped playing that role. 

Hagio: So you’re a child who didn’t fit into your parents’ expectations. I was also a child who didn’t fit into my parents’ expectations, but the fact that they didn’t shrug their shoulders and say “that’s fine,” filled me with anxiety. I thought that if I become an adult I’d lose that anxiety. But I want recognition from people. I continue to request affirmation. 

Sato: Anno-san, in Eva you portrayed children like this, but are you like this yourself?

Anno: The affirmation? Hmmm. That kind of thing changes with the project.

Hagio & Sato: ?

Anno: I don’t believe in the supremacy of the director of a work, but rather the work itself. What would be best for the work, I only base my judgment on the total. Although I won’t hand over the executive decisions.

Hagio: Manga is a one-man job, but with a movie there’s the director, the scriptwriter, the actors, etc. Each of them sees themselves as a leading part. Furthermore as living beings the things we do will sometimes diverge from the plan we made in our heads. The fun of living is discovering what those differences will be.

Is Eva The Rite of Passage That Will Get Us Through Puberty?

Sato: The movie Love & Pop that you directed Anno-san, the original creator Ryuu Murakami-san and yourself are both men, yet the story is about high school girls. I found that interesting.

Hagio: I thought that both of you wanted to be very similar to an archetypical girl. You said you wanted to see a part of puberty, and girlhood that you couldn’t control. After all, men aren’t just made up of boys. I believe that femininity and masculinity is something we have combined within us. Sort of androgynous.

Sato: The boys you create not having that vivid true-to-life quality to them I think is a representation of that. Anno-san, as a man, what do you think of the boys in Hagio-san’s manga? 

Anno: I think they have empathy. I think what I like the most is that all the characters are smart. Because they have such a high intelligence it feels good to read.

Hagio: Like a washing machine right at the peak of its cycle, I want to leave my characters on the verge of that kind of critical point [of merger]. To be honest, the idea that once you’re past 30 you’ve become an old lady, that sense is something we’ve left behind.

Sato: I’ve found that when men become old they lose their ability to be nihilistic in their work, is it the same as that?

Anno: In the case of men, as you age, the world view [of your fiction] rather than your characters come to reflect your nihilism. You don’t aspire to be nihilistic, you yourself are becoming nihilistic. Your world view is what gradually utilizes nihilism. Isao Takahata, for example, is a nihilistic person. Nothing is born from being nihilistic. As nihilism is Plus-Minus-Zero, eventually your heart can’t be moved.

Hagio: A world that doesn’t change, isn’t that comfortable? 

Sato: Even though in order to grow you have to fight. By asking like this, Anno-san, did you not experience puberty?

Anno: That might be it.

Hagio: I thought you were right in the middle of puberty.

Anno: I thought I’m losing it, but it might be puberty. Generally speaking, otaku don’t go through puberty.

Hagio: I thought otaku went through a prolonged chronic puberty.

Anno: It’s not what society ordinarily calls puberty.

Hagio: A never ending puberty, in this age, could it perhaps be because there are no more rites of passage? 

Anno: Sure enough, you have to bungee jump. (laughter)

Hagio: A ritual to let your childhood die and then replay it, such a thing doesn’t exist now. Taking entrance exams may be the closest to [a rite of passage].

Sato: Don’t you feel like lately that around age 30 is when the coming of age ceremony actually happens?

Hagio: For that part, that’s when the stories takes on that role I think.

Sato: As a ritual?

Hagio: It’s not a ritual, but perhaps more intuitive? A trial run on a mock life. By that definition, I noticed Eva is just like that. I had an acquaintance who is a teacher from the Kyoto Steiner school. They saw the Eva movie in theaters. At that time they found the reactions of the people watching to be more interesting than the story. They had thought, isn’t it like we’ve all come to see the rite of passage which we all failed? I thought so as well “that’s right, that is interesting.” The rite of passage to become an adult after entering puberty, be it Gundam or Eva those stories put people in a position where they are observing the world, observing themselves, experiencing war and such.

Sato: Anno-san, were you considering all this…

Anno: I didn’t make it like that. But when I was making the movie I was thinking of this a little. 

Hagio: When I watched Eva it ended up overlapping with the book Childhood [by Jan Myrdal]. It’s a book about a mother who can’t love her child. She thinks “I have to take care of this child”, but even so she can’t love him. I wonder what happens to children raised like this. Children learn from their parents. In truth there will be consequences for the parent, but the question on my mind was children who can’t find their place with the parent, where can they find their place instead? Although I thought you were such a person when you were making Eva, Anno-san. (laughter) 

Sato: Speaking of, the other day you were on a TV show teaching grade schoolers about anime, Anno-san. What do you think of children?

Anno: I was scared of being in contact with children. I don’t understand the appropriate distance to take. I believe even the most casual thing an adult says mustn’t traumatize them, I end up becoming oversensitive. In grade school during still drawing class, I’d draw roof tiles and other detailed things, but humans moved around and I found it annoying, so I never drew people. Because of that my teacher said “this isn’t a child’s drawing,” which deeply hurt me. In the end, from that experience I think it was a part of the reason why I decided on working with drawing. Even though I opposed standardized education, I really felt the difficulty of dealing with not having a basic manual.

By the way, how much longer until Zankoku na Kami ga Shihai Suru [trans: A Cruel God Reigns] ends? I made a mistake. I wanted to read it all at once, right, so I refrained from buying it but… when volume 6 came out I ended up buying all of them. 

Hagio: Oh yes, right. July next year I think. 

Anno: Understood. Then the final collected volume will be out in the fall of next year. Hmm well that means I can enjoy it for another year. Understood. 

Sato: Isn’t that great.

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

Translated by mod Juli, with assistance from two financially compensated native speakers.

A scan of the full interview raws has now been added to the wordpress version!

[impala-dreamer]

I Ain't Ready To Go

A Short Story

"Some boundaries are hard not to cross..."

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

3,426 Words

NSFW, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, Passionate Love

For @jacklesversebingo - “An Agreement”

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Jensen fell face first onto the mattress without hesitation or warning, just plopping down as if his body had given out and he was done.

Y/N stood in the doorway watching his theatrical dive. A mostly empty bottle of bourbon hung in her left hand while she leaned against the pristine white wood.

The bedroom was dark but the suite behind her was bright and her curves were highlighted; her wild hair aglow. Jensen rolled onto his side and looked up at her. She was just as drunk, just as loose as he was, but he didn’t want the night to end.

Three hours post-concert, he was still riding high on the night. The thrill of the stage, the crowd's adulation- it was all pulsing through him like a drug he never wanted to wean off of.

Y/N took a deep breath and then a swig from the bottle. Jensen eyed her throat as she swallowed and he felt his focus shift. He popped up on his left arm and smiled.

“That was so fun,” he said. His voice was deep and hoarse, crackling around the edges.

“It was.” Y/N laughed. They’d been over it a thousand times since the curtain closed, stating the obvious again and again. It was fun. The band was on fire. He was perfect. She sang like an angel. He looked too good. She was too drunk. Way too drunk.

Y/N cleared her throat. “So, I’m gonna go. Thanks again for the- well, everything.”

She turned to leave and Jensen sprang up, teetering on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t-”

She looked back at him and Jensen’s breath fell away. He didn’t know what to say, or how to ask her to stay, he just knew he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“I really should get to bed,” she said softly. “My room is like ten floors down and halfway across the hotel. I gotta get out of the penthouse before they catch me.” She winked and Jensen shook his head.

“Don’t go yet.” Gently, he patted the bed beside him and looked up with a prayer in his green eyes.

Y/N balked, starting and then stopping on the plush carpet. Her mind sternly told her to leave, but her body and heart had other plans.

She sank down beside him and they lay on their backs staring at the dark ceiling.

It wasn’t the first time they’d found themselves in such a position. Over the last few months, the pair had become good friends. Meeting through a mutual friend, Jensen found himself smitten by Y/N’s voice and easy-going songwriting, and Y/N quickly fell into rhythm beside him and Steve, eventually working on their latest album. She sang backup and played the tambourine like a hippie chick from the seventies and Jensen loved every second of it. She added a lightness to the new songs that he couldn’t find by himself.

Y/N enjoyed his company and his amazing sense of storytelling. Conversation flowed easily over black coffee and the occasional cocktail; inside jokes were soon created, and their chemistry onstage was obvious. Didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous and his voice made her thighs clench.

Still, they were just friends.

It was a line they couldn’t cross, shouldn’t cross, wouldn’t cross.

“That afterparty was nuts, huh?” he laughed, settling down with a hand on his stomach.

Y/N nodded in the dark. “Yeah. I haven’t drunk this much in a while.” As if on cue, a hiccup rocked her body. “I really shouldn’t do shots. Like, ever.”

Jensen’s laugh shook the bed. “I don’t know, you didn’t need much pushing.”

“I said I shouldn’t do shots,” she laughed. “Not that I don’t want to.”

He turned to look at her and sighed. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I-” Her cheeks burned under his gaze. “Nah. You’re just drunk.”

“Maybe.” Again, he rolled onto his side and crooked his elbow beneath his head. “But you are.”

Embarrassed but floating on the excitement of the night and the tone in his voice, she rolled to face him, tucking her hands under her cheek. She looked up with innocent eyes. “Yeah?”

The flash of a soft smile, a peek at his pink tongue while sweeping across his bottom lip, wetting the cracked skin.

“Absolutely.”

Y/N felt her breath catch deep in her chest. It swirled around her heart as it struggled to beat. “Well,” she whispered, barely able to move her drunken tongue, “if I am, you are… more so… or something better, even.”

Jensen laughed and the bed shook with his shoulders. “You’re pretty drunk, too.”

She bit her lip and shrugged. “Twins!”

He calmed and dropped his head, mirroring her pose. “Twins.”

If she stared any deeper into his emerald eyes, Y/N knew she’d never get out of there. She swallowed hard and worked up the will to push herself up.

It was better to go before anything happened; better to leave and dream forever about ‘what if’ than to stay and regret it.

He felt it, too. That draw, that pull, the internal tug that inched him ever closer to her. It had always been there, always hanging overhead like some invisible net about to drop and trap them together. Maybe the shots were a bad idea, but looking at her now, so soft, so beautiful, with lips waiting to be kissed and curves begging to be held, every idea seemed like a good one.

Jensen’s long exhale passed over her lips and any thought of decency or morals left her head.

He broke the stillness, words snaking from his lips to wind around her body like electrified tendrils.

“What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?”

Shock froze her brain and Y/N blinked at him, confused but absolutely certain.

“I would.”

His cheeks glowed like a rose.

Y/N dipped her chin and then looked up, coy but desperate. “Are you asking me?”

Another lick of his lips, a swift inhale.

“I am.”

Y/N kept her eyes open the whole time, holding her breath as she leaned in and pushed her lips gently against his. His eyes fell closed, long lashes brushing hers as he tipped his head to the side and parted his lips. Their tongues met and Jensen let out a moan that finally shut her eyes. She licked deep into his mouth and exhaled, breathing into him, giving everything she had.

His left hand hovered over her shoulder. Her fingers tentatively danced over the thick muscle of his throat. She shifted closer, scooting into him without thinking about it. When he broke the kiss to roll over her, she let out a whisper that broke his mind.

“Jensen…”

His hand slid down her body and locked around her knee, dragging it up as he slit his thick leg against her sex. She clenched down on the meat of his thigh and whimpered at the heat of him, the weight he let fall over her. She cupped his cheek and licked at his lips; clawed a hand through his hair when he sucked at her hungry mouth.

“Fuck.”

His moan made her shiver and Jensen rocked his entire body up into her, moving like a wave against a silken shore. When his palm fit over her breast, she arched her back, pressing harder against him.

His fingers closed around her budding nipple and Y/N dropped her hand to his jeans, spreading her fingers around his quickly growing erection.

He growled.

She moaned.

They froze.

Jensen pulled back, easing air back into the space between them. He shook his head gently to clear his salacious thoughts. “We… we shouldn’t.”

Y/N nodded, quickly agreeing. “I know.” She dropped her leg from his side and pushed herself back, sliding up on the mattress. “I um…”

“Yeah.” Jensen sighed and ran a hand down his face, symbolically brushing away the lust that refused to ease inside of him.

“I know we shouldn’t,” she confessed, staring at the wetness on his plump lips. “But… I’m not ready to go.”

Jensen sighed. In relief of frustration, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted to rip her clothes off with his teeth and kiss every inch that he could reach. He wanted to drink her down like the bourbon they’d shared and seer the memory into his soul.

“Maybe…” He fell forward onto his hands and knees and crawled closer. “What if…” He caged her in with strong arms set beside her head and bowed legs hugging her hips. “Just one night,” he said, “just one kiss...”

Her heart raced; her pussy throbbed. “I don’t know.”

She was trembling and he could feel the fight inside of her.

“OK.” He smiled gently and rolled away, resuming his place by her side, looking up at the ceiling. “Then we can just lie here.” Gently, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I won’t do anything that you don’t ask me to do. Deal?”

Her breathing calmed. “Deal.”

A sweet kiss upon her knuckles; a gentle sigh.

“Good.”

He tried to drop her hand, but she held on, pushing her fingers through his until their palms were locked together and hanging between them. That was the space they couldn’t fill, the air they couldn’t share.

Y/N let out a heavy breath and clutched his hand tight.

Jensen swallowed hard and caressed her hand with his thumb.

“It really was a great show,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to move on.

He nodded. “Sure was. Well, there were a few spots I fucked up but-”

“No one noticed. Trust me.”

“You think?”

She laughed and rolled onto her side, dropping his hand to face him. “Jen- you could get up on that stage, singing off-key and farting into a bucket for an hour and they’d all still love you.”

“You saying I suck?”

“What?”

Jensen turned and curled his arm under his head. “If they love me no matter what, how do you know I’m any good?”

His question was real, but there was a hint of a tease in his eye. He was shy, but his confidence was eternally growing.

“I know,” she explained, leaning closer, “because I have ears.” He licked his lips and her breath caught. “...And eyes…” His lips parted gently and the green she so loved glazed over with renewed lust. “And…” Her heart was pounding. The smell of him, the heat, the taste of him still on her lips- it was too much.

“And?”

Her head was reeling. She closed her eyes.

“Kiss me.”

Jensen pulled in a deep breath. “What?”

“Kiss me,” she said again, whispering her plea into that forbidden space between them. “Please.”

He hesitated; fingers pulsing against his thigh. “Are you asking me?”

Beautiful eyes opened and Jensen sank into them. She smiled gently and nodded.

“I’m asking you- Jensen. Ross. Ackles- to kiss me.”

A wave of calmness washed over him and he cocked his head to the side. He cupped her cheek with tender adoration as he licked deep into her mouth. Y/N melted once more, feeling his fingers burn her skin and his tongue infect her with unrelenting desire. She leaned into him, pressing her body flat against his, and accepted each kiss like it would be the last.

“God, I love kissing you,” he whispered. His eyes were fluttering, his thoughts churning, trapping him somewhere between love and rigid lust.

She could only hum in response and let her lips run across his shadowed jaw. She licked at his ear, nibbled at his throat, sucked a hint of a mark on his collarbone. Jensen rolled his hips unconsciously, already aching and half-hard.

“Touch me,” she moaned, reaching for his empty hand. “Please…”

Another line was crossed; more permission was granted. Jensen obliged without hesitation. He set his hand on her hip and teased his fingers beneath her shirt, snaking his touch across her bare skin. She shivered and grabbed his wrist, dragging his palm up to her breast. He turned the cup of her bra down and plucked at her nipple, earning a heavy moan as a reward.

“Your hands are so warm…”

He smirked and buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing the soft skin on her shoulder. “Because you got me all worked up.”

“I did nothing,” she teased, slipping a hand down his firm chest.

Before he could retort, she had popped the button on his jeans and tugged the zipper down. She struggled against the belt but decided to leave it alone, instead pushing her hand into the denim. She lay her hand flat against his cock and his entire body jolted with pleasure.

“You’re warm here too…”

Jensen bit his lip. “Yeah…”

She traced his length and hummed. “And… big.”

He stiffed instantly against her palm and Jensen returned to her mouth, kissing her deeper with each swipe of her palm over his erection.

“Want you so bad,” he mumbled, curling himself over to lift her shirt with his teeth. He licked a hot line across her chest, teasing the crest of each mountain before falling into the valley. Kisses marked his path and Y/N gasped in pure pleasure when he locked his mouth around her nipple.

“God…”

His tongue swirled and she melted.

Her fingers curled and he moaned.

“Fuck, Y/N…”

She moaned in response, obsessed with the way her name poured from his slick lips. She stroked him harder, awkwardly trapped by his belt and the tight denim. “Take… take this off,” she begged.

He lingered for a moment before tearing himself away and rolling onto his back to shed his jeans.

Y/N took the break to do the same, yanking her clothes away until she was down to her bra and panties.

Jensen whistled when he saw her, barely able to pull his shirt over his head, afraid to lose a minute of her body. “Damn…”

Her cheeks burned. She shied away, wrapping her arms around her soft belly, but Jensen wouldn’t let her hide. He fell back to kissing her, gently lifting her hands off so he could adore every curve.

“Fucking beautiful,” he whispered, crawling down her body to peel the thin cotton from her hips.

He kissed her belly, nibbled on her hip, exhaled slowly against her aching pussy.

“I…” She twitched as his lips grazed her inner thigh. “Jensen…” He ran his tongue softly along the ridge of her sensitive lips. “Please…”

Green eyes lifted as he listened for his cue. “Yes?”

She trembled. “Lick me.”

A moan rumbled in the back of his throat and Jensen gave in to his hunger. He pressed his two fingers into her and set his thumb and pinky on either side of her clit, gently spreading her open. She whimpered at the feeling, gasped when his tongue flickered over her and clawed at his shoulders when he sucked.

Her hips jerked with every thrust of his thick wrist and the pleasure was overwhelming. She clenched down on his fingers, throbbing harder than she thought possible, and then shoved him away. She squirmed from his grasp and sat up, panting against the pillows.

Jensen watched her go with a glistening face and perfect, swollen lips. He crawled to her, hands and knees dipping into the mattress.

Y/N bit her lip and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to take her place on the pillows. She licked at his lips and wrapped her small hand around his cock, marveling at the thickness. She stroked him a few times and watched his eyes roll back. His freckled face was washed in frustrated bliss and he dug his teeth into his lip, holding back a pathetic whimper.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes and took her in. “Need you.” His voice crackled and she shivered. “Please.”

Her mouth flooded with desire and Y/N dropped down to let it seep out over the tip of his cock. She wet her fist and stroked him slowly, guided by the tight-lipped moans he let slip. When she pushed her tongue flat against his vein, his entire body quaked and she hummed in awe.

“So hot, Jensen-”

His thighs trembled and she sealed her lips tight around him.

“Fuck!”

Her hot mouth pushed down his shaft; her tongue flicked against the sensitive patch of nerves beneath the tip. She swallowed hard and took him down her throat, gagging in the most beautiful way.

Jensen bucked his hips into her and slid a hand up her arm to tangle in her hair. She let him lead, keeping her mouth locked around him while he pulled her face up and down over his cock. Saliva poured from her mouth and she moaned against the wetness, slurping his delicious erection.

About to burst, Jensen released his hold and Y/N pulled back, crouching on her knees and squeezing a circle around the base of his cock.

“Jensen…”

Panting, he lifted his head, blinking at her. “Yes?”

Her entire body was throbbing; her blood screaming for him. She swallowed softly and whispered, “fuck me.”

There was no need to clarify this time; no checking to make sure she was serious.

Jensen was up and on her in a second, turning her onto her back with a thick kiss that made her body drop limply beneath him.

He lifted her right leg high, set it to rest on his muscular shoulder, and lightly held her hips. He stared into her eyes while he penetrated her sex; basking in the glow as her jaw dropped in a silent cry.

Every thrust was like magic that weaved golden fire through her system, sparking every nerve to stand on end, waiting for the inevitable. She held tight, digging her nails into his forearms; held her breath while he rolled his hips, clenched around him as she started to fall.

“That’s it,” he whispered, heart pounding away in his chest. “I can feel it…”

Y/N vibrated below him and let out a gasping cry as she came.

“There,” he grit, thrusting faster. “That’s it, baby. So. Fucking. Good.” Every word was struck through with a snap of his hips as he worked her through it, keeping the flame ablaze until she couldn’t take it any longer.

Out of breath and pulsing with bliss, Y/N lay a gentle hand over his heart and let his name slip from her lips.

“Jensen…”

His body curled inwards as he came; emptying into her with another brisk thrust. His grunt was deep and echoed through the silent room, filling their heads with guilt once the afterglow faded.

They lay tangled together, her hand on his heart, his arms tight around her. She kept her head on his shoulder, listening to his breath as it slowed. He smelled like whiskey and sex, sweat and faded cologne. She took a deep breath and sealed the essence of him away, tucking the memory behind her heart.

There was no discussion, no congratulatory pillow talk. Anything they could say would only make things worse.

“That was incredible.”

“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

“I might be falling in love with you.”

Once more, they lay there staring at the ceiling. Twice, Jensen cleared his throat, desperate to break the silence, but there was nothing he could say that would come out right. No way to take back what they’d done, and the truth was- he didn’t want to. Damn the consequences, there was nowhere he’d rather be, no way he would ever regret what they’d done.

Y/N felt an old familiar pang in her chest and her eyes started to burn with tears. Before they fell, she sucked in a calming breath and pushed herself up.

“I gotta get going,” she said sadly. “It’s late.”

The look on her face nearly broke him. Jensen sat up on his elbows and shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Jensen-”

Desperate, he took her hand and placed it back over his heart. She could feel his ache. It was the same as hers, and she sighed.

Closing his eyes, he nodded solemnly. “I know I just- I’m not ready to let you go.”

A tear fell but he kissed it away.

His heart ached but she soothed him.

Another hour would do no harm.

Another night.

Another day.

Another secret to keep.

[gay-spock]

here’s a compilation of why rick berman of star trek fame could have ruined the franchise with his bigotry, thanks to @/thisismewhatevs on twitter:

- rick berman is usually cited by writers as the main reason gay characters were not allowed on screen in TNG/VOY/DS9/ENT even though gene roddenberry specifically wanted gay representation in the 1980s

- notably, he is responsible for demanding female actors be "sexed up" in various ways including jeri ryan's catsuit and padding terry farell's breasts

- when terry farell asked for a reduced contract similar to those of her male costars, she was fired, leading to the sudden death of jadzia dax

- with seven of nine's catsuit, not only was it berman's idea to make her "born sexy yesterday" her original costume pinched her neck so much she kept passing out. rather than change it, berman brought in nurses to administer oxygen between takes

- berman would continually comment on the appearance of female actors to the point that marina sirtis developed an eating disorder. sirtis also mentions how tight her corset and how large her breast padding was under her "uniform"

- berman was left in charge of trek because he was in the right place when roddenberry got sick. He had no experience with scifi previously and didn't really believe in roddenberry's vision of the future:

- In addition to being a dick to denise crosby after pushing her out, he's also the reason for wil wheaton was kicked out for similar contact negotiation as terry farrell

- harry kim was never promoted from ensign since berman hated his actor, garrett wang, according to him

- enterprise was a step backwards in a lot of ways because berman had far more creative control (seasons 1-3) and took a much more hands on writing role. here's t'pol actor jolene blalock discussing his sexualization of her

- as DS9 went on, garak and bashir spent less time together and garak was given zyial as an incredibly gross love interest because andy robinson's portrayal as queer coded made berman uncomfortable

- despite the "equality" promoted on the show, berman hired very few female writers, with less than 30% of episodes having even one female writer during his time

- “Rick Berman is not the only asshole to have worked on Star Trek and he is not the reason for every bad choice from TNG-ENT. However HE WAS the executive producers and show runner in charge of production so much of the sins of that time lie at his feet. When people get confused about how some people seem to "misunderstand" the point of Star Trek and don't know how they can watch/enjoy the "progressive" nature of the show and be such vile sexists and racists, this is how. They let a sexist asshole run the show for three decades. On screen representation is important. It's amazing for people to see themselves in such a hopeful future, but the behind the scenes matters just as much if not more than who is in front of the camera. Representation without responsible storytelling is a tragedy.“ -Deep Space Fine on twitter

this is not to say that TNG/DS9/VOY/ENT are bad shows, or that they shouldn’t be watched, or anything else; but that understanding why these awful choices were made behind the scenes in depicting a “progressive” future. rick berman didn’t agree with this future because he didn’t want others who weren’t white, cis, straight men like him to benefit in the ways he did.

[jgroffdaily]

A new interview with Jonathan at the BBC:

How did the role come about?

Oh my god! I got a very exciting text message from Russell T Davies, and I'm a huge fan of his work, especially It’s A Sin - I still haven't recovered from it! So I was very excited to hear from him. He just wrote to me and told me that there was this role that was available on the show and asked me to play it.

Can you describe your character Rogue?

Rogue is an alien bounty hunter and a man of mystery. When we meet Rogue, and he first meets the Doctor, we're in a Regency Era. Rogue is not necessarily who he appears to be when you meet him.

Have you always known of Doctor Who or been a fan of it? Or was this your first experience with the show?

I had known of Doctor Who and how much of a big deal it was in the UK, but I had never seen an episode of it. But Russell sent me about five episodes of Doctor Who from throughout the years, including the first episode that ever aired in black and white. So, I had a very quick crash course before I started.

What was the most challenging or unexpected thing about playing Rogue and stepping into the Whoniverse?

I would say the biggest challenge would be trying to understand and fit into the tone of the show - when you're coming in as a guest star, jumping into a world, and Doctor Who is such a specific thing! In the episodes that Russell showed me, and in the experience of playing a role in it, Doctor Who has such a fascinating tone. It's big, and it's larger than life, but it's also quite real and even though it's fantasy, there is depth to the storytelling and to the relationships. I'd say the biggest challenge was coming in and trying to digest the tone as fast as possible, and to really articulate the character in the proper way in the world of the show.

What was it like acting alongside Ncuti and Millie?

Ncuti and Millie were both so warm and welcoming! Big smiles and full of laughs and embraces, they could not have been more warm. As an outsider, coming into the Whoniverse for the first time, they were the greatest hosts! They took such good care of me and everybody, truly everybody on the set, the crew, everyone!

I spent most of my time with Ncuti and I am obsessed with him. I think he is such a star. He's so unpredictable and thrilling to act with because you never see the same thing twice. He's so spontaneous, and yet so deeply connected to what he's doing. He really cares. He's really in it fully, and he's got this force and positivity that is completely unique to him. It's just phenomenal. I just adore him. I think he is one of the most exciting actors working today.

Did you have any unique experiences or memories from filming?

Well, one happened off set, it actually happened to be when Beyoncé was on her Renaissance Tour. I looked up her tour dates because I'm an obsessive Beyoncé fan. And I found that she was playing Cardiff. I asked that I was off by 4pm so I could make it to the stadium. And I brought Ncuti with me. So we got to see the Renaissance Tour together and it was so much fun. Amazing.

If you could travel anywhere in time and space, where would yon

This is less of a fantasy one. But my grandfather died on my 10th birthday. March 26, 1995. And I was really into I Love Lucy at the time. And one of my gifts for my birthday was this VHS with an episode of I Love Lucy. I went into the living room and I watched my VHS instead of hanging out with my family in the kitchen where my grandfather was. So if I had to go back in time, I would go back in time and I would hang out with him so I could ask him questions before he died.

[kiirotoao]

Byler and Confrontation 1.5: The Importance of Season 4

Byler being immediately comfortable with each other in season 4 would have been too easy. Too obvious. No other pair is as close as Byler, and if they kept in contact, their relationship’s progression would have been so clear that it wouldn’t even be interesting, and that’s why I think that Byler is plainly intentional to end up together in slow burn fashion.

Imagine the airport scene but they hug with all the emotion of true best friends (which, they are, and that’s a canon fact that Mike asserts and Will agrees with in s4e4, but I digress-) meeting again, crashing into each other, joking right off the bat, being comfortable like they easily could have been. Will comments on Mike’s ridiculous outfit and Mike defends himself and Will laughs and Mike’s forgotten how much he missed hearing that laugh. Then Will would give him the painting and Mike would be blushing, and the story’s over! Even if they dance around their feelings for the rest of the show long, they could have instantly recognized that something’s changed and yet stayed the same, and they’d be a unit again. Or should I say, a team?

I feel like there’s no other way to treat Byler other than subtly vying for each other’s attention (Will looking at Mike longingly, Mike turning to Will for wisdom) or blatantly vying for each other’s attention (Will the Wise, Mike Wheeler in general), and to go full blown best friends attached at the hip from day one in California would have been way too romantically charged. Not necessarily openly, but just in the way it’s easy to doubt, to have brows raised.

And what good storytelling would that be? To just seal the deal the second they meet? We know that they miss each other. Will was ready to give him that painting. And yeah, it takes Mike a whole business day to realize how much he misses Will, too, but that type of love that reaches out doesn’t originate from only that business day. So do they just flat out hug and say, “God, I missed you so much” ?? Of course not! Because that’s immediate intimacy. That’s honesty with no side effects, and that’s something that doesn’t happen in any well-created nor real life love story.

Once upon a time, the end? There’s no way! No one would be as invested.

And I’m not saying that I don’t want Byler to be so strained, or I don’t want them to be happy. I want them to be so happy. And seeing their mistakes and growing through them only makes that happiness more and more apparent whenever they come around. Because they find each other, in the end. They forgive and work through things and their chemistry abounds through tough moments, and that’s what makes them amazing to me. Literally look at every other ship in the show. Jopper fought all season long during season 3 because Hopper was jealous and Joyce was a stressed-out boss ass bitch. Jancy fought in seasons 1 and 3 before and after they learned more about each other and worked through their biases. Lumax had that fight at the arcade where Max didn’t believe what Lucas was telling her.

Anger often breeds hate, but sometimes, it creates something beautiful in people who, deep down, want to figure something out about each other: steadfastness.

Simply put, their story grows.

Which is why they couldn’t hug. Which is why they barely spoke. Which is why they lashed out at each other. Which is why it took a whole business day to rejoin as a team. Which is why their forgiveness is all the more sweet. Which is why their relationship is all the more sweet. Which is why they prove to know each other. Which is why they’re so good together.

Look at them!! Look at Mike, chuckling at five damn words. And this was BEFORE they truly amended fences!!!

I love how hardships bring Byler together. I don’t know about you, but I’d want a partner who doesn’t avoid the rough patches but strives to love me through them - because they will happen! No one is perfect! And no, I don’t mean fight and you will find love. But when you love, you will fight. And that’s what I think is what happens when Byler fight.

So I can’t wait for it to happen one more time, probably about the lie of the painting being commissioned, for everything to fall apart only to come back together because they realize it’s all one giant story of misunderstanding and internalized homophobia and repressed feelings - a final and urgent fight that demands them to let everything out in the open and truly realize that they are the love that each other seeks.

And, I mean, I don’t know, I think that it would be pretty cool to write a slow burn romance amidst all the love triangles and love-at-first-sights and tragic losses. With bonus unique notes of being childhood best friends with deeply-explored queer coding. Just saying.

[agtartzz]

Hi I’m crashing in from Twitter (and YouTube) because I have too much to say to be contained. The most recent animatic found me at an interesting time, I found it a little late and I think I really needed to come across it when I did. It’s nothing short of amazing as always. You can feel the effort and love put in practically seeping out of it, it makes me so unbelievably happy to see your work getting the appreciation it deserves. I’ve said this before, time to do it again, the amount of sheer talent you have is astounding and what you choose to put it into is jarringly beautiful. Reading some of the comments, it’s incomprehensible the impact you’ve had on others, myself included. Thanks for discussing these kinds of things. People value not only your work but you as a person. You’re amazing, really. Please take care and always know just how much you mean to those around you.

+

Is there anything else you’d be willing to share concerning the storyline within both AUs? I remember the start of the first one like it was yesterday and it’s amazing how far it’s come in terms of both storytelling and animation, it really catches my attention how you were able to take specific character flaws from the canon and showcase the progression of them into something much more drastic.

It took me awhile to properly respond to this ask because I'm not really good at receiving compliments about my work beyond the generic "thank you" but from the very bottom of my heart: thank you. These are just fandom works, and every animatic I've made so far are just my way of processing really complicated emotions I've dealt with throughout my life. I'm very humbled and happy to see that so many people out there can see themselves in my art one way or another. Regarding the AU stuff in "The Drug In Me" "Lost" "Numbers" and "Far Removed," they basically just follow the same storyline from each character's perspective. Zim is confronted with the fact that his "mission" is null and that he is an exile forsaken by the Irken Empire. Dib and Gaz are a little older, Dib has lost interest/motivation to expose Zim as an alien and becomes overwhelmed with his own mental health struggles, develops a restriction/purging disorder, Gaz realizes that she's taken out her own contempt for humanity out on her brother and questions herself, etc. My intention wasn't exactly making them "in-character" as it was "how can I effectively tell a story through animatic form" and it's been a great motivator art-wise to keep pushing myself. Not being 100% satisfied with your work shouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Again, thank you!

[angelfirstclass]

X-men finale reaction...

OMG, hell yes. This was epic, this was a triumph and looking at all of the ten episodes together, THE best X-men adaptation ever. It did honor to the source material and was the best decision to keep it in the 90s and not modernize it And it took it beyond and super deep. The music was epic- I want the soundtrack or would attend a live concert of the music. Then the plot and fan service done to the viewers was chef's kiss perfection. There may be detractors out there and I may come down from this cloud and be able to nitpick but not now. I'm too excited and thrilled.

Firstly, I love that Disney is promoting X-men on the main page and was the first thing I saw when I opened the app. Yes, Disney! Disney/Marvel, congrats. You helped create a masterpiece of modern storytelling that revived an old almost forgotten piece of comic cartoon history and pulled it into the modern age. It was perfect timing and us old fans who grew up on TAS was thirsting after, but you also brought in new viewers and viewers like my husband who could care less about cartoon superheroes. But the storylines were compelling and the writing was deep, X-men 97 deserves its flowers. (Spoilers ahead).

Secondly, the writing and character development in this episode was fan service, it was perfection, and it was very well written. Starting with Cherik which I had some objections to last week due to feeling that Xavier was being holier than thou and not understanding Erik. But in this episode seeing the lengths that Xavier would go for Erik melted my heart. I still have some thoughts about Erik "making his X-men turn on each other" as I feel that they are grownups with their own minds, but the rest of the episode with Xavier cradling Erik and willing to go down with the ship with him is gold. Then they busted out the Badass X-women and I loved it! I am a huge Rogue fan and they did right by her- she was accepted back into the team no questions asked and she was so fierce. I teared up when she attacked Bastion with the "Remember it" line and I loved the whole team stepping up, working together to battle Bastion. I also loved the Cable/Scott/Jean storyline and we even got some Morpherine!

Thirdly, some of my predictions came true! I predicted in a previous post that the Avengers and other Marvel characters would make cameos in the finale and I was right! It was a veritable who's who of Marvel characters and I cackled in delight when they popped up! Predictably, Iron Man and Captain America were in the White House with the President. I knew that they weren't sitting out on this one! Then we saw Daredevil, Silver Samurai, Black Panther and Dora Milaje, Psylocke and many more!

Last but certainly not least, Apocalypse and more importantly DEATHBIT! As a ROMY shipper, I squeed so much at this! The fans have been dreaming about this since ep 5 as it gives us even a sliver of having some part of Gambit back and now it's confirmed with that Queen of Hearts cliffhanger. Oooh yes! Even if it's not the Real Remy back, just having Deathbit and a glimmer of Remy back in the storyline is juicy and desired indeed. There are a LOT of Romy and Gambit fans out there and this satisfies us and has us wanting more. Even if it's crazy and complicated, fans are going to eat up a Deathbit storyline, so yes please! And beyond Gambit, Apocalypse is a badass villain- kudos for the writers going here. Comic and Cartoon fans alike can agree that time travel is interesting and will come up with many cool, fascinating new storylines.

I can't wait until Season 2, but until then I will be rewatching the finale a million times. I am so glad that the writers understood the assignment and gave us this masterpiece. It calmed my Romy heart, gave us amazing battle sequences, had fun Marvel cameos, and perfectly set up next season.

[eastwindmlk]

In the cards

So,I originally wrote this for the Bittersweet challenge for @jilytoberfest where, and I got to turn an angsty quote into a sweet one. “You have given me so much pain.” has inspired this cracktacular piece of fiction. It did get yoinked at some point, but I will reupload for your consideration this @jilymicrofics (807 words) Enjoy!

Game night was always a big thing with the Potters. It was the one night a week when no one was allowed to make other plans. They took turns picking and bringing games, ordered food and poured generously from whatever alcohol was being served that night. It was cosy. Something to look forward to during the week. This was one of those weeks that James really looked forward to a night of friendly competition and hours of conversation.

Depending on whose turn it was to pick the game, the night turned out differently. James favoured co-op games, working together to get to the goal. Sirius, on the other hand, liked trivia games, things that he knew he would excel at. Peter preferred the silly sort of game, something active and guaranteed to give you the giggles. Remus always seemed to find amazing niche games with complicated plots and mysteries. Rich in storytelling and creative solutions.

And then there was Lily. Lily had a way of finding the most competitive, aggravating, friendship-ending games. Which had all started with Monopoly, a game that was now banned from the table. As a direct result of a gruelling, no-prisoners game that lasted seven hours before they collectively gave up. Which launched a series of game nights that only a masochist would enjoy. So clearly, all of them had the time of their life.

Other games brought by the redhead and subsequently banned were: Sorry, Settlers of Catan, Scrabble and for unrelated reasons charades. Which they mutually agreed was better kept for when they were forced to stay family-friendly. It did not always go wrong though. There had been a few fine games and one that everyone seemed to enjoy a lot more, despite multiple squabbles and disagreements. Risk, which was added to the permanent rotation.

Tonight was Lily’s turn and everyone was equal parts excited and apprehensive. Hoping she would finally fail in her streak of finding the worst games. So, when James got him and saw the pack of cards sitting on the table in the living room. He was relieved. Cards were usually fine. They had several card games they rotated. But this was Lily they were talking about.

For a moment James inspected the package, it looked innocent enough. Pretty straightforward too. But this was Lily. He was sure that there was some chaos involved, but he really could not see too much pain in a card game called UNO. Little did he know just how wrong he would be.

The first few rounds were rather tame. While the rules were simple, everyone seemed to hold back a little. Testing the waters. Not wanting to get into too much trouble until after dinner. Much to Remus’s dismay, Chinese food arrived. Halting the round for everyone to eat their fill and crack open another bottle of wine.

What happened next was the most unfortunate set of circumstances James could have ever imagined. He was riding high with only two cards left in his hand, the colour in his favour and he even had a mythical plus four cards ready to mess with Remus on his right. But right before the round could get to him Sirius threw down a skip card, moving his turn to Remus instead. Which was disappointing, but he could do another round.

Or not. Luck seemed to be smiling down on him when Remus reversed the turn order. That is where it all went wrong for him. Emboldened by his stroke of luck, he threw down the plus four proudly announcing: “Uno!” He smirked along the table when he caught the glint in Lily’s eye. And as if in slow motion he watched Sirius place a plus two on the board. Watching Lily doubt what card she should be putting down, made him nervous. For good reason too. Watching her place down another plus four.

Peter added a plus two, deciding on the colour red. His lucky colour. Which did not let him down when Remus was merciful, playing a reverse card. Seemingly saving him from his fate. The rollercoaster continues with Lily putting on a third plus four. It was now all up to Sirius, who paused just long enough for James to remark: “You have given me so much pain already. Just do it.”

Deflating when his friend placed down another plus two. Making the total cards he was drawing sixteen. Enough cards to force them to reshuffle the pile just so he could draw more. Muttering, much to everyone’s entertainment. “Lils picked this game alright.” Feeling hands on his shoulders from all sides. Consoling what would be a devastating loss on his part. Something only mildly mediated by Lily saying “Don’t worry love, I will make it up to you when everyone leaves.” Her wink made him feel only a little better.

[belasims]

Some random gameplay pics and a 🔊 shoutout to one of my favorite YouTube storytellers, @oshinsims! 

My freelance photographer, Alma, met and became friends with Lizbeth at a co-working space in San Myshuno. Alma took some professional photos of Lizbeth for her freelance writing career, and it made her feel like a million bucks. It also got her feeling more confident about finishing her book, Lovesick. 💞

Also yes, Elliana autonomously came to the lot and sat down to watch while Lizbeth got her photos taken, it was so cute! 

Thank you so much for sharing your sims and amazing story - Lizbeth is stunning and it’s so fun to have her and the Lovesick crew in my game!

P.S. IMO Lizbeth looks very ‘CEO’ in some of these photos. 😉

------

➡ If you haven’t checked out @oshinsims’ Lovesick series on YouTube, I highly recommend it! It’s currently in the 2nd season. 🤩

[spacesapphi]

YIPPIEE time to bring in my ideas for Jas' parents and talk ab the kind of ppl they were when it comes to my writing! I haven't finished drawing them in my style yet, but I have picrews here as a very basic idea of what they would look like !

Their names are Amelia and Jason Anderson and I think ab them so much.... Ty to my moot moonferry for helping me figure out names for them!!

ANYWAYS more pieces of info below the cut for em :3

Amelia

- went to college as an education major, wanted to specifically work as an elementary school teacher!

- genuinely believes in the concept of magic (which TBF is real in Stardew) and will defend her belief to death

- she was so excited to have a daughter so she could dress her up in cute costumes and outfits, Jas was about 3 months old on her first Halloween and she had the most elaborate fairy costume on Earth

- Was put off by Jason's flirting at first bc she completely misunderstood his relationship with Shane and genuinely thought those two had a thing for a bit, even though they didn't (Def walked up to Shane like "hey just wanted to let you know your bf is hitting on me 🫤" "MY WHAT???")

- once she found out she was wrong, she finally reciprocated Jason's flirting and asked him out for their first date

- Took the film class she met Shane and Jason in initially because it was the only available class of a credit type she needed. She's happy she took it in the end

- Both of her parents passed, and like Shane, was raised by her aunt. That aunt passed away while she was in college though :(

- got into gridball to be a supportive gf to Jason at first, but soon became a huge enjoyer of it and the Tunnelers specifically!

- very much the level-headed and chill one in the relationship, she keeps Jason down to Earth

- loves storytelling, and was great at it. She had a genuine gift for doing different voices and making the books she read sound fun. Her students loved it

- like Jason, is fairly tall, standing at 5'10

- Jas looks JUST like her, just with Jason's hair color. Everything else is like an exact duplicate of Amelia though

- loves jewelry, specifically fun and funky earrings! She has a decent collection of them

- an amazing cook, she just generally has the knack for it! She can look at pretty much any dish and know what she needs to do to make it

Jason

- he was a visual arts major, like Shane! He genuinely wanted to be a movie producer one day

- He was also on a gridball scholarship like Shane, and while it was a big passion, he didn't plan on going pro with it

- a very goofy and funny guy, flirted with Amelia using the corniest pick up lines (they worked though so he considers it a win)

- TOTAL WIFE GUY he loves Amelia very much and would do anything for her

- also a total girldad, he was so excited to find out he was having a daughter, like running down the street cheering excited

- his family disowned him after he came out as bisexual, so he really doesn't have anyone. This fact also helped him bond a lot with Amelia and Shane,, given that all three of them didn't have much family in life.

- he absolutely has a motorcycle and would take Amelia on scenic drives for their dates. She thought it was so romantic!

- he is VERYYYY tall, like 6'4

- very close with a lot of the guys on the varsity gridball team. He's a total social butterfly and has an easy time connecting with a lot of people

- he helps Amelia get out of her shell, just like she helps him stay more grounded

- tried to play a love song for Amelia on guitar for one of their dates. He does not know how to play guitar. She thought it was cute anyways :)

- was very nervous the first time Marnie invited him and Amelia over to the ranch for Winter Star. Since she looks more "traditional" and is religious it reminded him of his family and he was initially worried she'd be like them. She thankfully is not and is a very understanding and accepting person (Shane had to go "dude she helped pay for my top surgery what the hell are you worried about")

- worst cook on earth, he pours cereal into a bowl and it lights on fire (/j but he's BAD at it)

- dormed with Shane in college, they got up to so much stupid antics while rooming together /pos

BONUS height chart for the trio. Shane is so short bro

[itsclydebitches]

for all that it's very clear RWBY took influence from a lot of anime, the writers sure don't seem to have learned much of anything from it. i'm watching the redub of the classic sailor moon anime right now, and it's insane to me how much better this thirty-year-old anime packed with filler was at things like character arcs and believably redeeming villains and having a main character that is at once childish and yet a great leader who, when the chips are down, could talk some of the worst evils in the universe down from their plans.

if anyone could talk salem out of her plans for world annihilation by just being able to love her, it's usagi tsukino.

Right? Man, I'd pay for a high-budget, animated version of that crossover lol.

That's one of the big arguments of the Why RWBY is Disappointing vid though, using Cowboy Beebop as an example, if I remember correctly. There's no doubt that RWBY has been influenced by a number of classic series, but deliberately mimicking something that worked in another show doesn't guarantee success, particularly if you don't understand why it worked in the first place. I'm constantly emphasizing that stories are whole products made up of a thousand smaller pieces, like a puzzle or a patchwork quilt, and simply slapping one piece down because it looks good in another story isn't enough. You have to carefully build everything around that piece so that it fits into the unified whole. Continuity, world building, characterization, setup... RWBY is very good at throwing out those "cool" moments, but it does none of the work ahead of time (or, just as often, after the fact) to make those moments satisfying outside of the initial adrenaline rush of watching.

Plus, RWBY is over-crowded nowadays. Characters, mysteries, real world issues, and those "cool" ideas have populated like bunnies until, I think, it's easy for a lot of fans to just get swept up in the spectacle of it all. The simpler your story is, the less there is to hide behind, which is why I think a lot of manga like Sailor Moon still rings true 30+ years later. If you do right by your core concepts and prove to the reader (often subconsciously) that your storytelling skills are strong, it will resonate even after new generations have different expectations in their media, or these ideas have become "cliche" in wake of that initial popularity. If we go with a food comparison (always my favorite lol) Sailor Moon makes me think of something like good home cooking. Looking at it now it's simple, it's straightforward, it has some technical flaws, but the comparatively low number of ingredients have all been treated stunningly well and there is an insane amount of love poured into the dish. Meanwhile, later seasons of RWBY feel like a semi-successful restaurant serving a special so long it took the server a week to fully memorize it, rattling off an absurd number of ingredients and fancy techniques used until you're not even sure what the dish is supposed to be anymore. Some diners go, "Wow, what an amazing, clearly high-end dish! And they've included this super rare ingredient which means it must be good." Meanwhile, others are going, "... Honestly, that sounds like Too Much. I'd have preferred a simple, well-done pasta." And all the while the restaurant—which is pretty big and popular now, garnering a lot of critical attention—is trying to pass this complicated, fancy-for-the-sake-of-fancy dish off as the product of a humble, mom-and-pop establishment. No, you used to serve that kind of food: simple, technically flawed in a lot of ways, but with so much love poured into the dish that most diners didn't care. Now people suspect that your chefs are miserable and we definitely know they're overworked, so even if that insane dish would have tasted great to certain pallets, it was doomed before it even left the kitchen.

[codenamesazanka]

thoughts on the latest leaks ?

Sorry for taking so long to reply, but I wanted to want until the official translation was out before saying anything definitive!

So, all my thoughts:

-> Remember when Yoichi about 100+ chapters ago spoke of Shigaraki Tomura as a 'boy' and 'child' that AFO was taking advantage of, that he was raised to be filled with hatred and anger (Chapter 287, 305)? And people thought that Yoichi, as like, the first victim raised by AFO himself, would of course be one of the people to sympathize with Shigaraki Tomura?

Of course, now Yoichi's all in on facing the "mighiest villain, with armor forged from untold malice and hatred", to put a stop to his evil acts, because this is the reason for One For All to have existed for so long. Shigaraki is essentially the same as AFO, and saving Shigaraki has turned into 'let's see how much and hard we can punch this guy to literally break down his psychological walls until he throws up the right tragic backstory for Deku to truly care' so that luckily, that doesn't technically contradict what Deku said of OFA as a power to save (not kill).

It's really unfortunate that Yoichi has sorta turned into a character that does/is what's most convenient for storytelling. He's the Pure Goodness to AFO's Innate Evil, so that we can't totally blame the twin's horrific childhood environment for why AFO turned out so bad, some babies are just born that way; he's there to be fridged for both AFO and Kudou, so much so that his most significant speech in the flashback chapters is about wishing how AFO used his power for good is a flashback-within-the-flashback from AFO and Kudou to jump start their journeys of being One For All Chain and All For One; he's got nothing to say about the 'lump of lead' so Kudou can be the one to notice it and get his cool strategy and sacrifice moment;

and now he's just saying things about ~Evil~ to hype up the attack on Shigaraki (his brother's victim) as an amazing thing... because it will allow Deku to dig out the foundational cruelty AFO forced onto Shigaraki, presumably so Shigaraki can regress to a five-year-old and cry about it, and Deku will step up all heroic to dry his tears.

-> I am happy to see memories of USJ Shigaraki. <3 Him about to disintegrate Tsuyu. <3 Him working with A+++ coordination with Kurogiri. <3 The original Noumu. <3

-> Shigaraki Tomura's will being so strong that he can reject being given OFA. I love him so, so, so much.

-> Judging by the clothes that giant memory Tenko is wearing - gray shirt, dark pants - it does take place on the same day that Tenko's memories starts in Chapter 235, when a stranger in a nice suit took Tenko home.

-> 'AFO gave Tenko Decay' theory is a separate post.

-> It's a pointless, losing battle, but I will still roll my eyes at how we had to cut to La Brava just for her to talk about how cool Deku is, for throwing her boyfriend into jail and turning him into a better person. Gentle already had a heart that beat for others, La Brava! Deku helped him realize this, but the decision to surrender and atone was all Gentle.

[ba-mi-soro-orisha]

Here's the non-spoiler review I just wrote for retail sites:

This is the series that got me back into reading, so it will always hold a special place in my heart. But the five year gap between book 2 and book 3…I felt it.

Bottom line: I did enjoy reading the book. However, it doesn't get full stars because the trilogy finale just doesn't hold up to the first two, and I think there's a lot of things that could have been done for a better read. The book reads a bit like Tomi lost enthusiasm during COVID and like she was just kinda finishing from an outline without the heart of the other books.

The deep emotions of the first two books just aren't there. There's a whole lot of telling rather than showing. You can tell by the smaller size of book 3 that we just don't get as much detail or exploration or action as we did in the previous books. I sobbed through entire portions of book 1 and book 2. In book 3, I had some perfunctory tears at the end of the story. But it absolutely wasn't the same emotional ride as before.

Characters from the last books are just shoved aside in favor of introducing the new characters and new worlds. The worldbuilding and new magic systems are amazing…but I would gladly lose them to be able to complete the story that it felt like the Orisha trilogy was originally telling. I would gladly lose them to be able to get answers to questions I had after book 2 that did not get addressed at all in book 3. Some characters were also just straight up lost and ignored and their fate's left open as plot bunnies.

I think we all knew that the cliffhanger in book 2 was going to drastically change the direction of the story, but I didn't expect that it would mean the story we spent getting built up in two books would just be completely abandoned and wrapped up in what was, quite frankly, an extremely unrealistic and unbelievable answer. The ending of book 3 and the entire series was just so abrupt. For as much work as Tomi does teaching writing, I really would have expected a fully played out climax with a suspenseful build and some sort of closure/ending. But it felt rushed. The ending was quick and then all of a sudden we're at the epilogue. It was not a well paced climax. After all the build up, the ending just fell flat. The final action was basically 0 compared to the buildup, and there absolutely was no taking us down from the climax. AND, I was left with a pretty big question at the end, plot-wise, which just doesn't get addressed whatsoever.

I've spent a lot of time on the things that I wish had been done differently, but since I did overall enjoy the read, I want to also point out what I enjoyed.

The writing was good, even if the storytelling wasn't the best. I finished the book in two days, and I did so because I did want to know what happened.

The worldbuilding and new magic systems we see are very interesting, though they might have been better explored in their own books and their own stories.

I don't know if it was always Tomi's plan or if she was responding to the fanbase, but I heavily appreciate how she handled Amari's character in particular.

I honestly thought the pacing in book 3 was much better than book 2. Book 2 was so heavy and hard to get through emotionally. I felt book 3 found its footing a lot better in giving me a lot of action but also not overwhelming me.

That said, I think the book definitely just suffered a mismatch of my expectations developed from the first two books and the final product, especially after so much time in between releases. It's been five years. A pandemic happened. A lot was going on in general, and I know Tomi must have grown so much in this time. Perhaps Tomi just outgrew the story she was telling for the age group she was writing for in the time it took for this series to get fully published and will blossom even further in her future projects.

I would like to go back and re-read all three books together and see how I feel about the finale after that. I did not re-read the series before book 3 (so the tons of flashback and reminder scenes were helpful for me, but might feel like too much on a re-read), and I would like to do that for a better overall picture of book 3.

[0oolookitsme]

Exhibition Times

Type- One-Shoty Blurb

Verse- Artist!Harry x Housewife + tuition teacher!Y/n

Word Count- 1.4k

Warnings- None! Some slight angst, a very pinch of it!

A/N- Hope you enjoy reading <3

The water ran into the sink, almost more than halfway to filling it up as the dishes slowly got submerged.

A book was placed on the window sill in a standing position. Y/n read from it out loud while brushing her hands through her daughter's curly hair, wishing for it to dry down as fast as it can but that wasn't to say she wasn't enjoying listening to the small puffs of breath her little baby took and the giggles or squeaks she let out every once in a while when Y/n got too good with her storytelling.

"Pooh pulled his hand back out and cheered in amazement" Y/n read, slowly creeping one of her hands out of the girl's hair and reaching for the small ceramic pot in the center of the very table she had been supporting her bottom on.

Still weaving her fingers through her locks, she continued. "His hand was dripping with thick, golden, and oh-so-sweet Honey!" She squeaked, raising her finger dripping with honey in front of the greedy girl's face.

Opal clapped her hands messily while squealing, bouncing on her bum as Y/n let her lick the honey off her finger. "Do you like it?" She asked her, washing her fingertip under the tap water and chuckling when the girl could only confirm by squeaking and nodding.

Y/n dried her hands using the kitchen towel hanging from the handle of the old microwave. Shutting off the tap, she wrapped her arms around the girl's small chubby body. "Let's get you dressed and your hair done, yeah?" She suggested, taking her to the bedroom she and Harry shared; and for now, Opal as well.

Going straight for the bathroom, she made sounds that'd sound creepy to Opal but quickly turned on the lights before she could start wailing.

To say y/n was grateful to Opal for not being fussy today would be an understatement.

Harry had been working on a painting, or should she say many paintings, considering his exhibition was creeping closer and closer and he was a little behind on his schedule. He would come to bed after Y/n was asleep and be out of it before she would wake up- somedays she suspected that he didn't even come to bed.

All he asked for was silence. So they had decided to send Opal to Anne's, let him get in his element, and then bring her back after a few days.

And, she had come back just yesterday. Anne dropped her off as Harry was being too stubborn about getting his work done while he still got the inspo. Y/n worried he wasn't getting enough rest to be energized enough- that he was stretching himself out to his slump or burnout.

She even tried to get him to spend a few hours out of his studio, if not the whole day and that was when Opal came into the play.

Opal was a daddy's girl through and through, and somewhere she had inherited his stubbornness as well. So it wasn't hard for her to convince Harry to take her out to the park or travel with her in the metro for a couple of stations, and come back and let her have a cup ice cream.

It was a much-needed break for y/n, even if it lasted only a couple of hours. Having to handle a growing child alone because your husband needed to isolate a little in order to do his job and bring home money was hard. Especially when the child wouldn't even take a breath without her daddy around. It was like constantly working, she loves her daughter, of course, but there's a reason it takes two people to handle a child.

And on top of that, not being able to spend any time with your husband because he's sure you'd understand was just excruciating.

So, Y/n didn't do anything while the only two loves of her life went outside. She asked Harry to bring home some takeout for dinner and lied down in silence before taking a warm bath. Once dressed, she had her tea in the kitchen while watching nature outside through her window and solving a rubik's cube.

Today she felt perked up- at least not exhausted. Harry too seemed a little relaxed today. He woke up with her, made some tea for both of them before doing his usual routine, and then went back into his studio after pressing a small peck on her lips.

"I love you. And, thank you," he had said, kissing her forehead.

Once she was done finishing Opal's hair, she bounced her pigtails once, telling her how cute she looked. She couldn't help but think about Harry when she had tied his hair in pigtails back when he had grown it out a little in college.

Smiling, she let the girl down and let her walk outside. "Freeze!" She called from behind, laughing when she actually did.

Catching up with her, Y/n quickly picked up the girl, pecking her cheek and placing her on her hip while searching for her clothes with the other hand. "What about this orange one? Looks good?" She asked and pulled it out without ruining the pile, the experience has started showing off lately.

Pulling the green patterned shorts up her legs, Y/n plopped the girl down in her playing space, a carton full of her toys placed in the corner which would surely be empty by the time Y/n'd come back to take the girl for her lunch.

Taking a fist full of almonds out of the water, she made her way to Harry's studio. It was just a small room, but he liked to call it his studio. It was filled with all of his art supplies, journals, a very old sofa, and a stool before a canvas stand.

It was y/n who had put some plants in there, and an earthen pot filled with water to remind him of hydration. "Hi," she greeted softly, happy to see that the windows were open to let in the fresh air.

He smiled back sweetly, perking up his lips for a kiss. His arms remained folded in front of his chest but opened up as soon as she pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, inviting her to sit with him for a little.

"How's it going?" she asked, sitting on his lap, facing him but he rotated on his stool so that he was facing away from the canvas and instead, she was facing it.

She gasped in amazement, but Harry only closed his eyes, placing his head in the crook of her neck and pressing a chaste kiss where he could trace a vein.

It wasn't anywhere near complete, but the part that he seemed to be on right now was enchanting already- a threatening night sky. It was covered in black clouds, creating a tense atmosphere. He had painted a full moon in the middle though- the melancholy moonlight spread out more and more as it went lower. Below it everything was black, he hadn't started with that part yet.

"This is ...mesmerizing, H... Dear god, it deserves to end up in the NYC Gallery." She pulled back to look him in the eyes, cupping his warm face. "I'm serious! What if this one becomes your outbreak!?" She exclaimed, not feeling any doubt because she could see he had the same hope in his eyes.

They both knew this one was something entirely different he had ever painted. It was tense, but he has drawn tense before. It was dangerous, threatening almost.

"Where do you plan to go from here on?"

He turned back to face the painting and she got up, sitting on his thigh when he urged her. "I'll paint the perilous rocks known as the Needles of the Isle of Wight, here," he traced the farther part of the canvas, away from the center and front. "Then, a group of fishermen in small boats are in danger at sea- the waves would be crazy," he narrated with suspense while pointing at two spots, both on each side of the center and a little apart from each other. "The warm light of their lamp would be puny against the vast darkness and the cold moonlight," he finished his narration, looking at her to see if she could interpret and picture much.

"Okay... sounds vicious. What do you want the painting to mean- to display?"

"Oh, I've thought about this many times. And, I think I'm pretty sure now," he told her. 'As a potent display of nature, the painting juxtaposes the vulnerability of humankind and the treacherous waves.'" He said, sounding proud and practiced.

"Ooh, sounds like you're telling this to an interviewer," she teased. "Harry Styles, the only 21 years old artist of the famous painting: Fishermen at Sea!" She announced loudly, dropping a few almonds from her fist.

Hii! Hope you liked this! Photo of the painting and the description creds to: website dailyartmagazine.com ! Tagging: @reveriehs <3 MASTERLIST :)

[prolix-yuy]

Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him. 

It’s…difficult. 

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew. 

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits. 

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly. 

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring. 

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.” 

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar. 

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him. 

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly. 

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over. 

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously. 

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips. 

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.” 

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man. 

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk. 

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin. 

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes. 

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done. 

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side. 

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling. 

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds. 

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor. 

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give. 

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her. 

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home. 

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs. 

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe. 

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker? 

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces. 

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger. 

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.” 

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront. 

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now. 

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?” 

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it. 

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus. 

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head. 

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside. 

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast. 

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated. 

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.” 

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat. 

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt. 

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare. 

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation. 

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest. 

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away. 

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher. 

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits. 

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick. 

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body. 

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed. 

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery. 

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin. 

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender. 

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.” 

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.   

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock. 

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph. 

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air. 

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights. 

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her. 

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile. 

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her. 

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness. 

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade. 

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.” 

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this. 

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk. 

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.” 

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor. 

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?” 

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities. 

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact. 

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back. 

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows. 

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability. 

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in. 

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood. 

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward. 

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope. 

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo’s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body. 

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt. 

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks. 

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.” 

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin. 

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue. 

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion. 

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly. 

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers. 

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches. 

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face. 

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful. 

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence. 

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand. 

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console. 

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls. 

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it. 

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier. 

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere. 

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three. 

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series