#it is opposite but equal to original fiction

[chnqin]

I just need people to know that I am currently about 2/3 of the way through No Paths are Bound by @cataclysmicevie and I am being totally normal about it, it is not consuming my every waking thought, I am not wishing it was longer than 1,158,737 words because I'll probably only have about a week's worth of reading left and I have separation anxiety issues. I am fine. very normal.

[whatawaitsus]

It's your final year at Killian Argent's School for the Supernatural; a prestigious boarding school for supernatural beings. In theory this doesn't mean much. Your future has been set since you were a child: graduate from a prestigious boarding school, get into an equally prestigious college that your parents will pay for, and then get a prestigious well-paying job with your father's connections. It is what is, you're past the point of complaining at this point in your life.

Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework.

That is until students start to go missing.

Oh, and you start having prophetic dreams of your missing brother. But, that's probably better to unpack later, in all honesty.

What Awaits Us is upcoming choicescript interactive fiction project. The game is rated 16+ for violence, manipulation, kidnapping, strong language, drug use, religious imagery and trauma and optional suggestive content.

Choose what kind of witch you are; customize your gender, pronouns, sexuality, physical appearance, personality, magic class, uniform style, dorm decor, familiar, and more.

Balance trying to solve the disappearances of your peers and your performance as a student.

Establish your relationships with your parents and older brother by playing through flashbacks.

Deicide on your class schedule and extracurricular activity that will have the ability to affect your stats.

Choose one out of five romantic options; a moody kitsune, an expressive siren, a bubbly godling, or a quiet godling, or an apathetic arachne.

Solve the mystery of the missing kids and potentially get a lead on your runaway brother.

Unwillingly gain a weird almost mentor figure in the form of one of your teachers.

Rei Nakamura [they/them, kitsune]: C's roommate. Rei has been at this school as long as you, though your interactions are next to none. You always spot their name at the top of all the classes you share. They generally keep to themselves, only interacting with C and the kids they tutor. When they do talk it's usually an insult or a refusal to do something. It's not a surprise that they're generally disliked by most of the school. How they happened to befriend an outgoing siren is beyond you.

Cleo/Cyrus Valtameri [gender selectable, siren]: Rei's roommate. C is.. a lot. They transferred during your ninth term; originally from Drialia, which is clear from their accent. They joined the theater club nearly as soon as they were enrolled and have landed nearly every lead since then. The two of you don't interact much, but when you do happen to cross paths they're always animatedly nice to you; they're like that to everyone except Rei, really. You almost swear you've seen the two of them point at you and laugh.

Lydia Taylor* [she/her, godling]: Lukas's twin sister. You've been partnered up with Lydia a few times for projects and she's always a diligent student. She's in the boxing club, which is honestly kind of intimidating, especially after what happened between her and Stephan Kim in your sixth term. But, she's always been plenty nice to you too, not fake nice like you've realized most of your classmates are. She and her brother are never apart from eachother, either.

Lukas Taylor [he/him, godling]: Lydia's twin brother. Lukas Taylor has been going through an 'emo phase' about as long as you've known him. You vaguely remember the mop of strawberry blond hair that was on his head when he first came here, though you have a suspicion he bribed a mage to wipe it from the yearbooks. Lukas is quiet; the polar opposite of his sister. You don't think he's in any clubs, though he is always carrying around a weathered sketchbook.

Nico/Nadia Ruiz-Estrada [gender selectable, arachne]: Your roommate. N and you have shared a dorm for the past five years, and they're possibly your best friend. Despite constantly skipping all of their classes, barring the ones the two of you share, their grades remain high. Even after knowing them for six years you still don't know if they care about anything besides displeasing their older sister. They started a band in your ninth year; Bite The Bullet. Half of the kids in your term are convinced they were formerly in prison, something that makes N laugh hysterically whenever you bring it up.

Polyamorous routes available with Rei & Cleo/Cyrus and Lukas & Nico/Nadia.

*Lydia is only romancable by female and nonbinary MC's.*

[zeravmeta]

don quixote fgo is just so good, he is such a hopeful character and i absolutely think he's the standout from traum

what really strikes me about him is that traum is a story dedicated to broken ideals and unfulfilled dreams: the major players of each faction are all characters with failed ambitions and who wage war against panhuman history to achieve those dreams. kriemhild wants revenge on siegfried even after killing hagen, komstantinos wants to remake his old empire, johanna abhors that she is a living fictional character and wants to become a real person, all the nameless servants from each faction are dedicated to rebel not only because of zhang jue's influence but because they all, in some form, had unfinished business, dreams they never fulfilled. this even extends to moriarty himself, a younger version who's fixated on defeating holmes because his older version could not, and he follows through on it because he did not really understand the value of his own nemesis, a fact that ultimately left him defeated no matter how much he tried to control fate. All of these characters refused to face the reality of their failures, and honestly don quixote was the most guilty of this

he was originally a servant summoned in the atlantean lostbelt, and genuinely did try to rally heroes, but as he saw these legendary figures he adored be struck down he lost hope. it wasn't just that he was afraid, it was that the heroes around himself had given up even before him, a craven old man.

the thing is though that the reason don quixote and sancho ran is antithetical to the reasons that the other servants ran: they did it specifically to survive. sancho was able to convince don quixote to leave because she reminded him that it wasn't wrong or evil to want to live, and this was only possible because don quixote, despite being a servant, still thinks of himself as being human. even though he consciously understands himself as being a servant, his way of thinking and reasoning is undeniably that of a normal human

A big part of his too is that traum is also a singularity in which the names of heroic spirits have lost their meaning: the sheer volume of servants means that there is no singular standout hero, sure, but when kriemhild killed the lancer who was about to declare his name she called him merely a foot soldier because said name was worthless, in traum there is only the endless war of people slaughtering each other, and ironically a unifying peace in that.

names are the linchpins of heroic spirits: servants aren't the ghosts of dead people, they're the manifestations of what those legends meant to humanity, all codified by the names they carry. servants have to name themselves and have names for their noble phantasms which directly identify them because they are literal living legends. Yet in traum, those names and legends and meanings become all but worthless in the face of endless war as armies of these protectors of humanity are reduced to mere foot soldiers. there is a similar parallel to this when vlad goes to the righteous realm, and as he sees the army gathered he finds it entirely lacking because it's fully composed of singular standout heroes who are all used to essentially being the main character and thus cant function as a unit. Traum is a world where being a hero has no meaning.

but i think that's also why don quixote declares himself against konstantinos and challenged him: in this moment, he reclaimed the value of being a knight who fights for his ideals, that of a true hero

konstantinos throughout traum is presented as equally a legendary figure as charlemagne is, and yet his reason for fighting is incredibly simple: he's in love with johanna and wants to make her real to panhuman history, and to this end he'll continue the war in traum as needed for that end. kriemhild has an equal but opposite reason rooted in the same thing: love. she wants revenge against siegfried for having gone through with hagens plan, for not letting her in to his pain, he was too much of a hero for everyone that it led him to sacrificing himself even if it would hurt her. konstantinos wanted to be the perfect knight, and kriemhild wanted to get revenge against her own knight for being too perfect.

The thing is, despite their insistence on traum being the cruel reality of a war, both of them were holding onto rather idealized, almost romanticized versions of what a knight should be.

konstantinos knows and declares don quixote as being likely the most famous knight to have ever lived, but he dismisses him as a threat when actually fighting him. When he's about to finish him, he tells don quixote that he has to face reality as he's about to die. However, the story of don quixote was always that of an old man whom lost himself to his fantasies of chivalry and knightly idealism, and despite the troubles he caused still continued to fight for what he believed was honorable. Even if he had returned to reality in the end, there was still meaning to the outright silly journey of an old man knight long past the age of chivalry, of the old man who, despite his fear, still chose to rally an army and fight for the world he felt he had failed.

what traum needed was someone who did good not as a hero but as a human. almost every knightly character in fate carries grand ideals as to why they are knights, but the only requirement to BE a knight and a hero is the simple desire to do good for others, and don quixote is fittingly the most famous knight in the world because he's utterly obsessed with the great chivalric legends of old, yet still strived to do good in the way normal people do.

it's why charlie finds him so inspiring, as well

for all the non-extella link players, charlemagne as we see him in fgo is actually the fictionalized version of him from the tales of the paladins of charlemagne and not the actual karl der Große. He's even more fictionalized than johanna and don quixote himself, because while johanna might have been an erroneous account and don quixote a story book character, charlemagne is a full on sensationalized re-imagining of an already real person. but even if he may be a fictionalized person, what he represents is what matters the most, the same with any heroic spirit, which is why charlemagne considers johanna just as real and why the actual karl der Große saw fit to send him to traum

at the center of traum we ultimately find wakamori, who despite seeming cruel and mysterious throughout the entire plot, has shown multiple times that he's essentially trying to fill in bigger shoes than he can: He's obsessed with defeating sherlock and presenting himself as the ultimate evil, but he's still green at the end of the day, and I think this is in part what leads him to somewhat even respect don quixote

when he tries to taunt don quixote, he does so with the assumption that much like himself, don quixote is attempting to play the part he represents most: don quixote is surely trying to be the greatest most idealized version of a knight, the same way wakamori is trying to be the perfected version of himself, the true evil mastermind whom can finally defeat sherlock. But don quixote flat out tells him that conflict and even life itself has always had no inherent meaning nor any inherent roles to play, so much in the same way that he has no special value to his life tied to being a knight, wakamori's own value is not tied specifically to that of being sherlock holmes' greatest evil rival. There's a surprising empathy in this exchange I feel, because don quixote understands wakamori immediately where it took sherlock the entire story: there's nothing wrong with being a little delusional, but you have to treat them with respect.

wakamori ultimately fails because he believed that defeating sherlock would finally give value to james moriarty as the ultimate villain, unaware that sherlock holmes is the defining equal to james moriarty. there is no purpose to a story with an evil mastermind that doesn't have an equally great hero trying to stop him, and wakamori failing to understand that his own value as such is not diminished by not having ever defeated holmes is what ruins him: He didn't respect the story he was so enthralled by. shinjuku showcased a similar dynamic, but the difference between shinjuku and traum is that the older moriarty very much understood what it would take to succeed, and that would be to become the protagonist of the story, rather than the ultimate final boss.

the stories of knights and heroes and monsters and spurned loves and great detectives and evil masterminds are all in part defined by the meanings that people derive from them, from the ordinary good that they can inspire first and foremost. And even though don quixote may have been a craven old man who eventually gave up chivalry, he still tried to live a good life and do good the way any ordinary person would.

And that's such a genuinely hopeful and kind sentiment to tie to the concept of knightly ideals: you don't have to be grand to be a hero, and you don't even have to be a hero to inspire others.

[estro-gem]

Jax x Ragatha: The snake and the water spring

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis.

Author's note: I found this show by chance and I took a great liking to it! So now I did a thing, instead of studying for upcoming exams, because I love making things difficult for myself, apparently.

I have no idea what the fandom is like, but I'm playing it safe just to be... well... safe. I just loved the concept of this show so much that I couldn't help but be inspired by it! It got me thinking and I let it all out in this... thing.

I want to write more one-shot fics about the other characters and how they fit into this au too, but I don't know when I'll be able to.

WARNING! None of these characters are mine and everything mentioned and described is purely made-up fiction; inspired by works that are not my own. Nothing should be considered canon or taken seriously - we are all here to have some harmless fun! No age restrictions. I think this might be appropriate for all ages...?

Please show some love and support for Gooseworx; the creator of The Amazing Digital Circus!

I definitely butchered Gooseworx's characters by adding unnecessary 'relationship dynamics' and deviating from their original personalities. I promise that the actual show and characters are so much better than they are in my false portrayal of them.

SUMMARY:

A fanmade take on the events following Pomni's arrival and after the crew had dinner together. This is focused on Jax's point of view, but still written in the third person.

Jax confronts Ragatha after the pilot episode's 'dinner' and does his best to comfort her in a way that works for them. That's it.

Please enjoy!

THE SNAKE AND THE WATER SPRING

Jax was a desert snake.

Nothing but a cold-blooded pest that lived to find his next meal.

When one is left to die under the scorching sun, you can’t stomp on the sun for creating a desert, but you could stomp on the desert snake if it added to the pain of surviving in said desert. The Digital Realm was nothing but a desert sun – a cage with no exit and an evil with no target.

It was no secret why so many had lost their minds here.

Jax took on the role of being the snake. It was never announced or planned, but it was deemed necessary by all who came to know the realm. The inhabitants of The Amazing Digital Circus craved any sense of control; something they could hold accountable for their torment – something they could punish. A menace, parasite.

Evil with a target: Jax.

It was fun to act out while everybody went about their lives. He could unapologetically be the worst being known to man and thrive on the rage and hatred of all he had affected. If they hated him, he was fulfilling his role perfectly… and that meant they could stay sane and do their parts as he did his. Less people would be lost to insanity… and the group would grow stronger.

Everyone had a role in their system – an oasis was established, with Ragatha as the heart of the oasis; their very own water spring.

But when a new invading creature bursts into the oasis with no knowledge of this system, their system would be doomed. Pomni happened to be that invader. Everyone could collectively, yet silently agree that she was acting by her own careless devices since she arrived a few hours ago. She greedily soaked up their water source and left it barren, dry, and suffering.

Granted, Pomni didn’t know how their oasis worked, but it didn’t change the fact that she disrupted everything by showing up. She would have to catch on quickly and prove herself useful, before anyone else loses their minds.

They lost one of their own already… and they almost lost their beloved Ragatha; Jax’s equal and opposite.

Their precious water source.

Snakes offered venom, while water springs offered hope of life. They all desperately needed Ragatha to survive. While most would assume her to be fine after being fixed by Caine, Jax knew better than that. He saw her reluctantly stand aside Pomni to support her – beautifully acting within her role as she always would, but it was clear that Pomni still didn’t understand how scarce the water was by then. Rags was spread thin enough by handling the extra stress and enduring the continuous pain of being corrupted by the abstraction, but that didn’t stop Pomni from practically having a mental breakdown at the dinner table.

Jax saw that coming from a mile away. Thank goodness he silently took the open seat next to Pomni, silent in his insistence that the ragdoll should keep her distance for the time being. He’d give anything to destroy the little jester for abusing his doll. Ragatha was acting perfectly normal at the time – her masked smile perfectly set on her face – until it was time for them all to retire to their respective bedrooms.

Jax wished that he would’ve just dragged her after him when he booked it from the abstraction earlier today. Pomni would have been the perfect distraction for them to escape and get Caine.

He stood at Ragatha’s door after dinner.

Jax made a point to ring the doorbell this time. Usually, he’d just pluck out a key and saunter in like he owns the place, but with what happened today, he’d make an exception. Everyone has their limit – and someone has already reached their limit today. They couldn’t risk losing another one. Especially not Raggs. They all really needed her.

When she didn’t open, he tried the bell again. Nothing.

Well, time for the key, then.

He shoved his hand down his front pocket and fished out the doll’s room key. The bunny didn’t waste time opening the door. He wanted to see what state the girl was in, despite dreading the possibility of finding an abstracted amalgamation on the other side.

Silence.

Not even a creak was heard from the hallway. The room was lit up as it usually was, so that was a good sign, at least. Jax couldn’t see an obvious black body of eyes – another win. But where was Ragatha? He did see her walk into her room, so she had to be here.

He walked around, keeping his cool, casual composure fixed, despite no one being around. It was effortless at this point. It became a way for him to focus on what he could control in this crazy digital prison; himself.

He couldn’t, however, control his ability to spot a blasted ragdoll, it would seem. He scanned the room again, until his eyes fell on her ¾ bed. Could she-?

The bunny rolled his eyes at himself as he lowered himself onto his knees – maybe he could convince himself that he was not phased by the situation. Bending down, he peered beneath the bed frame.

Jax sighed in exasperation. Or was it relief? Both?

Ragatha was in the state she was in before retiring to her room. No gliching, no extra eyes.

Just Raggs.

She didn’t look good, though. The doll was curled up beneath her bed and blindly staring ahead of her. It didn’t look like she was breathing – not that they needed to anyway, but it was uncanny to see Rags like this. She was their voice of reason. She was a water spring in this desert.

If she dried up, their desert would be doomed.

Jax silently stood up and walked back to the open door again. No need to make a fuss over this. He took hold of the door handle and shut it from the inside. Key in hand, he locked the door and nodded to himself. Ragatha needed a raincloud… and he’d have to fill that role now. It’s the least he could do after leaving her to fend for herself when they found the abstraction today.

Why didn’t she run with him? Why did think she could fix someone whose mind was broken beyond repair? Why didn’t she just leave the rookie as bait?

Because that just wasn’t her role, was it?

If it weren’t for her nature – her role – none of them would have made it this far. It dawned on Jax, once again, how close they were to losing their beloved doll. How close they were to being stuck with an invader who knew nothing about what it took to survive in this hell hole.

Enough.

Back to the bed, crouched down and silent Jax positioned himself to lay down and simply look over the red head from a relative distance. There was enough space for the doll to crawl out of hiding without having to touch him. The bunny still hadn’t said a word. It’d be stupid to talk, and he didn’t feel like making the effort. He just wanted things back to normal again – well… as normal as it could have been.

Now Kaufmo is gone, a new creature was invading their home, tearing it up from the roots and tipping the delicate scales of the balance they worked very hard on creating. All because of a lunatic ringmaster having the bright idea of creating a fake exit-door. Someone better get that jester on a tight leash to get her to fall in line, like the rest of them were forced to.

He knew he, for one, wouldn’t mind roughing her up a bit. It was his specialty – his role. The parasite. The menace. The instigator.

Evil with an actual target.

The sound of shifting and movement had Jax blink out of his own head. Ragatha was slowly and dumbly making her way out from under her bed. Her eyes were still fogged over and her face still eerily blank, but at least she came out of hiding out of her own will. In a matter of seconds, the doll was out from her hiding place and settled on the floor beside Jax. She was staring him in the eyes now, waiting for the bunny, silently pleading.

Jax hadn’t had his aloof-douchebag persona engaged since he locked Ragatha’s door. She didn’t need a menace now – she needed to be grounded; revitalized. She needed a dark raincloud to fill up the water spring they all needed.

He didn’t look forward to what needed to be done, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it.

He moved to stand up and held out a hand to help her up. He took note of the way her hand was shaking when she took his and gently guided her to the bed. The red head was the first to sit, then moved to lay down on her back and numbly stare at the ceiling. With a deep breath, Jax gathered himself mentally and cautiously crept onto the bed and positioned himself to briefly hover over her, before lowering his full weight onto Ragatha.

He had his head in the crook of her neck, on the left shoulder with his ears folding back to floppily droop to his upper back… with his left hand resting on the opposite shoulder. His body, although slim, enveloped hers and caused her to sink slightly into the mattress. His legs just loosely laid over and aside the ragdoll’s. It was more important to have his weight resting on her torso anyway.

For a long moment, they just motionlessly laid on the bed like this. To an outsider, it would look like they fell asleep atop each other or simply cuddled together very closely.

An outsider wouldn’t see that Jax was focused on the slow process of Ragatha’s body relaxing under his weight and her breathing slowing to a regular rhythm. An outsider wouldn’t have known that this was hardly the first time they’d done this – how long it took Jax to learn that this make-shift deep-pressure therapy was the most effective grounding technique for Ragatha to collect herself again.

They wouldn’t understand that Jax didn’t do this out of wanting to, but rather out of necessity.

Jax didn’t like to be touched. If anything, he was very capable of merely tolerating it. Everyone in the circus knew that he was touch-averse; some even used that as leverage to mess with him if the situation called for it. It was a necessity that he endured to keep his doll sane – to keep anyone of importance here in the circus, sane. Their whole lives revolved around mental strength. It was all just a matter of staying sane.

The laid there for what felt like a lifetime.

Slight shifting beside Jax alerted him that the doll was moving her arms – previously stiffly pinned to her sides. This was good, she felt comfortable enough to move around now!

Her left hand gently snaked up to the bunny’s head and slowly, softly petted his ears in a longitude motion. Her right hand wrapped loosely around his middle-to-lower back – motionless. This was bad, Jax did not like being touched like that!

While he was fine with the rhythmic touches of Ragatha’s left hand, he despised the idle position of the right hand resting on his back. He couldn’t prevent himself from tensing up in discomfort.

Bad touch, bad touch, bad-

This caused the ragdoll to tense up and rip her hands off him as if he burned her.

Oh no you don’t! We are not starting all over again.

He slowly pulls away and propped up unto his elbows, hearing Ragatha’s breathing pick up as she presumably spirals into her own thoughts on how he was going to leave her like this. Jax cast down a disapproving look. He broke his gaze to unceremoniously take her right hand – now clutched close to her chest – and intertwined their fingers, before resting his head on her left shoulder once again. He close eyes as he use his free hand to put her left hand on his head again, waiting for her to resume her petting.

Good touch; this was a good touch. Please understand.

Thankfully, Ragatha relaxed… and continued her previous slow, rhythmic motions. Slowly, Jax felt her relax once again and he indulged into her need for touch by stroking his thumb over hers occasionally.

Soon they fell into a rhythm; Ragatha would pet Jax’s ears 3 times, then it was his turn to stroke his thumb over hers. Then they would repeat the routine. This also helped Jax cope with the touching; the routine. The rhythm.

It felt like hours ticked by as the two just practiced their little unspoken routine. Jax grew used to it after a while, almost forgetting that his new mattress was now a sentient ragdoll and completely tuned into their rhythm of touches.

Pet… pet… pet… thumb. Pet… pet… pet… thumb.

Jax didn’t like touch, but he loved routine.

The doll and the bunny’s time together, once nothing but grounding techniques, grew to become an intimate exchange of touches and caresses – all wrapped in a routine, like a dance. Jax felt warm and fuzzy inside; for once he basked in the moment of enjoying his dolly. He lazily wondered if Ragatha felt the same. He shifted his head to look at her.

The doll looked down to meet his eyes when she felt him move. He could swear that she looked at peace, basking in the bliss of their closeness. For some reason, she looked like an angel. They all saw her as their angel. Had he successfully pinned a heavenly body beneath him?

Her gentle, longing gaze made a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt from his core.

This wasn’t the first time this feeling invaded his being when they did this – as rare as these moments were. He wasn’t sure when he started experiencing such feelings during these rare encounters, but as months crawled by, he felt drawn to his dolly more and more. Based on how she looked at him, he could only assume that she felt it too.

Something so foreign, yet so familiar.

He didn’t fail to spot the warmth rushing to her cheeks when their eyes met. She looked so ethereal beneath him, especially when her breathing picked up under his firm gaze. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were lidded. This time, it wasn’t fear or overstimulation. It was anticipation. It was desire.

Jax internally flinched at the tingly sensation when he smoothly burrowed his face into Ragatha’s neck. She shivered at the breath he let out against her skin. He could tolerate the touching a little longer, as long as he could see her crumble again. He wanted to see her walls crumble again.

“Jax- ”

Oh… he had to hear her again. More clearly, next time. This was torture, but she made him into her own personal masochist. His skin crawled at the sensation of her skin shivering against him, but he needed more. He could take it. Just a little longer – he just had to stand these sensations a little longer. He looked at her again.

Ragatha was reverting to a helpless puddle. The doll’s arms were gripping at the covers beneath her, successfully eliminating the bother of excessive contact that he despised. Jax didn’t know if she did it with that intension or without thinking, but either way, he was thankful. He really wanted more.

Why couldn’t he just be normal?

He lifted onto his elbows again and – dare one say – lovingly looked at her face. She could only peek back at him, breathing slightly faster than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shaky hand rise from the covers and hover next to his cheek, while her eyes pleaded for his mercy. He hesitated but bit the bullet to comply; leaning into her touch while desperately trying to ignore the odd tingles. Jax convinced himself to kiss her wrist and drowned himself in the pleasure of hearing her softly call his name.

He only heard it because he was listening so closely for it.

Yes.

DING DONG

In a flash, Jax braced himself up into a crouch and slammed his foot down with a mighty THUMP upon hearing Ragatha startle into a fit when the doorbell chimed. His hair on his back stood on end and his claws ripped through his gloves, leaving gouges in the covers beside the doll’s head.

His precious doll was disturbed again!

He heard her soft cry of fear and his blood boiled with a thirst for vengeance. Only he can make her cry out. He’ll skin the soul that dared to-

“Ragatha…? Can we talk?”

That DAMN jester!

“Jax?” a quiet voice trembled in his ear from beneath him. Jax stopped glaring at the door to softly glance down and see what his little doll wanted.

“Don’t…” Raggs sounded like she was begging while being held at gunpoint, whispering despite their rooms being enchanted to not hear anything from the outside when the door is shut.

Jax wouldn’t dare let that thing inside. Raggs was upset enough as it is.

“Look, I know it probably wouldn’t make a difference…” Pomni’s voice came from the other side door again, “…but I’m so sorry for running off… Again… I saw that exit and I had to see if it was real. No one else believed me and I started to think that I was losing my mind. You understand that, right?”

Jax placed both his hands down on the mattress, blocking the doll’s view of the door as if it could block the sound of the voice from reaching the Raggs’s ears, still hovering over her. He knew that his dolly didn’t want to hear anything the harlequin had to say now – he had half the mind to get up and bash the newbie’s head in.

“I hope we can talk about this some time. You are probably tired after such a long, crazy day.” Pomni’s voice died down near the end, “It feels like you’re the only good person here.”

She really is, but she’s too good for you. Selfish leech.

Jax looks down to the girl, still stiff as a board beneath him. Her eye was shiny with the swell of tears. He melted at the sight – anger simmering down. She was just a sweet little rag dolly, she didn’t deserve any of this, but oh, he was so happy to see Ragatha finally emote something again. She was OK again. Their water source was filled once again, now threatening to spill over. He’d happily welcome the flood.

He needed her.

The sound of fading footsteps causes Jax to rip his eyes to the direction of the door. His hearing was better than the dolls, probably thanks to being a rabbit.

Good riddance.

Ragatha seemed to relax at the sight of Jax deflating his stance, reading that Pomni probably left her door. She hesitantly reached up to cup Jax’s cheek. Jax followed her hand’s motion and scoffed, cringing at the invasion. He’s had enough touching for a week. It sucked to leave his doll so soon after being distressed again, but he couldn’t bring himself stand any more of this. He quickly got up and smoothed out his clothes, but not without missing the flash of hurt in the doll’s eyes. He felt bad, but he had to be strong with the new girl around, so straining himself now would only make matters worse and mess up the whole system.

Still, seemingly bored, Jax stood in his spot while rocking on his heels and looking off to the side, only sparing her a glance. Raggs sat up by then. She looked a little worse for wear, but it’s an improvement from hiding under her bed. She rested her elbows on her knees with her chin in her hands. The hurt in her eyes was long gone, but she looked tired. Poor thing, Jax shared the sentiment.

He felt her eye bore into the side of his face and the bunny couldn’t stop himself before he rolled his eyes and looked to her again. He could’ve choked on air when he saw her face, but the years of steeling his demeanor left no trace of his inner turmoil.

Raggs sported that longing look in her eyes again.

They were so close this time – closer than they’ve ever been before. Each time they spent together on nights like this, although few and far between, they grew closer… and hungrier. Neither understood what it was, but they never had the chance to just collapse into it, tonight being the closest to that.

But there was always something, right?

Jax allowed gaze to soften. His doll offered a small smile that almost ripped his heart out if his chest. It was drenched with melancholy of something she knew they could never have.

Because their roles in their little ecosystem didn’t allow for it to ever be theirs. It would never work.

This was survival.

The rabbit steeled his demeanor once again, but this time, his doll’s face didn’t fall.

Good, as it should be.

Jax walked to the door and fished out the key from his front pocket. He didn’t bother looking back. If he did, he wouldn’t have the will to leave anymore. When he opened the door, though, he couldn’t help but mumble out teasingly.

“See yah later, Doll~!”

He wished that he could shout his affections for her out into the void instead.

“I’m not your doll.” Ragatha responded, voice still wobbly and tired, but perky regardless. She knew just how to indulge him.

Yes, she is… she always will be.

Fanart: Evil with a target

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

[sofoulandfairaday]

do you think the blacks had sexist beliefs? Do you think Sirius and Regulus did?

This is a very interesting question, especially because purebloods are often portrayed with very Victorian beliefs in fanfiction, which can only be partly inferred from the original books. I think that it was in the author's intentions to create a more equal society: there have been several female Ministers for Magic, for example, and in general magic would naturally be an equalizer, since it does not manifest differently in men and women in the books. However, the single female characters portrayed in the books, especially the adult ones, do not lend themselves well to this interpretation. Most of them exist inside very domestic settings - be it a school or a household - and the books promote Being A Mother as the pinnacle of womanhood.

(Which is coincidentally one of the reasons why I don't really love the existence of Delphi outside fanfiction. Bellatrix's sort of love is portrayed - in most literal, on-the-nose way possible - as the antithesis to maternal love. Making her yet another mother in the story undermines her character to me. But this is a whole other post.)

On top of that, the Blacks are very obviously conservative and aristocratic. So. As for the older Blacks (Walburga, Orion, and that whole generation), yes. Definitely yes. Perhaps in different ways, I think the wizarding world's brand on sexism would very much be interwoven with blood supremacy and seeing witches as the keepers of the blood, and the morals of a household, and that it is their very duty to marry and especially to produce heirs (pureblood babies! especially since those families seem to be fairly infertile). A woman who tries to escape that would be seen very badly, in my opinion.

As for Sirius and Regulus. Regulus' politics - sorry Reggie girlies - were very much conservative. And I refuse to believe that he didn't have mommy issues. I hc him as gay, honestly, and it is for the best because he would realistically be a bad boyfriend/husband. I cannot imagine him ever standing up to defend a possible wife to Walburga (or even Bellatrix) in a family dinner setting or the like - and any wife of his would suffer hell. Imagine marrying into the Black family as a woman and having them as in-laws. You would never be good enough. His wife would be chosen for him - pure of blood, someone worthy of producing heirs, and he probably wanted someone to take care of him in the way mommy never did. This poor hypothetical girl would have an additional child. In general, I think his views on women wouldn't be incredibly backwards but not even progressive. He'd be okay with you as long as you were the right kind of woman.

As for Sirius. He was a man born to an aristocratic british family in 1959. Make of that what you will. Sexism was just another of the prejudices he tried to unlearn during his lifetime - and meeting women like Lily, or his other non-pureblood female friends in Gryffindor, that would have definitely heard of the Women's Rights Movement and would have probably been feminists themselves - would have definitely helped. But it's hard for anyone (women included) to let go of all internal biases. He'd definitely still be the type to call a woman he dislikes a bitch, for example. Did he stand up of the common room table and give feminist rants on reproductive rights? Probably not. Did he fundamentally believe in equality and appreciated/supported strong women? Definitely.

TLDR: yes, in an appropriate way for age & setting. They were complex characters and their views on women probably reflected their overall politics. Regulus is part of a group of people who see society as divided into classes, where everyone gets assigned a role. Sirius was the opposite. Also, most people hold some sexist beliefs nowadays, in 2023, and I don't like imposing that sort of morality on fictional characters living in the 1990s.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by David Solway

Despite all the pitfalls on the long journey to statehood, on May 11, 1949, the UN General Assembly, by the requisite two-thirds majority, approved the application to admit Israel to the UN by General Assembly Resolution 273. We should consider, too, aside from the legal documentation we are examining here, that Israel is replete with stories, memorial scriptures and artifacts from pre-Biblical times and possesses a calendar that dates to 5783. Israel’s existence is not only official but immemorial.

Following Israel’s victory in the Six-Day War and its acquisition of territory, anti-Zionists demanded that Israel return to its shrunken 1967 borders, proclaiming their opposition to “the immoral and impractical policies that deny Palestinians equal rights,” calling for an end to “the siege on Gaza” and for “a permanent ceasefire,” and putting the onus on Israel to comply. Jimmy Carter’s mendacious book "Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid" is worth examining in some detail. Among the weave of falsehoods that bind its pages, we find that UN Resolution 242 demands that Israel return to Palestinians all land captured in the 1967 war.  

This is utter fiction. Carter and his ideological descendants have probably never heard of or paid much attention to Eugene Rostow, former U.S. Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs and one of the leading architects of UN Resolution 242. Rostow explained in The New Republic for Oct. 21, 1991, that the Resolution allows Israel to administer its conquered territories until a just and lasting peace in the Middle East is achieved and that “the Jews have the same right to settle there as they have to settle in Haifa.” 

Further, no Palestinian leader and few Western pundits have acknowledged the raw fact that there are no 1967 borders to which Israel is required to return. In fact, there are only armistice lines that have no bearing on future negotiations to determine final borders. The late Hugh Foot, Lord Caradon, formerly Britain’s ambassador to the United Nations and, along with Rostow, one of the drafters of Resolution 242, stated in the Beirut Daily Star on June 12, 1974, that “It would have been wrong to demand that Israel return to its positions of June 4, 1967, because those positions were undesirable and artificial.” 

Lord Caradon’s account of the meaning and history of the Resolution is supported by the remaining two framers, Arthur Goldberg and Baron George-Brown, who are equally explicit in asserting its original intention. Resolution 242 is a pro-Israel and not, as constantly misreported, a pro-Palestinian article. Yet in the interests of peace, Israel has fruitlessly surrendered much of its war gains in Gaza and the West Bank, creating unnecessary misery for itself.  

It follows that Israel’s enemies, and antisemites in general, are either credulous or savage or both. Generally speaking, their leaders are political operators with gelatinous souls, concerned mainly for their personal safety and privilege and cathected on the Islamic voting bloc. Moreover, far too many ordinary citizens are unable to distinguish between a forgery (e.g., "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion") and a scrupulous work of historical documentation (e.g., the aforementioned "From Time Immemorial"). They are culpably deaf and blind, as Richard Ibrahim indicates, to the purport of an ISIS audio recording titled And Kill Them Wherever You Find Them (Koran 9:5) that pronounces the jihadist worldview of Islam: “The battle with the Jews is a religious one and not a national or populist one! It is not a battle for land, soil, or borders! In fact, it is a war that is legitimized by the Book and the Sunnah.”

[1w1wbigher06fan]

MegaOP Ficlet “ Memory”

Little fan fiction I originally worked for MegaOp week but completely forgot the other days. Fits into my Transformers Sam Witwicky/Rodimus Prime AU for Transformers Prime Enjoy! Fan Fiction under the cut.

Optimus rubbed the bridge of his nose as he decided it was time to take a break from signing paperwork. A small noise from the corner of his office made him look down as in the play pen his son was crawling around clearly bored of the mostly utilitarian office space. “ Rodimus” Optimus’s soothing voice quickly caught the red and orange sparkling attention as the little one let out a warble, tilting his helm as his finals flopped over to the right a little more. Holding a toy rattle in his hand the sparkling let out an excited squeak as the doors to the Primes office opened and said rattle in the sparklings hand went flying towards the poor unfortunate  bot who had poked his head in to ask a question. “ Prime do you have the paperwork for—- oh scrap” at the last minute Prowls’s sensors picked up in the flying projectile before it smacked him squared in the face. 

The sparkling was silent for a minute before a peel of laughter and he rolled onto his back his stubby arms trying to grab his feet as he wiggled and rolled around on the floor. Clearly pleased with himself. “ He’s his sire’s son alright,” Prowl rubbed the spot where he got hit as loud and booming foot falls sounded behind him. “ He inherited my precision aim it seems,” Megatron grinned as he patted Prowl on the back apologetically the tactician as he moved to scoop his rather rambunctious son up into his arms.

“ Roddy careful with those claws-ouch” Megatron winced a little as the tiny bot’s razor thin claws dug harmlessly into his sires armor, climbing up the grey and purple mech’s arm before gracelessly situating himself between his sires neck and shoulder pauldron. His favorite spot to observe the world from. Chirping victoriously the sparkling settled in as his finals flicked back and forth in excitement.

Prowl smirked a bit at the little one’s antics. Megatron only pretended to be hurt to build Roddy’s confidence in himself. During Optimus’s pregnancy the two of them had been watching a documentary on Earth’s wildlife when a segment showed how Lion fathers would pretend to be in pain when there cubs play bite and pounce to encourage them to build their survival skills.

Megatron took that tidbit of knowledge to heart and surprised his mate with how well it actually worked. Then again Bumblebee was a very different sparkling then Roddy. The former warlords optics softened briefly pride swelling in his spark, nuzzling his son as the little one trilled happily.

——- 

Rodimus closed the holo vid as his spark instinctively reached out for his carriers as he sent pulses of love to them, which was received equal and yet more powerful pulses from opposite ends of the bond. :: We love you our little miracle, we’ll be home soon.;; Optimus’s warmth filled the red mech’s frame as he finally was able to drift off into a peaceful recharge in the first time for a long time. 

[the-derpy-duck]

Hikaru Sulu and Pavol Chekov: The greatest fictional friendship you have never seen.  

The original Star Trek series was known and remembered for being rather progressive and had a major impact on popular culture. The idea of a mirror dimension that has all the characters but evil came from Star Trek, many characters get referenced in different media, and a lot of fanfiction as we know it today started with the Star Trek fandom. The main reoccurring cast in the first season of Star Trek was Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy or “Bones”, Mr. Scot or “Scotty”, Mr. Sulu, and Mrs. Uhura along with a few other background characters that were not as prevalent. In the second season Star Trek decided to add another guy to the cast, Mr. Chekov. He was mostly just there to be Russian and a reason for teen girls to watch the show. However, I believe that is a boring way to see a character. If a character speaks, or even makes an on-screen appearance, then there is subtext that can be read into. This can most easily be applied to the main trio.  

Spock is a half-Human half-Vulcan who comes from a world that is highly built around logic and suppressing emotions. He never really ends up fitting into one singular category to the more ignorant people around him and is subject to many bigoted comments from both humans and Vulcans, in varying degrees of subtilty. In some cases, it is difficult to tell if a comment was meant to be directed at Spock and if it was malicious. Spock does not often react to these comments regardless and it is typically Kirk who would confront the person. McCoy is very opposite to Spock; he is a doctor and a part of being in the medical field is having empathy. Although McCoy does make jokes at Spock’s expense there is a clear difference between when McCoy, Spock’s friend, antagonizes him and when some random guy does. McCoy is often at odds with Spock because he is so deeply rooted in empathy and caring for others which often leads to, and is also rooted in, emotions. Vulcans aren’t supposed to feel strong emotions, which Spock clearly does for both McCoy and Krik. In the episode “Naked Time” he directly states that he feels strong emotions for Kirk, in “Amok Time” he asks Kirk to go with him as a companion to witness a culturally significant ceremony in Vulcan culture (McCoy is also asked and they both go). Spock is the “brain” of the trio, McCoy is the “heart”, and Kirk is the result of two equally unstable and stubborn people refusing to stop bickering. Many, much better, essays have been written about this, what I wish to discuss is the implied friendship between Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov. 

For the entirety of season one, Chekov does not exist. If one were to watch the show and take everything at face value, then he is a shallow, one dimensional, stereotype of a Russian put in a show made during a time when America did not like Russians. This, however, is not fun and is not technically true. Chekov has a more laid back and joking personality. The main joke he makes is that everything is made in Russia. It is important to keep in mind the political climate of the time this show was made in. Chekov is making a joke, the things he claims to originate in his home country are obviously not Russian, the main question is if the joke is being actively made by Chekov in the narrative, as in the he is telling a joke to someone else in the story canonically, or if the joke is just that Chekov thinks or is claiming things aren’t Russian to be Russian. If it is the former, then it adds to his character in a way that isn’t just throwing more ‘Russia’ onto the guy who’s main thing is being Russian. If it is the latter, then it adds more ‘Russia’ to the guy who’s main thing is being Russian. Every person who consumes a thing will come out of it with a slightly different reading. We can get a central theme and idea, but we have different ways of coming to the conclusion. We read a word in a different tone, completely changing the sentence, we focus on different characters and read relationships differently. The best thing about art is that there is no wrong way to read and enjoy it. I personally like Chekov. I see him as being a more sarcastic character who is, more often than not, mocking the viewer for laughing at a stereotype. Even if this not what he is, it is what a lot of the “made in Russia” jokes came off to me as. I also love the “made in Georgia” joke so I am biased towards a guy who would make a similar joke. But him saying that he “was the Tzar of all the Russians” when told that a man standing Infront of him (who had just grown multiple feet in height) was the god Apollo. He sheepishly apologizes to the captain for this comment, which made me think that he tended to say things without thinking because he was either personally insulted or just thought it would be funny. I also just thought that it was a bit cute. Chekov also obviously loves women (same) and is obviously loyal to Captain Krik, in “I, Mudd” he automatically dislikes Mudd because he is being held captive by him (with the rest of the crew) and because I think he has some level of loyalty to Kirk and the rest of the crew. He also dislikes physicals but that should be discussed later in this essay. One can also infer based on a comment made by Bones in “Who Mourns for Adonais?” where Chekov starts listing animals that can generate energy/electricity without any harm to themselves. Bones tells him to stop, and Chekov says that Kirk would need all the information. Bones then remarks that “Spock is contaminating this boy”. Which could also just mean that Chekov transferred to the Enterprise. It could also mean that Chekov trained under or spent time with Spock. It could mean both, it doesn’t fully matter but I think it’s fun to think about. This gives the impression of a character that likes to make jokes but cares about and is good at his job. Another thing about Chekov is that he makes what would ber historical references, especially Russian ones. In the episode “I, Mudd” he either called Mudd a former Surf or a former owner of a Surf. This would add to the ‘Chekov spent time with Spock” narrative as Spock studies history, but this doesn’t matter that much.  He is a bit young, impulsive, and very naevi, but also very passionate in the field he works in. Regardless of how good or real these conclusions I’ve come to are, it is still a semi-reasonable way to read and interpret the text.    

Sulu was a part of the cast sense the first season. He played a notable role in the episode “The Naked Time” where he was one of the first people to be affected by the virus that caused people to lose their inhibitions. Interestingly enough, Sulu became afflicted after his friend, who had originally contracted the virus and was the one who brought it back to the ship, had a mental breakdown and attempted to kill himself using a knife. He was apparently in a friend group with this character who existed to die, and Riley. They (Sulu and Riley) attempted to restrain their friend but ultimately failed. Sulu spent the rest of the episode fencing. The idea. that watching their friend die was never really considered as a possibility for Riley or Sulu’s strange actions. They are both noted to be acting out of character and that would have been a viable explanation. It isn’t why they are acting this way, but it is an interesting idea. He is mentioned to have been a good spacecraft fighter by Spock, but when they are attacked in season two, the first time, he is not present. The other time they are attacked they choose to retreat. Sulu has a more mellowed out personality compared to the more neurotic people who surround him. He enjoys fencing and is skilled in it, as stated before he was a fighter pilot. He cares about the rest of the crew members and is generally seen as trustworthy by those around him.  What we saw in “Mirror Mirror” also supports the idea that Sulu is a good guy, mainly because in the Mirror verse, he is not. From my understanding, the Mirror realm is where everything is the same, but the main characters were evil. This implies either a lot of things happening in the Mirror realm that led to people having vastly different morals or that the individual personalities and goals of the characters are swapped or moved around slightly. Realistically both probably occurred. Mirror Sulu is shown to be a bad person, he harasses women and torchers people who are below him in rank, although they did attempt to murder him. The characters, even when they are fully aware of how the people act in this world, are horrified and shocked over these actions. The normal Sulu would not take these actions, plus he’s gay. Although that doesn't mean that he would harass a woman.  Regardless, those just weren’t things that Sulu would do, which was why he was the one doing them in the Mirror realm. 

So why are these two friends? Well, a lot of their friendship is my own very liberal interpretation of the text. They interact as they are both helmsmen and sit next to each other when they have the same shift. Despite this, when Chekov is a major character in an episode, Sulu is typically either a minor character in the episode or not there at all and vice versa. In some episodes they also don’t have a lot of time to interact because they individually wouldn’t have a lot of time on screen individually. However, they do interact. One of the more well-known scenes the two share is from the episode “The Deadly Years”, where Chekov is forced to have a lot of physicals done on him and he is complaining about it to Sulu. He makes the remark “If I live long enough, I’m going to run out of samples to give” and Sulu responds with “You’ll live”. Chekov states that he will but he won’t enjoy it. They have a lot of chemistry in this short interaction, and it is one of the main things that convinced me that they are friends. The two would naturally spend a lot of time together because they work similar jobs. Although they wouldn’t always be on the same shift it is not unreasonable to assume that they would work together at least once or twice a week. It is also not unreasonable to assume that Krik or Spock would put people who get along with each other on the same shifts, it would make logical sense because it would lead to less infighting over irrelevant issues, and it would keep moral up. Unless two people distracted each other I don’t see why Kirk would purposely sperate people from their friends. Furthermore, both Kirk and Spock would be well aware of how important it is for people to care about each other. 

Having people who you care about and who care about you would make space travel and any type of work much more enjoyable, easy, and safe. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy obviously care about each other and regardless of how it is interpreted Kirk and Spock clearly love each other. A lot of what motivates people is interpersonal relationships, and it would make sense to put people who like working together, together. That unnecessary tangent aside, it has been proven that just being around a person more can increase affection towards that person. People like and trust those who they are familiar with more than the people who they are not, even if both people are strangers. Obviously, this can also work in reverse if one is annoyed with a certain person but that’s beside the point. We like things that we are familiar with, and that extends to people. So, it would not be unreasonable to assume that Chekov and Sulu would have built up some sort of repour with each other over the course of the second season of the show. Chekov also openly complains to Sulu in an incredibly casual way, and Sulu responds similarly. Although they both are generally seen as friendly, in this particular scene it is taken to a much higher level than would be normal. The two personalities aren’t necessarily contradictory or opposites, but they are clearly different. Chekov is younger, impulsive, and much more unprofessional. However most of the time when he does interact with people of higher ranks he is professional. He will make an occasional joke, but it isn’t a constant thing. Sulu, although not as professional as say, Spock, takes his work seriously and won’t make jokes during debriefings. If the two were to be put in more situations together they could easily work well together and balance the other one out. It is not hard to imagine the two running into trouble on the enterprise that get increasingly more ridiculous.  

All of that is hypothetical, which is my main problem. I have made up most of this friendship in my head and I have spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about this thing that is not real. I often find myself liking random background characters for little to no reason apart from them having one line that I thought was funny or a few scenes that I thought were interesting. The main reason why I like Generation One Bumblebee was because it was mentioned in an episode that he was “late again”. It didn’t add anything to the story or further the plot, but it did give a small amount of character to Bumblebee and gave some insight into how the characters interact with each other. The normal length of a Star Trek episode for TOS is 50 minutes, which gives a lot of time for the characters to interact and have these small moments. The scene of Chekov complaining about all the medical tests served to show his youth in a sense. His complaints were likely meant to come off as childish and overdramatic. I am assuming that they weren’t drawing enough blood to fill one of those blood donation bags but he had done at least three physicals and two of those were back-to-back, so his complaints probably were somewhat reasonable. When Scotty was left in charge of the Enterprise during the events of ‘Friday’s Child’, Chekov makes a “thing that was definitely not made in Russia was made in Russia” joke. When Sulu and Scotty look confused, Chekov just smiles and Sulu also smiles, whereas Scotty just looks a bit annoyed with the comment. They also have a small conversation in “Amok Time” when Sulu asks what Chekov thinks about the current traveling situation. Chekov responds with a joke. The two also complain about how indecisive the commanders are being about where they are traveling. These scenes that show them making jokes together as they work make me think that they would spend time with each other outside of when they were required to work together. They make jokes with each other and don’t really get annoyed the way that the others do. In the epiosode where the enterprise is given a supercomputer that could very well replace them it is implied that both Chekov and Sulu dislike it. When Kirk tells Chekov to plot a course back to a star base Sulu is very happy and the two joke a bit and are smiling. There is also another episode where the two are very physically close to each other. I believe that Sulu was helping Chekov track something. Although two characters being physically close to each other does not automatically mean that the characters are close friends, it does say something about their relationship. They both feel comfortable enough to be working closely on a high stress project. In fact, it almost seems to make them calmer. This could also have just represented Sulu’s anxiety around the current situation, but it could also imply that the two are friends.

 But what is the actual appeal to the idea of their friendship? For me, the idea that two background characters who get enough screen time to not be completely obscure but not enough screen time to be considered a main character could have a friendship that just existed without being connected to a main character is cool. 50 minutes is a lot of time for the characters to just interact and any filler that has Chekov and Sulu together only strengthens my belief that they are best friends. If both of them are included in the episode, stay on the ship, and have at least a supporting role in the A or B plot then they will probably exchange funny looks or have a short conversation. Chekov, as a character, was meant to fill three main rolls, he needed to be Russian, he needed to be the appeal for teenage girls, and he was typically the comic relief character that was also the almost redshirt. Sulu also is sometimes placed in the ‘almost red shirt’ category. The audience knows and cares about him but he isn’t a main character. The writers will not kill off Spock, Kirk, or Bones. Scotty and Uhura also have a good amount of plot armor. Sulu and Chekov both have plot armor, but they aren’t integral to the ship functioning. There is more than one navigator and helmsman. They can be replaced, and they work in shifts. The main thing that separates them from a sacrificial security guard or science officer is that they have had their names for more than one episode. They are reoccurring background characters that the audience cares for, but they are not unkillable. Will they die? Probably not and it definitely wouldn’t be in the same way that your average red shirt would, but they could. The main way the writers can establish a thing as a threat or something we as the audience should be worried about is by having one of these ‘almost red shirts’ be impacted by it. They won’t die but they will be mind controlled or put in harm’s way. 

They are in no position of power and just have to deal with the consequences of the commanders’ actions in a way that is different from the actual people in power. Kirk goes to a planet and discovers that someone has contracted a disease, Spock, McCoy, and Kirk would be in charge of actually fixing the situation, but characters like Sulu and Chekov don’t actively work on solving the problem. In “Amok Time” they are shown to be changing the courses when Kirk goes back and forth on the Vulcan issue, but they aren’t the ones who are actually deciding what they should do. Kirk will ask Chekov a question about a navigation specific problem, but Chekov isn’t the one in charge of if or not they will go through with the plan; he is just there to give advice. They are both annoyed by how indecisive Captain Kirk was being in ‘Amok Time’ and although they will complain amongst themselves, they will never take their grievances to him directly. Nor will Kirk ask what they think about the situation because they are not the people who would know or care that much about the issue. This makes them resemble coworkers who are friends who must deal with their boss’s antics. We don’t focus on the people who do everyday jobs on the Enterprise because that is boring when compared to the adventures that Captain Kirk and Spock would go on. We still watch people do their everyday job, but what makes it interesting and fun is the setting and characters. For a show like “The Office” to work the characters need to be funny or entertaining. The main reason why people watch TV is because they want to escape from the monotony and stress of day-to-day life. If “The Office” was just about people working a typical office job, then it wouldn’t have as large of an audience because it would be boring. We wouldn’t want to have a boss like whoever the boss is in The Office (I’ve watched one episode of the office I don’t know how bad the guy is but from the clips I’ve seen all of these characters seem like the type you’d want to avoid having to spend long periods of time with) or be put in life threatening situations, but these are fake. They didn’t happen in real life and a lot of the absurdity is funny because of that. It would be much more interesting to watch the main three, and that’s why the show is heavily focused on them. However, the idea of Chekov and Sulu is funny. It may not be enough to fill a 50-minute block of TV or even a 22-minute one, but it does make for potentially humorous situations. These stories and situations would not have a large impact on anything, but the idea that they happen or could happen makes the world feel more real and a bit more fun.  Although they might not interact a lot in the original show the movies do present evidnce that they are friends. When the crew is given shore leave, Chekov and Sulu spend that time together. They get lost in Yellowstone together and the idea of them being friends is much closer to cannon than it ever was in the original show. The argument was never if or not they were friends, it was why this hypothetical relationship was good and entertaining. I personally find both characters endearing and I think that they would be friends based off of how they interact in the text. Their general personalities also serve to complement each other, Sulu is much more laid back and thoughtful whereas Chekov is impulsive and doesn’t really take things seriously, his inexperience is obvious, and he is easily startled. Sulu has been on the Enterprise much longer than Chekov and he is more used to the universe constantly trying to kill them.

  

Ultimately, both Chekov and Sulu are background characters in a show from the 60s’. What they did, their thoughts and feelings on certain matters, and individual thoughts do not matter to the narrative. They serve to fill up the world and make it seem less empty and less like the writers couldn’t be bothered to make characters to fill the roles that they fill. The conversations that they have are mostly just filler and have little substance. That, however, is a boring explanation and much less fun. It is fun to imagine these characters being friends, it’s fun to overanalyze everything that they say and do, and it’s fun to make up your own little stories for characters you enjoy. A shallow character or a shallow story can still have an impact on people because they can add depth to it. Star Trek is neither a shallow story nor does it only have shallow characters, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still fun to make stuff up. The world of Star Trek is a sandbox world, there is an unlimited number of stories a person can tell. Star Trek is one of the earliest series that had fan works that were actively labeled as such and it’s not hard to see why. Many characters are charming and have a lot of chemistry with each other. The show generates creativity and wants the viewer to think. And I did that. I thought 4k poorly worded words into existence that you managed to read. Good job!

[theeccentricraven]

OC Origins

Thank you @kaylinalexanderbooks for the tag! This is an especially fun one.

Rules: talk about the origins of the names and personalities (and maybe even the design?) of a couple of your OCs!

From The Blood Cleaners

Justin

When I got the idea for The Blood Cleaners back in 2006, I knew early on that I wanted a male protagonist. He was largely inspired by Jonas of Lois Lowry’s The Giver and Equality 7-2521 of Ayn Rand’s Anthem. Like them, he would be determined to stand up to the status quo to choose his own life. I imagined he would be determined for justice, both justice for himself and justice for the people around him, hence the name Justin fitted him perfectly. It was even more fitting when I later met a new friend named Justen who reminded me a lot of my own Justin with his determination to defend liberty and live his life with purpose. 

It took a long time to come up with Justin’s appearance and age. Originally I just imagined a dark-haired boy. As I developed the dystopian world of Corpa - a completely self-sufficient city - I knew I needed a place where it would be realistic to have quarries and mines. I picked Arizona as a location (though I did take some liberty to craft a fictional location). I then felt it would make sense for most of the population to be of Hispanic descent and have brown skin. Latin-American culture matters a lot to me since I studied Spanish for years, love the culture, have many friends of Hispanic heritage, and have nieces and nephews with Latino ancestry, too. I thought it would make sense for the nuclear war apocalypse to create a bottleneck in the population, hence the survivors would mostly be people of color and so their descendants also would be. Ultimately, I decided to have Chapter 1 begin with Justin at age 8 when he makes the two key discoveries that serve as the inciting incidents of the two main plotlines, and then the rest of the story would be about Justin at age sixteen. The age made sense since sixteen makes more sense to begin an occupation rather than twelve, and because the content and subject material of the book should be reserved for readers sixteen and up (age of the character often represents the ideal age of the reader). 

So that’s how I made sixteen year old brown skinned, black haired Justin who is determined to fight for his freedom.

Joselyn

Originally I thought Justin’s only love interest would be Clarice (I’ll tell her story in a future post). Clarice is one of the children of the Fists - the government and ruling class of Corpa - who lives in the Steel Castle. Justin would meet Clarice after earning the privilege to work in the Steel. The problem was that she would be absent for much of the story. For Justin to get to work in the Steel, he would have to first go through the training, the torturous transformation, work as a blood cleaner for a while, and slowly discover his telekinetic powers. This would be a lot without a love interest. When I started the revival process for The Blood Cleaners last year, I put behind a lot of years of regret for not writing. Not knowing how many books I would get to write for the rest of my life, I wanted to cover what I would regret not doing. For a long time, I wanted to have a story where two characters bump into each other after running around a corner. I wanted it to be a type of “meet cute”. I gradually came up with the idea of having Justin at age eight unwittingly bump into his  future love interest when they were chased by two separate groups of people. This allowed for Chapter 1 to start with the inciting incidents for two of the major plotlines. First inciting incident was when Justin discovered the secret note. Second inciting incident was him running into Joselyn, beginning their romance plotline. I named Joselyn after Jocelyn of the film A Knight’s Tale. I used S instead of C to make them different.

I wanted to make Joselyn and Justin be parallels and opposites. Unlike him, she lives on the surface, not underground. Like him, she’s one of the common people as she lives on a farm. I did this partly for world development, since I wanted to show how the farms played a part in the self-sufficient city. I also made her be a Spanish speaker, since Corpa has a good deal of English and Spanish speakers. I describe Justin and Joselyn having similar features with brown skin and black hair, though they are not related (thank heavens!). They have a familiar ancestry, as Justin’s late father was also a commoner on the surface. Joselyn’s farmgirl characteristics might have had some influence from the love interest in Anthem, Liberty 5-3000. I make it clear that Joselyn is a capable girl, not a vulnerable damsel in distress. She has similar beliefs as Justin, though she’s more outspoken, no concern for how speaking her mind could threaten her life. She’s good at taking charge, though she begins with self-esteem struggles. I don’t like the way that the media has a tendency to either portray a smart female character who needs to deal with the dumb guy getting in her way or to portray a dumb female who needs a smart guy to rescue her. I defied the tropes by having Justin be a constant support for Joselyn, helping her get out of a rut, not in a way that shows he’s capable and she’s incapable, but that they are both capable and need support from each other.  

I knew from the beginning that this meant there would be a love triangle because I did not want to cut Clarice - she plays a vital role in the story. I like having the love triangle be different from the usual love triangle tropes. I’ve observed that most love triangles are a girl choosing between two guys. When a love triangle is between a guy and two girls, the girls will often be nasty and the guy will be a jerk. I wanted my love triangle to be more innocent, in which both of the girls are worthy of and need to be loved. Justin never meant harm, as it happened because he didn’t want to hurt either Joselyn or Clarice and he genuinely fell in love with both of them. I won’t give away too much, but can say Justin will regret the heartbreak when it happens. As with any love triangle, a choice must be made, but I won’t give that away. 

Other Posts on Justin: here here

Other Posts on Joselyn: here here

Tagging (no pressure): @katenewmanwrites @willtheweaver @buffythevampirelover @winterandwords @addicted2coke-theothercoke @evilgabe29 @spitefulbull @tildeathiwillwrite and open!

[athingofvikings]

A Thing Of Vikings Chapter 127: Bonds Of Many Forms

Chapter 127: Bonds Of Many Forms

Another less salutary aspect of both human and draconic societies was that both of them made use of forced labor by members of their own species as a direct result of social stratification. While humanity’s more intricate social structures allowed for more sophistication in the forms of unfree labor they used, ranging from direct chattel slavery to bonded labor, serfdom, forced marriage, and more across the vast majority of historical human civilizations in every inhabited region, dragons likewise made use of unwilling labor by their fellows. Thengills routinely required significant ‘rents’ in the form of food and other services to allow access to nesting sites, such as forcing dragons with significant adaptations towards tunneling and digging to expand the volume of the nest, despite the personal risks of entombment or asphyxiation, along with other abuses such as forced matings and brood parasitism.

Resultingly, it is generally seen as an inevitability that, following the Norse alliance with dragons as equal partners backing an ideological opposition to exploited labor, oppositional groups quickly arose based around humans exploiting dragons and, in mirror, dragons exploiting humans. After all, they were already used to exploiting their own species and extending that exploitation was a natural outgrowth.

—The Dragon Millennium, Manna-hata University Press Ltd.

AO3 Chapter Link

~~~

My Original Fiction | Original Fiction Patreon

[aeternallis]

Your recent post reminded me of what has been bothering me for a while about the portrayal of the Kimchay dynamic in the fandom. I love reading fic about these two, but in most fics nowadays I cannot even recognize the characters I came to know and love when I watched the show. It’s like they bear the name of Kim and Chay but act nothing like them😅 People are of course allowed to write characters any way they want (after all, it’s not that serious, fandom is supposed to be fun:D), but I think this is the first time I’m in a fandom where the fanon characterization has overthrown the canon characterization so completely. The prevalence of submissive!Kim and Dom!Chay just throws me off, when the characters are nothing like that in the show (actually it’s quite the opposite lol). When the show aired and until around mid-2023 the majority of fic etc. portrayed Kimchay pretty accurately with only the odd mischaracterizatiok here and there, but after that? It’s like the fandom collectively decided to throw canon out the window XD.

These days I’m just living by the ”don’t like,don’t read” philosophy, which unfortunately means I have to clock out of 80% of Kimchay fic lol. I see something like ”Kim whimpered” and am like ”nope, he would not” and then yeet myself out:D

Hello, thank you for your message!

Meh. The idea of fanon characterization overthrowing canon though isn’t unique to the KPTS fandom, yknow? I feel like most fandoms face that inevitability as we get further away from the date of original release. Having said that however, I would actually disagree with you, nonnie. XD Politely, of course!

It’s just that…I’m not necessarily sure fanon characterization has overthrown canon completely, or if it’s more along the lines that those who like the fanon characterization just tend to be a lot louder, especially on this site. It’s harder to discern people’s true opinions on here, not necessarily for lack of communication, but more along the lines of iffy communication due to knee-jerk reactions, imo. And again, that’s not just the KPTS / Kimchay fandom in general, I feel like that’s how it is for most fandoms that have some community over here that’s still alive and kicking.

In any fandom, there will always be people who take certain opinions a lot more personally over others due to their own emotional attachments over the fictional characters in question, and that just inevitably makes communication (as in, actual discussion and engagement)…not worth it. At least, not to me, haha!

Fandom is supposed to be fun, but let's be real nonnie, for a lot of people, it's more than just fun: for a lot of us, it's an escape from our day-to-day lives, a place to engage freely in a piece of media that we otherwise wouldn't have in RL.

Furthermore, canon vs fanon in terms of what that means to an English-speaking majority fandom community and as it relates to a non-western piece of media is…honestly, all kinds of landmines to talk about, if you know what I mean. A lot (not all, of course, but a significant chunk of them) of fanon specific to KPTS and Kimchay are due to ignorance of the cultural context, as well as certain ideas gaining traction, because of the western lens it’s viewed through.

Not to mention, the cringe habit of mixing up actors and their characters, but that’s a different conversation all together.  

At the end of the day, I say be the change you want to be, nonnie~ If you don’t like fanon, say it loud and proud! I’m ngl, I certainly don’t!

All opinions in regards to any and all fictional characters ought to exist equally on this hellsite, and that should be the end of it! :3  

[rpgsandbox]

Our Brilliant Ruin��is a tabletop roleplaying game set in the Dramark, a place where the last fragile remains of society live in the shadow of a dying world. The Ruin, a preternatural force befouling everything it touches, has ravaged geography and culture alike, wreaking destructive havoc and loosing monstrous creatures into a previously bucolic region. With the world plunged into rust and ruin, how will you spend the time you have left?

Our Brilliant Ruin explores human drama and personal intrigue in an elitist, class-based society unraveling after catastrophe. With aesthetics and technology inspired by England’s Edwardian Era and France’s Belle Époque, the Dramark is a fictional world that draws from the Art Nouveau and Art Deco movements.    

This land of Ruin has no government, no sense of national identity, and no conventional law. Society coasts toward an irreversible demise, guided by the customs of communities whose residents felt betrayed by what law came to represent. They have since broken into three broad factions – the aristocrats, the truefolk, and the unbonded. 

Aristocrats lay claim to the evolving legacy of an obsolete society. Truefolk make the world go ‘round, doing the myriad tasks that keep the Dramark functioning. And unbonded seek to tear down the social order forming communities based on personal beliefs and agendas. 

A character can be from any of these factions, each with their own advantages to leverage during gameplay. 

Within each of these diverse social factions also exist families and guilds that further give players more ways to realize their characters. From the wealthy Galdeparks and industrious Daras to the academics of Crown Hall College and hospitality experts in the League of Glove and Key, a character can belong to any of these ten different sub-factions, offering opportunities for rivalries, alliances, and romances. 

Meanwhile, the Ruin alters the very physiology of things, causing flora to sprout into mutated deathtraps, animals to grow hideous appendages, and humans to transform into monstrosities. The Ruin also clings to metal, corroding and destroying it, leaving the people all the more vulnerable to the creatures it spawns. The Ruin’s ultimate contamination of the entire Dramark isn’t a question of if, but when. 

The Ruin is part of the world, a preternatural force the Dramark must cope with, and one that will eventually blight everything. Some inhabitants face the Ruin head on, trying to hold it back with fire or alcohol (the only known means of destruction), but many realize efforts to eliminate it are a zero-sum game. Instead, they devote themselves to their passions, relationships, and social obligations rather than futile opposition against an inevitable end. 

The final puzzle piece of the world is the syllokinetics, machines built by the previous Royal families whose secrets are lost to time. The massive, syllokinetic engines once held the promise of an automated future in which workers would no longer have to mine, quarry, or farm. But with the erosion of time and Ruin, these syllokinetics now operate without anyone guiding them. While some may still perform their intended purpose, others have malfunctioned, collapsed, or gone completely out of control.

Our Brilliant Ruin uses an original system of dice pools driven by a character’s emotions and motivations. The gamemaster guides the narrative as in most roleplaying games, but only the players roll dice. When making a test, a player chooses a personality attribute and a skill attribute to create a ‘pool’ of d6 equal to the combined value. On a dice-roll test, each 6 is a “brill” and each 1 is a “gloom.”  

If the test has more brills than glooms, the attempt succeeds. If a test has no brills or glooms, the attempt is unsuccessful. If glooms exceed the brills, a catastrophe occurs. 

Players can use any personality and skill combination in a situation if it makes sense in the narrative. An attack motivated by jealousy could be Obsession + Fight or discovering your best friend is hiding a dangerous secret might be Benevolence + Intuit. 

Player characters can also call upon their Portfolios, extrinsic features like money they possess, favors they’re owed, guest lists they’re on, or a patron intervening on their behalf. Portfolio always works; you don’t have to test it. But someone else can always outspend you if it is that important to them... 

To gain an edge on a test, a player can invoke a Passion – a limited resource that adds two dice to their test lowers the threshold of success to 5 and 6. This can tilt a situation in the player’s favor. However, drawing upon one’s Passion can lead to a crisis down the road. Eventually, the costs of invoking Passion come due: When Passion reaches its tipping point, it’ll complicate the dice pool for tests, adding a number of dice that have only glooms. 

The game focuses on the relationships and drama of class-based society and the balance between the “haves” and “have-nots.” Passion drives everyone’s choices during this time of upheaval and Ruin. Secret trysts, hidden agendas, political backstabbing, social intrigue, and class conflict are major pillars of the setting. Violence is also part of Our Brilliant Ruin, as well as opportunities for more intense delves into the Dramark’s vanishing history.  

We have a One-Page Overview you can download by clicking below. This PDF features a condensed version of the rules along with five pre-made characters to play with. Please remember this is preview material and the final layout design is not reflected here.  

Players also work together to develop their own estate as a base of operations for the group. They can make gradual improvements to their property, adding rooms, features, and defenses, to fully customize their experience with Our Brilliant Ruin. 

Investigate an abandoned mansion fallen into disrepair, attend a high-society ball while keeping your wits about you, or confront a deadly chimera that bears an unsettling resemblance to your missing lover. The world is an open book of possibilities… until it ends.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, March 28 2024 3:00 PM UTC +00:00

Website: [Studio Hermitage] [facebook] [twitter]

[kaysfanficcorner]

Out of This World Chapter 7: Stellar

Author’s Note: Well, here we are. From here on out this story is going to be SPICY. As we make our way into the events of season two, be ready for things to heat up considerably. I’m both nervous and thrilled to share this chapter with you, so please be kind and above all else ENJOY! My use of Mando’a is about to ramp up as well, and I’ve attempted to to give definitions within the story itself, but if I use any words you aren’t familiar with feel free to ask me about it. As always, if you want to join the Taglist please let me know!

Jate - Good Ca - Night Elek - Yes Ad - Son

Summary: As we make our way into the events of season two, things between the Mandalorian and the Earthling start to really heat up.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Light action violence, Nudity, Graphic depictions of sex. SMUT AND FLUFF ABOUND 🌶️

If you are under the age of 18 you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration

We Might Even Be Falling In Love - Themes inspired

Music Inspiration

Stellar - Title inspired by, themes inspired

AO3

Original OOTW Fanart by Justin Wood (at the end)

*****

Life back on the Razor Crest feels incredibly strange after all that has changed. You feel like a different version of yourself when you once again climb the ramp to the ship you now openly consider to be your home. You’d left it feeling like a shell of a person after killing Ranik and now you’re returning with a stronger disposition, determined to become a warrior in your own right. Determined to feel like you can pull your weight around the ship as an equal to the Mandalorian. You’d also left the Razor Crest completely unsure of where you and Din stood with each other. The mild flirting and signals here or there had been maddening, and now the two of you are closer than you were before. Which is maddening for entirely different reasons. 

You’re so happy to be reunited with your cat that you spend a good ten minutes carrying her around the ship, until she gets restless enough to pry herself from your arms. Jupiter is thrilled in her own feline way to have everyone back on board, and the kid is just as thrilled to be back home with her. Similarly to yourself, the little green child won’t leave her alone for the first few days out in space. 

On the second day after Nevarro, you even walk in on the kid using his powers to grab at Jupiter’s tail from a few feet away. Every time the poor orange feline meows and tries to whip around to slash at an assailant that isn’t actually there, the kid giggles. You’d scooped him up and giggle too, before booping him on the nose and lightly telling him he shouldn’t use his powers to mess with people or animals. 

The Space RV is pretty much just how it had been left, save for the little tune ups here and there that were ordered. Being back on board is both a comfort to you, and a frustration. Frustration eventually evolves into aggravation, and it isn’t until a few weeks have gone by that you come to terms with why you’re so fucking irritable all the sudden. 

It’s Din.

You came back to the Razor Crest assuming that things were going to continue to feel the way that they had on Nevarro, that Din would continue you dote on you with the soft side of his personality that is only ever meant for you or the kid to experience. Somehow what you end up getting from your cosmic companion is the complete opposite. He’s not touchy feely anymore, and the words of affection have drifted from his tongue.

As the weeks drag on, you sincerely miss the inn on Nevarro. Comfortable bed aside, now that you’re home on the Space RV, you and Din no longer sleep next to one another. It’s back to taking turns in the cot. You’d gotten used to the feeling of your bodies intertwining as you both drifted off to sleep, and it’s hard for you to find comfort in your nightly rest without it. Sometimes he’d spoon you, others you’d been the one holding him. If you had to choose a favorite position, holding Din while he fell asleep would hands down be the winner. Feeling his body relax against you, limbs twitching here and there as his mind switches over from consciousness to unconsciousness, is something you’d come to treasure by the end of the week long stay on your beloved lava planet. 

As upset as you are that you’re not going to be able to sleep next to Din like that any time soon, you’re even more upset that you never got around to sleeping with Din while having such a luxurious bed at your disposal. With the kid around there was just never a good time to try again. 

Being home, it’s painfully obvious that there aren’t a ton of comfortable places to have a sexual encounter on the Crest. Declarations of mutual attraction and a week of fluffy little moments had been absolutely lovely, but you’re dying to consummate whatever this is between the two of you. Wondering when or if a good time for it will ever present itself is making you extremely antsy, and its becoming impossible to hold it in around the increasingly grumpier Din Djarin you find yourself stuck with. It’s driving you nuts, to the point where now you’re just getting pissed off about it.

Perhaps he’s dealing with similar frustrations about what’s going on between you. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s got your makeshift family on a wild goose chase to drop off one of it’s members with complete strangers. More than likely, as it is with yourself, its a combination of the two things. 

You’re perfectly aware that aside from the issues going on between the adults, a part of your heart shatters every single time you share a loving moment of fondness with the child. That being said, your only goal in regards to the little foundling is to love him and enjoy your remaining time together. 

Which is one of the reasons why, today, you’re so pissed off at Din that you could punch that fucking helmet off of his head and risk breaking your own hand in the process. It’s as if he’s actively trying not to enjoy his time with anyone. 

The Razor Crest is parked at a star port for a quick refuel, and so you insist that loading up on some more food and supplies for the cat is a necessity. Din just seems completely irritated with you when you suggest this, and it’s all you can do not to snap at him. 

With a huff you tell him, “I’ll just go take care of it myself, you don’t have to come.” 

“Absolutely not,” he counters, arms crossed over his chest. 

You roll your eyes so hard that you nearly pull an ocular muscle. “Okay, then come on. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can get back on the road.”

“Fine,” Din agrees, voice dripping with animosity.

Between you, the child can sense your friction and his ears are casting downward as he frowns. He clearly dislikes his humans being snippy with one another.  You sense this, so you scoop him up into your arms and begin walking down the ramp. 

“Shouldn’t we use the pram?” Din asks, watching the two of you walk off. 

You call over your shoulder, “Screw the pram. Just come on.” 

And so you’re forced to shop for food with an uninterested, grumpy Mandalorian hovering over your shoulder and you feel as if you’re going to explode at any minute. Fighting with Din is the last thing you want, but if you aren’t able to have a conversation with him about what his problem is you’re afraid it’s going to come to that sooner rather than later.

What you really don’t understand is why a conversation hasn’t been had already. Aside from that first awkward month of living together, the communication between yourself and Din has been pretty good up to this point. Why it feels like you suddenly can’t approach him, you do not know. It’s starting to make your fight or flight instincts want to kick in, reminding you of what it felt like to constantly be on edge around your toxic family. Din is far from toxic, but it triggers you nonetheless.

So you try your hardest to ignore him, juggling the baby on one hip as you look at he various foods before you. The shop on the star port is small, and much like gas stations on the side of big highways back on Earth, the food seems both overpriced and unhealthy compared to the various fresh markets you’ve been to. 

“Would your son like a free sample?” A voice suddenly catches your attention.

You look up from the vegetables to see an attractive young human man behind the counter. His dark skin is in contrast from his white hair and light blue eyes, and he’s dressed very plainly. A kind simile graces his features as he holds out what looks like a fried frog leg on a stick towards the baby, who is in turn grasping for it hungrily. 

“What? Oh,” you hear yourself still sounding on edge so you try to force your voice to become pleasant with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Uh, yes thank you. He’s constantly hungry so I can’t say no to free food.” 

“Here you go little fella,” the man says, smiling down at the kid as he hands it to him. “You have a beautiful family, ma’am.”

The compliment causes your chest to swell and you squeeze the kid tighter. Just as you’re about to say thank you and move on, the man speaks again.

“What’s his name?” 

Then the tightness in your chest drops down into your stomach, a feeling of dread washing over you. How fucking embarrassing, even though it’s no one’s fault that neither you nor Din know the kid’s actual name. You fumble around for a quick answer, “Oh, well you know how it is with babies. He’s got a ton of nicknames. We hardly ever call him his real name because I can’t stop calling him ‘Green Bean’ at the moment.”

The man laughs, throwing his head back a little. “Oh, I get it. My wife can’t stop calling our little one ‘chubby cheeks.’ I keep telling her it’s going to give the kid a complex but she doesn’t listen.” He looks past you to where Din is standing behind and to your right side, “I’m sure you can relate, sir.�� 

You look back to Din, making a face that hopefully reads as “just play along”. The beskar helmet looks at you for a long moment, his shoulders squaring. Eventually he looks to the vendor with a shrug, “I try not to fight her on much.”

You can’t help but feel that his statement was directed at you just as much as the vendor, hoping that this is him making an attempt to address the misplaced bitterness between you. If it is, his timing really does suck. The kid is already done with his frog leg, so you take the pointy stick from him before he accidentally pokes himself.

With another laugh, the kind vendor nods his head, “I should try that with my wife and see if it gets me out of trouble more often.” The man reaches below the counter and pulls out another of the free samples. “Here, have another leg for Green Bean. On the house.” 

“Thank you,” you say, smiling brightly at the man. As annoyed as you had been when you entered the shop, having a friendly human encounter has helped to liven you up a little. You look down at the child in your arms, jerking your head towards the man. “Say bye, Green Bean.” 

The kid complies, ears shifting as he looks to the man with a big smile on his tiny mouth. He gurgles and makes a few noises, using his free hand to wave up at the nice man. 

You make a few more purchases, including more protein packs for Jupiter, and when you have everything on your list you inform Din and the child that it’s time to head back to the ship. Once the group is no longer around other people in the sanctity of the Razor Crest, you look down at the baby on your hip and lift him up so that you can kiss him on the head. “I wish we knew your real name, buddy. Sorry we have to call you ‘Green Bean’ or ‘the kid’ all the time.”

Din walks up beside you and speaks in a low voice. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” his tone is sharp. 

Great, you think sarcastically. With a sigh, you stop what you’re doing and turn to look up at him. “Do what, Din?” 

“Pretend that we’re his parents,” he says flatly, irritation floating just bellow the surface.

“I didn’t feel like explaining the real situation to that guy,” you offer lamely. 

“You could have just declined his offer and moved on.”

“The kid was hungry.” 

“You enjoyed it when that man called him your son,” Din’s voice sounds like it’s on the edge of control.

“Oh my God,” you groan with frustration, “yes! Okay? I did. Is that such a crime? I’ve practically been his foster mother for months. And like it or not you’ve been his foster father for much longer than that. I love him as if he was mine, and I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“It is irresponsible,” Din quietly seethes, you can practically hear his jaw clenching under the helmet.

“What is?” It’s all you can do not to raise your voice, “Giving him a home full of love? Letting him be a child?”

The kid makes a sad little noise between you and you both stop to look down at his distressed face. A feeling of guilt arises in your chest, having never wanted to make the kid feel as uncomfortable as you did when your own parents would fight in your presence.

“We shouldn’t do this in front of him,” Din finally says after a long moment of silence. He reaches out to touch one of the child’s downcast ears. The kid is clearly upset. “It’s okay, pal. We aren’t fighting.” 

You drop your voice even lower as your eyes fill with tears. “We kind of are, Din. I hate this. Why are we being so cold towards each other? This isn’t us. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

He sighs heavily, “You’re right. This isn’t us. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” you move closer to him, grabbing one of his gloved hands. “But I’m not sorry for how I treat this child. What if we take him to these Jedi people and they aren’t who we think they are? Or what if they are great, but the kid still doesn’t like it? Don’t you want him to know that he has a place to come back to where he is loved?”

“I…” Din seems to falter for a second before dipping his head towards his foster son, “Yes. I want him to know that. I want you to know that, buddy. ” 

You squeeze his hand tighter, looking into the visor as you speak. “Think about us, what our childhoods looked like. We didn’t get to enjoy being kids for very long. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I was denying him the right to actually be a child while he’s in my care. I realize that when we do find the Jedi, its going to be extremely hard on all of us. And I realize that the more attached we get to each other, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye. I know that this is going to be especially hard on you as the one who’s been caring for him the longest, but pretending that you don’t have feelings wrapped up in this isn’t going to make it any easier. We owe to to him as well as ourselves to treat him with love. Is he not an integral member of your two person clan?”

“It’s already hard,” Din says, voice choked, “I am going to miss him.” 

“I’m going to miss him too,” you agree, misty eyes threatening to boil over as you cradle the child between the two of you. Din places a hand to the back of his tiny head so that you are both holding him. “But as long as he knows he can always be a part Clan Mudhorn, we may not have to miss him forever.” 

Din seems to agree with this, gently touching his beskar forehead to the child’s fleshy one as he speaks to him in Mando’a. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner ad.”

You’ve been studying very basic phrases, numbers, and the Mando’a alphabet since leaving Nevarro, but what Din just said is almost completely lost on you. Not wanting to break from this tender moment, you decide that asking for a definition can wait until later. Instead you snuggle into the small group embrace, whispering to the green child that you love him dearly. 

“It’s nice to have you back,” you tell your Mandalorian after he lifts up to pull apart from you. His body language is more akin to the Din you know, less stiff.

“Thank you for reminding me to be here,” Din replies. 

You set the kid down between you, letting him waddle off to find Jupiter or something to mess with that he shouldn’t. You look at Din, opening your arms to offer him a real hug. “Still friends?” 

He nods, pulling your body against him, “Elek, ner burc’ya.”

Instead of responding with the word in basic, you decide to reply to him with the Mando’a word for good, “Jate. I am sorry for letting my bitchiness get the better of me. It was not easy to go from having you feel like my partner on Nevarro to unexpectedly getting the cold shoulder for over half a month.”

“I thought I needed to pull away,” Din confirms.

“Yeah, well next time you feel the urge to pull away can we try to talk about it first?”

“I will try,” he sighs, “I’m not good at this.”

“You were doing great on Nevarro. Real boyfriend material.” Cringing, you wish to hell that you hadn’t just said that last part. If this thing between the two of you does end up progressing even further, boyfriend is the absolute wrong term for a man like Din. It sounds so… Earthy.

Din squeezes you, “On Nevarro things didn’t feel real. It felt like time had stopped and all there was, was you, me, and the kid. I could have stayed there forever, and when I realized this it unsettled me.”

You can’t help but chuckle a little, “Aww, Din. You had the post-vacation blues. It happens to everyone, totally normal.”

“I did not care for it.” 

*****

A few more weeks go by and things between you and Din have improved considerably. He’s no longer shutting you out or acting cold, and the communication between you is more at the surface. 

Unfortunately, though, the two of you have still yet to take any measures to further your budding relationship along. Now that you’re no longer irritated with him, you really just wish that you could fuck him already. It’s getting to the point where it’s actively a problem. 

Din seems to be able to tell that something is up with you, because he eventually calls you out on it when the two of you are practicing with whipchord launchers on the lower deck of the ship. He’s begun training you on the various weapons that a Mandalorian considers to be essential, and up until now you’ve been incredibly enthusiastic. Even though a lot of what he’s trying to teach you does not come naturally, and most days you end up both exhausted and vexed, you approach every one of his lessons with respect.

Today, however, all the fervor has drained from you. The whipchord launcher seems impossible to use, and Din’s so fucking mesmerizing that you you could care less about weaponry. Watching him move so effortlessly to shoot his whipchord at the makeshift dummy he’d set up only serves to cause your mind to wander to lewd places. Horny and nonplused, your heart just isn’t in training and it must be obvious.

“What’s going on with you?” Din asks, stopping mid sentence when he figures out that you haven’t been listening. 

“Sorry, I’m just in a mood,” you explain with a half hearted shrug, “I swear I’m trying to pay attention.”

His shoulders soften a little as he looks you over, “Is it anything I can help with?” 

You stare at him for a long moment, knowing full well that the kid is within earshot only a few feet away. He’s curled up in the cot with his meerkat toy and his silver ball, watching you and his dad with huge eyes. Considering your words carefully, you say, “Actually you’re the only one who can help with this particular problem, but it’s most definitely not the right time to talk about this.”

Din follows your gaze to his foundling, then his silver head snaps back to you, “Oh.”

“I can’t help it that you’re really attractive and distracting,” you smirk a little, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watch him.

“Mm,” Din seems to consider his own words carefully before responding to you. “Tell you what, if you can master the whipchord while overcoming your distraction, I’ll let you jump the Razor Crest into hyperdrive by yourself. A warrior must learn to fight in spite of distractions, to purge them from the mind completely in the face of battle.” 

“Deal, Chrome Dome,” you agree with a grin. You’ve been practicing your flying almost daily, but he’s barley let you touch anything in the cockpit without his strict supervision.

And so you practice over and over again, listening to every word Din says to you. Each syllable you let soak in with respect, ignoring the fact that he now seems to be purposefully doing things to distract you. He keeps flexing as he shows you the controls or titling his head a certain way. Then you know he’s really trying to get under your skin when he comes up behind you to adjust the forearm holding the spare vambrace he’d given you, and he gently presses his slight bulge into your ass. 

Even though you can’t see his face, you know for a fact that he’s enjoying every moment of tormenting you. It’s all over his body language, which you’re getting increasingly better at reading. Who knew that Din Djarin has a wicked side. 

Eventually you’re able to successfully launch the chord at the dummy, watching as it wraps around it just the way Din showed you. You try to yank the thing forward and knock it onto its side, simulating the act of pulling an enemy to the ground in one fell swoop. But nothing happens, much to your shock and disappointment. As hard as you’re trying, you just can’t seem to get this right. 

“Ugh,” you groan.

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika,” your cosmic companion comforts, a hand on your shoulder as he peers down at you. You can see your frustration in the silver reflection. “You’ll get it eventually,” he adds. Obviously you have no idea what his face is doing behind the beskar barrier, yet for some reason you feel as if he’s looking at you fondly. 

You repeat this action until it’s almost coming naturally, and Din decides that he’s pleased with enough with your progress that he declares the training session to be over. After cleaning up and putting the dummy away, you both realize that the kid is napping in the cot. The two of you decide to leave him there as you climb up to the cockpit one at at time.

Once upstairs, you look to Din with a sigh, “Sorry about getting distracted earlier. I was definitely on edge.”

“You’re still on edge,” Din observes, “Your body is very tense.”  

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” you mumble, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist. “I miss sleeping next to you.”

Din’s arms find you, “I miss that as well. But I know that’s not where this tension is coming from. You’ve been like this for the last couple of days.” 

Cheeks flushing, you burry your head into his shoulder with a groan. “Am I that obvious?”

“You’ve been giving off signals,” the Mandalorian chuckles a little. “But I am not without tension of my own. I’m sorry that there hasn’t been a good moment for us to resume what we started on Nevarro.” 

“It’s no one’s fault,” you pull apart from him slightly to look right into the visor. “I think I’m just psyching myself out about it.”

“I don’t understand the phrase.”

“I just mean I’m overthinking it, and subsequently second guessing myself. I haven’t had a partner in almost three years, so I’m worried that I’m a little rusty in the sheets.”

Din scoffs a little, shaking his head, “I have similar worries. I have not… been with another in nearly ten cycles.”

“Fuck, that’s a long time,” you utter softly, wondering how uncomfortable this conversation is for him as he confesses this to you.

Din nods, voice wavering as he speaks, “It hasn’t been entirely up to chance that we have not moved forward. I have not pursued connection with another in so long. Worry of my own inadequacy has been on my mind, preventing me from pursuing you.”

Brow furrowing as you regard your very good friend and possible lover, you reach out to trail delicate fingers over the black visor of his silver helmet as if touching his brow. “Then let’s not rush this. It can happen when the timing feels right for the both of us.” 

The Mandalorian leans his head forward to knock lightly into yours, and a warm smile finds it’s way to your lips. No amount of Mandalorian head butts you receive from him are ever too much. 

“I know we had a deal but I’d still like to see you jump the ship by yourself. Do you remember what we went over when I last showed you the hyperdrive?” Din asks, lifting up to his full height again as he moves over to the pilot’s seat. 

You follow, coming to stand beside him as you look over the many lighted controls. “We talked about how to enter in jump coordinates into the navigational computer.” 

Din takes a seat, pulling you down with him so that you’re seated in his lap. “Correct. Do you think you can enter them in without my help?”

You nod, “Yeah, I think so.” 

It sounds like there is a smile riding the tone of his voice, “I want you to enter in these coordinates and jump us there.”

A little orange holographic display pops up from Din’s left vambrace, letters and numbers written in Mando’a. You can read some of it, but you squint at it for a moment before you turn your head to look at him. It’s taking most of your will power to ignore the feeling in your belly that stirs from being seated on his warm legs. His lap is comfortable, even with the hard beskar upon his thighs.

“I can only read some of that. I know there’s a x, a three, a four, and a nine.”

“You’ve been studying,” Din says fondly, switching the holograph over to basic so you can read it clearly. The basic alphabet is something you’d memorized with Cara prior to meeting your Mandalorian.

“Learning Mando’a is important to me,” you reply with equal fondness. Neither of you says anything else as you lean forward to begin entering in the coordinates into the computer. Din’s hands come to rest comfortably on your waist as you fumble a little bit with the typing, still not used to all of the symbols yet. Eventually you have the correct information inputed into the system, and then your hand lingers over the button which will jump the ship to those coordinates through hyperspace. You look back to Din and wait for him to give you the okay.

“Punch it, Cyar’ika.” 

The ship lurches forward as stars begin their dance all around your metal home, an incredible sense of pride washing over you. Successfully jumping the Razor Crest feels like such an achievement. 

When the jump is over in a few hours, Din helps you to bring the ship out of hyperspace. Now the kid is awake again and in his usual seat with Jupiter, so you’re seated in the pilot seat without the added cushion of one Din Djarin. The Mandalorian in question tells you that you’ve jumped the ship just outside the atmosphere of a planet on the outskirts of the outer rim, and that he’s brought all of you there so he can question a crime lord named Gor Koresh about where to find other Mandalorians. There have been rumors that Koresh is an underground beskar dealer, and Din thinks that he may have leads.

According to Din, if he can navigate through the various Mandalorian coverts scattered across the galaxy, then maybe he’ll have a better chance of finding a Jedi. Perhaps one of his own kind has information on where to find such a being. He’s made these Jedi people sound like literal space wizards when trying to explain it to you with what little knowledge he has on the subject, and if you weren’t sour about the fact that the purpose of finding one is to give them the kid, you’d probably be pretty excited to see what a space wizard looks like.

Din assists you in bringing the Razor Crest in for a landing, something you’re only starting to feel slightly comfortable doing, and then the two of you take the kid and the cat downstairs to discuss the plan. 

“Follow my lead,” Din says as he hands over your blaster. He also hands you the small dagger you’ve been practicing with and the old whipchord vambrace you’d used earlier. “Do not say anything that’ll get us into trouble, and above all else stay calm. There’s a good chance that this could turn into an ambush for my armor, so try your best to remain unperturbed if things go south.” 

You nod, holstering the blaster before strapping the vambrace to your forearm. This one isn’t made of beskar, but you still feel somewhat official adhering it to your person. You’re in your favorite outfit, and it helps to make you feel more confident about going on a mission at Din’s side. You stick the dagger into the side of your right boot, grinning up at Din once you’re done. “I’m starting to feel like a badass, getting to go with you to do cool Mandalorian shit.”

“Don’t get too cocky either,” Din adds, sounding amused.  

With the child in his pram, the three of you make your way out of the ship and into the crime ridden streets of the city’s grungy warehouse district. Every run down building is riddled with graffiti, and you know that nothing good must happen in a place like this. It’s all very Gotham City in a weird sci-fi kind of way. 

“Yeesh,” you mumble to yourself, eyes flicking around in every direction as your guard moves up on high alert. 

Din seems to be purposefully staying under the dim street lamps, and you realize why as you see a glimmer of red to your right. It occurs to you that what you’re seeing is several sets of glowing eyes watching you from deep within a dark alley. When you hear the faintest growl coming from that direction, you quickly pick up the pace in order to keep closer to Mando. 

Eventually you come to a stop where a male Twi’lek, as you’ve learned they are called, is working as the doorman for some sort of seedy looking establishment. Din tells him that your group is there to see Gor Koresh, and you’re surprised that the doorman moves to the side without much of a second thought. You’d assumed it was going to be much harder than that to get in.

You and the kid follow your Mandalorian into some sort of underground wrestling match, and you feel even more like you’re in a Batman comic as you take in your surroundings. Aliens of all shapes and sizes are packed into the space, screaming with fistfuls of drinks and paraphernalia as two green pig-like men fight each other in the large ring. The room is smoky, stinking of sweaty men, alcohol, and blood. A cacophony that only seems to get louder the further you tread into the crowd begins to hurt your ears, leaving you to hope that the kid’s big green ones are doing okay. You can only imagine how loud this may sound to him. 

Being in a place like this is slightly exhilarating in spite of the nerves you feel. It reminds you of the one time you went to Earth wrestling, or some of the really low rent EDM shows from back in your early twenties. Except on Earth when you had gone to watch wrestling it was old dudes with metal folding chairs, not green Pumba-looking aliens with battle axes. 

When your group comes upon a cyclops alien with an open seat on either side and group of goons surrounding him, you assume this must be Koresh. Din takes one of the seats beside him and motions for you to take the seat on the other side, the two of you surrounding the stout man. You try your best to ignore the lecherous stares from some of the other men around you, focusing on Din and the business he is here to conduct. 

“This is no place for a child,” Koresh says, causing Din to straighten slightly.

“Where I go, he goes,” Din replies cooly.

The two of them talk things over for a while, until Koresh mentions Din giving his beskar armor up in exchange for information about the other Mandalorians. It’s all you can do not to chime in with something snarky, but you remember what Din had told you about not getting them into trouble. It seems that trouble comes regardless though, when Din says that he’s not going to leave his fate up to chance and Koresh agrees by pulling out a blaster. He shoots one of the wrestlers dead before pointing the blaster right at Din’s unprotected neck. 

If he were to fire, Din would be dead in an instant. 

Keep calm. Trust him, your voice is whispering inside your head, which also has a blaster pointed to it. All of the goons surrounding Koresh have drawn a weapon and are now pointing it at either Din or yourself. Any patrons who are not involved begin to scream and scatter from the building. 

Koresh gives some small speech about how beskar has been rising in price and that he’s become quite fond of it, while threatening to peel the armor from Din’s corpse if he doesn’t give it up. You notice that Din is calmly arming his whistling birds, and the kid sees it too as he closes himself inside the pram. Then, Gor Koresh turns to you for the first time since you’d sat next to him and places a hand on your upper thigh. He’s dangerously close to snaking a hand between your legs, and still you remain calm.

He makes a lewd remark about how he’ll take you as well if Mando is willing to give up just some of the beskar, and Din’s voice never falters as he speaks to the crime lord with an even but forceful tone.

“Tell me where the Mandalorians are, and I’ll walk out of here without killing you.”

Koresh scoffs, “I thought you said you weren’t the gambler.”

“I’m not.”

And with that, Din’s whistling birds take down all of Koresh’s goons who’d had you both at blaster point. Both of you are up from your seats immediately, and you manage to dip down and dodge the oncoming blow from an alien directly behind you. For a second you think of Ranik’s death by your hand on Nar Shaddaa. Then when your body begins to freeze up you’re somehow able to purge the feeling of fear from your system and focus on the situation at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that Din has his hands full, but your not worried about him as you continue to move away from the man before you and his oncoming attacks. While you are crouched down to avoid a high kick, you pull the dagger from your boot and jam it into his thigh just above the knee.  Howling in pain, he falls to the ground as you yank your dagger from his thigh and begin to lift yourself up. He attempts to lunge at you again, so you run the blade along his wrist before standing to your full height to move away from him. 

Glancing to Din to make sure he’s still okay, you notice that Koresh is using the fight as a distraction and he’s waddling off towards the back of the arena. Without thinking twice, you take off after him. The rest of the goons are attacking Din, so you’re able to slip away quite easily. Koresh is shuffling as hard as he can but his little legs don’t get the portly man far, so you’re able easily to follow him out into the street. Huffing and puffing, Koresh looks back at you and shouts as you lift your right forearm. Aiming as much as you can with a moving target, you initiate your whipchord and watch with glee as it wraps around Koresh’s legs on the first try. The alien falls to the ground with a grunt and a thud.

“Oh shit,” you exclaim, holding the chord tight, “I did it!”

You can feel the presence of another coming up behind you, but before you can react to a possible attack Mando’s modulated voice is in your ears. Upon hearing your cosmic companion, your body relaxes a little. 

“You caught him?” he sounds completely amazed.

“Yeah, holy shit!” 

You observe as Din takes the chord from you and swings the end of it up over the light post above your head, pulling Koresh up until he’s hanging upside down in front of you. Din ties him off and then comes to stand before him as he pleads for Din to stop.

“Serves you right for tying to buy me, creep,” you shove at the alien, making him swing a little. 

“I’ll tell you where he is, but you must give me your word that you will not kill me,” Koresh pleads, panting. 

The Mandalorian steadies him and looks down into the one upside down eye as he speaks evenly, “I promise you will not die by my hand. Now where is the Mandalorian you know of?”

“Tatooine.”

“What?!” 

“The Mando I know of is on Tatooine!”

“I’ve spent much time on Tatooine, I’ve never seen a Mandalorian there.”

“My information is good, I tell you! The city of Mos Pelgo. I swear it by the Gatra.”

“Tatooine it is, then.”

Koresh starts screaming for Mando to cut him down as your friend simply motions to you that your group is leaving. The kid’s pram is floating just behind Din as he walks off so you turn to follow as well. When Koresh screams that he can’t be left like that, Din turns back to the little one eyed man with his blaster raised. 

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Din says cooly, and shoots the street light out. 

Koresh dangles there in the dark like a piece of meat, and you turn back for a moment to watch as he’s swarmed by those same red eyed creatures from the alley. You quickly spin around and catch up to Mando as the alien’s screams of agony echo behind you.

*****

“I’m going to put him down in the cot, I’ll be right back.” Din says, squeezing your shoulder with his free hand. The kid is sleeping in Din’s other arm and you just nod your head, on the verge of falling asleep yourself. 

Space RV is back in hyperspace and you’ve since cleaned yourself up from the fight in the arena. Dressed in comfortable clothes for sleeping, you feel almost cozy curled up in your blanket on the red leather seat. The Mandalorian only leaves you alone in the cockpit for a few minutes, and you start to nod off a little while he’s gone. But then he’s climbing the ladder again, his voice bringing you back to reality.

“Thank you for your help tonight,” he says, moving all the way into the small control room to join you. 

“You’re welcome,” you reply, throwing a sleepy little smile up his way. 

“The way you handled yourself was… exemplary. Taking the initiative to chase after Koresh, using the whipchord launcher just like we practiced. You kept calm even when we were being held at blasterpoint. I’m very proud of you, ner burc’ya.” 

As Din is saying all of this, showering you with compliments, he’s slowly dropping down to his knees in front of you. Positioning himself between your legs, Din’s tone of voice morphs into something akin to sultry, and he reaches a hand forward to cup your face. His gloves and most of his armor have been removed. 

“So fucking proud of you,” he says lowly, and your back straightens as his phrasing sobers you up from the sleepiness you’ve been feeling up to this point.

Din never uses that word in the way that you do. In fact, he’s only ever repeated it to you the one time after he had realized it’s definition. So when he says it right now it gets your full attention, causing you to sit up and look at him with raised eyebrows. The blanket falls from your shoulders in a clump behind you. 

“Yeah? You’re how proud of me?” You repeat back, scooting yourself forward so that your groin is right up against him. You place a hand on either side of his head and look straight down at the beskar, pleased when he doesn’t move to stop you like he had last time. He trusts that you are not trying to remove it, and that fact alone fills you with joy. 

The helmet in question tilts up at a sharp angle to look at you, “Take off your clothes and I’ll show you how proud I am.”

“What’s gotten into you? What happened to taking this slow?”

Din starts to lift the hem of your Bowie shirt, sliding his bare hands underneath the thin fabric as he inches it upwards. “Watching your bravery, seeing you use the skills that I’ve taught you. We felt like a team, like partners.”

“It was pretty nice to feel like I could be useful in a situation like that,” you agree, grinding your hips a little as you speak.

Din’s fingers continue pushing your shirt up until your breasts are exposed, stopping to tease both nipples with soft little pinches. “What I didn't like, was Koresh having the audacity to touch you.”

Your heart is beginning to beat faster, loving where this is going as you play dumb, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Don’t like people touching things that don’t belong to them,” he growls, lifting up to be more level with you as he pushes you back against the backrest of your red seat.

“And who do I belong to?”

“Me, Cyar’ika. You are mine,” Din’s voice is so lascivious, you feel as if your entire body could melt into goo right then and there.

“Tell me that again,” you demand as Din begins to yank the yoga pants and underwear from your waist.

He wiggles the fabric out from under your ass, leaning in towards you. “You are mine,” he repeats in that same lusty growl. 

You long to run your fingers through hair, his hair, so you squeeze the helmet tighter. “I’m all yours, but that means you have to be all mine.”

“Naturally,” he finishes disrobing your bottom half, discarding with your clothes behind him, “I belong to you.”

Feeling a chill run through you now that most of you is exposed to the cool air, a little moan escapes your lips. You let go of him and rip the shirt from your head before leaning back into the seat more as you spread your legs. Of course, your planet necklace is the only thing adorning your now nude form. “Mmm, tell me that you’re proud of me again. That I did a good job.” 

He’s beginning to unfasten his own pants, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Cyar’ika.”

“Show me, Din. Please,” you whine for him.

Din is almost fully dressed save for his hands, but now he’s pulling himself out and you really stop to appreciate how impressive he is when fully hard. Uncircumcised and quite large, he’s unlike any of the sexual partners you’ve been with in the past. The prospect of feeling him enter you is enough to make your entire body quiver with anticipation, core heating up rapidly.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, reaching out to take him into your hand. His entire body jerks forward when you make contact, a soft moan escaping him. “What is it, handsome?” Your voice is salacious.  

“Been so long,” he mutters, his own wanton voice strained and husky.

You begin to stroke him, loving the way he melts into your hands. He braces himself on your chair as you scoot yourself forward and slide off of it, landing softly on your butt so that you’re at eye level with the impressive appendage. Then you part your lips, tongue protruding, and the noise Din makes when you slide the tip of him into your mouth is one you plan to cherish forever. 

Hips bucking involuntarily, Din slides himself in and out as you gently suck. You’re careful not to use too much pressure or teeth, and under the beskar his eyes are rolling into the back of his head at the sensation. This doesn’t feel real. It’s got to be a dream, because nothing in his life has ever felt this fucking good. 

“It’s real, Din,” you say as you come up for air, saliva running from the corners of your slightly swollen lips. 

Had he said that out loud? He was sure that had been a private thought.

It doesn’t matter, all that matters is the pleasure he hasn’t felt in far too long. The dust and cobwebs have been cleared from his dormant libido, and he can feel a much older version of himself start to reawaken. Your mouth is lovely and warm and wet, but he’s suddenly ready to feel you clamp your muscles around him as you whine in ecstasy. 

Pulling out of your mouth with a small pop, he leans back and brings your blanket down with him. You watch him with hunger in your gorgeous eyes as he lays the thick black fabric down on the floor of the cockpit before guiding you to lay down on your back.

You allow him to gently push you down, spreading your legs as he positions himself between them. The floor is hard and unforgiving, and will likely fuck your back up for the following day, but in this moment both of could give a shit less.

“Tell me what you want, ner cyare,” Din demands, swollen cock in one hand as he hovers over you with his other hand finding your soft wetness. It’s not lost on you that he’s calling you a word you do not know, but that can wait. His fingers are grazing over the sensitive swollen flesh of your clit, and nothing else fucking matters anymore.

Hands at the base of his neck, you lift up to whisper into the right side of his helmet, “I want my Mandalorian to fuck me so hard that I forget my own name.” 

The heat between your legs only fires up more when you feel the tip of him press into your opening, and when you least expect it he thrusts all the way in. A gargled cry erupts from your throat, pain and pleasure both cascading through you as you realize you really haven’t taken anyone this big before. You’ve never been this full. 

“Oh fucking hell,” you grunt, wiggling your hips around to try and adjust to his size pushed all the way in.  

“You okay?” He pants above you. Fuck, if only you could feel his tongue in your mouth. 

“Don’t stop,” you grunt out again, “you’re just bigger than I’m used to.”

Din pumps in and out, slowly at first but soon his pacing picks up to a more feverish rhythm. Nothing about this is picturesque. It’s rough, and raw, and messy. Both of you are so full of passion that your movements are almost frantically out of sync for the first few minutes. Eventually though, you start to tune yourselves into each other. Your hips rock up to meet his has he thrusts forward, and when your legs wrap around his waist it feels like he enters you even deeper. It feels so intense that you dig your nails into his lower back under the shirt as a loud noise escapes you, louder than any of the noises you’ve made thus far. 

Din’s hand comes to clamp over your mouth, adding enough pressure to make you moan even louder against his palm. 

“Shh,” he coos, “don’t want to wake the kid.” 

With his hand stifling the obscene noises you’re unable to control, Din begins to really fuck you. No gentle thrusting, no consideration for your pain tolerance. He’s slamming into you with so much speed and force that you can barely keep your eyes open to look at him. You’re fully aware that you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you adore every second of his rough handling of your body. It hurts, but in that way that you’ve learned to crave when it comes to sex. 

Then he suddenly pulls out, leaving you feeling empty as he releases you to the ground and sits back on his booted heels. “Shit,” he exclaims, breathing more heavily than you’ve ever heard him. His hands are on his knees as he hunches forward.

Din really had to force himself off of you, afraid that if it went any further he’d finish too soon.

You’re similarly worried, sitting up to look at him with your brow furrowed. This is the most unprotected you’ve ever been, and it’s only just now occurring to you that the two of you need to be careful. “Did you…?”

“Almost,” he’s still catching his breath, “Sorry for being so rough with you.” 

“You could be rougher,” you grin at him, “I’ve never been one for gentle sex.” 

Crawling forward, you plop down onto your stomach right in front of him and prop yourself up on your forearms. Hesitantly, as this side of Din is so new to you and you’re not sure what will go over well, you stick out your tongue and run it from the base of his lovely cock all the way up to the tip. His body shudders as he moans, and you’re so proud of yourself for being able to cause these reactions in him. 

“Mm, I taste so good on you,” you remark, smirking up at him as his head leans back to point up at the ceiling.

Din grunts out, “Oh fuck, Cyar’ika,” as his hips buck forward.

You take the opportunity to pull him all the way into your mouth, letting as much of his length as you can take slide down your throat. Bobbing, you begin to work his cock with your mouth and his hands come to grip at your hair. He pulls harder than you expect him to, but this only serves to kindle the blazing fire in your core as he helps guide your head up and down.

Then he yanks upward, causing you to pop off of him and look up. The beskar helmet is looking directly at you, and you whine a little bit just from the sight before your eyes. Din’s hardness in the foreground and the way his head is tilted down, you can only imagine what his face must look like riddled with lust.

“I want you to cum for me, Din,” you pant, mouth dripping.

He shakes his head, voice taking on a commanding tone that leaves you weak, “I’m not done with you yet. My chair. Now.”

Din never lets go of your hair, walking you on all fours across the short distance to the pilot’s seat. As uncomfortable as this is on your knees, you do not complain one bit. He’s handling you in the way you’ve been fantasizing about for months. You let him guide your naked body up on the seat, chest and stomach pressed down into the leather as you bend over it. 

Oh shit, he’s going to take you from behind. 

“Ner Mesh’la. Ner Cyare,” he croons, “tell me who you belong to.” He’s positioning himself at your opening once again, so you brace yourself against the seat as you turn to look back at your Mandalorian in all his glory. Din Djarin is absolutely fucking intoxicating like this, and now that you’re finally getting to experience it first hand, you feel as if you never want another person besides him to touch you for the rest of your life. 

“I belong to Din Djarin, the best fucking Mandalorian in the galaxy.”

“That’s right, Cyar’ika.” Din grasps onto one of your forearms with his free hand as he places it to your lower back and holds it there. “And who do I belong to?” 

“Me,” you moan, “you’re my Mandalorian, Din. All fucking mine.” 

The next words that flow from Din’s mouth come so naturally that he doesn’t stop to second guess himself. He unabashedly says how he feels, how he’s been feeling. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You’re squirming beneath him, pushing your ass out. “Quit teasing me,” you whine.

“Don’t get mouthy,” he reprimands lightly, spanking your ass once for good measure. 

“Oh shit,” you squeak, looking back at him with a devilish little grin.

“Mm, my girl did so well tonight,” Din says as he begins to slowly push himself into you once more. “So fucking proud of my beautiful fucking girl. My girl deserves everything she wants.”

You feel your body envelope him, and everything else fades away besides Din Djarin. The sensation of his voice and the words he’s saying paired with the feeling of fullness in your core nearly sends you over the edge. This is the closest you’ve ever been to having an orgasm from another person’s involvement, let alone just from penetration. Your free hand moves to play with yourself, hoping to coax climax on if you can.

Then Din starts to pump again, pulling back slowly and then slamming his hips into you at nearly full force. He purposely tortures you with every thrust, loving how much you squirm and quiver each time he gradually pulls out. He really is close, and knows he can’t go on much longer, but he intends to savor every second that he’s inside of you and the effect it has on your body. Your tight wetness is so inviting that he feels like he could move in and never leave.

“Your girl wants you to fuck her harder,” you eventually plea, voice dripping with need. 

So Din gladly complies, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself as his movements become relentless. He goes for as long as he possibly can, until he’s dangerously teetering on the edge and has to rip himself from you at the last minute. It’s over so fast, orgasm rocking his body completely as he leans his helmeted head on the small of your back and empties himself onto the floor between your knees with several soft moans. He’ll be sure to clean that up later.

Once he catches his breath, he’s lifting himself from your back to sit on the floor. You slide from the chair, coming to sit on your blanket directly in front of him. Your hair is a mess and your face is flushed, and Din is so enamored with your appearance that he wishes he could kiss you. Truly kiss you.

“How’s my Mando doing?” You ask, leaning forward to kiss his messy tip and lick up some of the remnants. His body shakes violently, a strangled little noise escaping him. 

“He’ll let you know when he can think clearly again,” Din eventually chuckles, adrenaline slowly beginning to ebb from him. “That was…”

“Good?” You offer, looking hopeful. 

“Magnificent,” he counters, head moving as he looks you up and down. “Did you…?

You grin, “Did I enjoy it? Din, I don’t think there are words for how much I enjoyed that.” 

Din wishes you could see his own grin. “I’m glad, Cyare. But I was asking if you finished.” 

Then your face falters, souring for a moment before you force a smile back to your lips. Din’s heart drops as a certain awkwardness washes over you. “No, I didn’t. I was close at one point, but its okay. I’m probably not going to.” 

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze, “I’ve been having sex since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been able to cum when I’m with someone. If I’m alone it happens like it’s nothing, but if I’m with another person it’s like I get close but that’s all that ever happens. A guy went down on me for a full hour once and I still couldn’t climax. I don’t know if it’s that my body just freezes up or I’ve never had a true connection with anyone or what.”

“Your body was hardly frozen,” Din remarks, mulling over this information. His own orgasm feels lessened knowing that you did not experience the same amount of pleasure from the encounter. “You deserve to feel good as well.”

You shake your head, “I do feel good. I don’t have to finish to have good sex with you. And please know, that was very good sex.”

Din’s not taking no for an answer, he’s determined to make this right. “Is there anything more I can do?”

“Unfortunately not with the helmet on,” you say, squeezing his hand. “But it’s not important. I’ve already written that off.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, but then once he really thinks about it the realization dawns on him. You’re suggesting he preform oral on you. Something he’s only aware of, certainly nothing he’s ever had a chance to try. Xi’an used to beg him to do that for her, but being true to the creed he’s never had sex without his helmet. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so out of respect for you lets not even go there. We should just stop talking about it all together. It’s off the table.” You wave him off as if you really are unconcerned, but Din can see the smallest glimmer of disappointment in your eyes and he simply cannot let this stand. 

There’s got to be something he can do instead. He looks around the cockpit as if anything in this room could aid him, and then his eyes land on the pinkish-purple scarf that was given to you on Nevarro. You had recently tied it around the headrest of your seat and declared that you were decorating your space, but now Din thinks of a better purpose the piece of fabric could serve. He refers back to the dream about you that he had right after Nar Shaddaa, and a part of him wonders if this idea is actually taking things too far. Then he looks over your naked body and he suddenly doesn’t care.

It very well could be taking things too far, but that doesn’t seem to matter as Din feels himself moving towards it before the rest of his mind can catch up. He yanks at the fabric until it loosens away from the seat, and then he moves to sit in front of you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyeing the scarf skeptically.

“Do you trust me?” Din asks, ignoring your question. You nod, so he continues, “I will not let this happen lightly. If we do this, I need you to vow to me that you will continue to uphold your respect for my way of life.”

“I promise,” you whisper, eyes widening.

Din folds the fabric in fourths longways, holding one end in each hand. His face is completely serious below the beskar. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so this might not even work. But I do not wish to see you disappointed, and I would very much like to know what you taste like.” 

You seem to react to this, face melting into the same one that was full of lust just a few moments ago. “Only if you’re one hundred percent sure.” 

“I am,” he nods, “Turn around and face that way.” 

You comply, moving your body to face in the opposite direction. Din lifts the fabric of the scarf above your head and comes to a stop right in front of your face. You nod once, so Din gently places the fabric over your eyes and ties it tightly behind your head. 

“Too tight?”

“No it feels fine.”

“Can you see anything?”

“Not at all, its totally dark under this thing.”

When you eventually hear the hiss of his modulator and the sound of metal clunking to the ground, a thrill runs through your body. Gooseflesh prickles all the way up your arms and legs, up your spine, and comes to rest at the back of your head. The tingling sensation you feel all over is maddening, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Are you okay, Cyare?” His voice sounds completely the same while also sounding so different. Without the speakers of the modulator, it sounds more human. More tangible. 

“Whoa, your voice sounds different. I… did you really take it off, Din?” Blanketed in darkness, you’re not sure if what you’re hearing is real. 

“I did,” his voice is suddenly in front of you, much closer than it was a moment ago. 

Then you feel hands in your hair, and something fleshy brushes up against your nose. “Is that…?”

One of the hands in your hair moves to grab hold of one of yours, gently lifting your fingers upwards until they come in contact with skin. 

“My nose,” Din says, trailing your fingers over more skin and you giggle at the feeling of prickly facial hair. Then you’re touching what feels like lips, and this is only confirmed for you when they part slightly and you can feel the heat of his breath. He kisses your fingertips, “My lips.”

“My lips wouldn’t mind getting to know yours a little,” you say with a small laugh, gasping at the end of your sentence when he cups your face and pulls it forward slightly. 

“I have not done this since I took the oath,” he says, sounding almost awkward and unsure of himself.

You smile, “I don’t have any expectations, Din. I just want you to be yourself.”

Then your lips are captured in his and suddenly the reality of what is going on really kicks in. Din has taken his helmet off, you are blindfolded to be kept from seeing his face, and he is kissing you. Something that you assumed would never happen, and had come to terms with long before anyone admitted their feelings for the other.

Just as it had been when you were having sex, the movements are feverish and all over the place but soon enough the two of you find rhythm with one another again. Your tongue snakes out from behind your teeth, slowly entering his warm mouth as his own tongue runs over yours in exploration. You think idly that he tastes of caf and something else you can’t place. He moans against you, so you take it that he enjoys your advances. Cradling his face in either hand, you push yourself forward to really get leverage in the kiss. The facial hair feels so nice against your hands, his mustache tickling your nose. 

Then he pulls away, a hand to your chest as he gently coaxes you to lay down. You whine a little, openly pouting. Din growls, and the hand on your chest increases pressure. 

“I want my mesh’la girl to feel good,” he declares, and you finally give in to the hand pushing you down onto your back. 

His lips travel down your neck, pecking every few inches until he makes his way to your breasts. Licking at one of your nipples, he then takes it into his mouth as he nibbles lightly. It sends you into a tizzy until he pulls away. 

“Kissing you felt really good,” you finally counter, grinning in his general direction as you lay there. “I was ready to go on for the rest of my life not knowing what that feels like and now you’ve spoiled me and I don’t think I can live without it.” 

A hand moves your left leg outward. “Let me spoil you even more, Cyare.” Then another hand moves your right leg, spreading you open. Nothing happens for a moment, until you hear the distant sound of Din inhaling deeply through his nose. “Delicious,” he breathes, referring to the scent of you.

His movements are hesitant at first and when you feel the warmth of his wet tongue for the first time you jump a little, flinching away with a sharp noise when his facial hair tickles the sensitive flesh between your legs. Before he can stop and ask if you’re okay, you assure him that you’re fine and urge him to keep going. You have to consciously keep your legs spread, fighting the instinct to clamp your thighs around his unsuspecting head as he tentatively runs his tongue from the base of your entrance all the way up to the clit. Din repeats this motion several times, before showing complete attention to the swollen nub. You can tell that he’s not sure of himself, that he’s truly never done this before, so you decide to coach him a little bit. 

“Mm, oh fuck,” you croak out between moans, “when you swirled your tongue there it felt so-oh god-so fucking good. Try to focus your attention there as much as possible.”

Din carries on with the same strokes of the tongue, and then suddenly you feel a finger pressing against your entrance. It traces the slick opening a few times before sliding in completely, causing you to cry out Din’s name in a feral voice. Then a second finger enters you, then a third, and your eyes roll back behind the blindfold as he beings to pump. Your sense of how long this is going on is completely gone, having no idea how much time is passing. All you know is the pleasure your body is feeling, totally unmeasured by time. Blindfolded and filled up with the Mandalorian’s fingers while his tongue swirls over your clit, you can feel the familiar building sensation that always comes before an orgasm. Arguably, the crescendo of nerves firing up is more pleasurable to you than an orgasm itself and this one builds for a long moment of agonizing intensity.

Legs trembling, suddenly your hands are tangled in Din’s hair as you yank harder than you mean to. “Oh, oh shit. Please don’t stop I think it’s actually happening.”  

Then the crescendo tips over, and you’re riding out the waves of orgasm with bucking hips and whining moans. Din laps at you a few more times, your body jerking with each stroke, and you beg him to let up as your sensitivity is temporarily maxed out. 

You just lay there, quivering in the aftermath, and Din crawls up to your head. When his lips touch yours again everything feels swollen and slick and wet, especially his mustache. You can taste yourself on him and it causes you to pose the question, “So how do I taste?”, once he breaks apart from you again. 

“Delectable, Cyar’ika.” 

“Thank you, Din. I am beyond grateful,” you choke, the sudden need to cry washing over you as a small sob escapes your mouth. 

“Shh,” he soothes as he scoops you into his arms. 

Grasping at him, your hands snake up into his lovely soft hair as your body comes down from the adrenaline rush of sexual release. “I really thought that would never happen, and then you manage to make me cum on the first try with zero experience. What are the odds?”

His unmodulated, gorgeous voice is whispering lowly in your ear, “I perform best when the odds are against me.” 

“Wow, such a humble Mandalorian.” Chuckling, you turn your head and catch his earlobe between your teeth. 

He makes a little noise as you nibble his ear, body shuddering. “Perhaps you were on to something when you said you’ve never had a true connection with someone. I know that this, how close I feel to you, is more tangible than any connection I’ve made since my parents died. It means quite a bit to me.”

You pull away from his ear to face him, in spite of not being able to see. “You’re not wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to anther person, Din. I’m glad that black hole spit me out where it did.”

“Mm,” he hums, and you feel the vibration of it, “as am I.” 

You rub your cheek against his, adoring the feeling of skin and hair against your flesh as well as the scent of your sex on him. Even if you truly never get to see what this man looks like, feeling him is more than enough for you and you know it in your bones. “Thank you for trusting me. I know that the decision to remove your helmet did not come lightly.”

“Thank you for honoring your promise.”

The two of you lay there for a moment, peppering each other’s faces with kisses. You kiss his forehead, accidentally bumping into one of his eyes at first. He chuckles, and the sound of his  unmodulated laugh melts your heart. 

“Din?” 

“Yes?”

Fingers playing with his hair, you smile a little at him. If only you could see his facial expression. Then an idea strikes you, so you move to his lips again and feel what you assume is him smiling against your fingertips. “What does ‘cyare’ mean? You called me your ‘cyare’ several times. And I don’t think I’m going to pronounce this right but you also said something like ‘kah-tay-leer darasoom’? We haven’t gone over those phrases in Mando’a yet so I had no idea what you were saying. I remember you said something similar to the kid recently.”

Din doesn’t respond right away, instead he kisses you deeply while holding your blindfolded face in both hands. After a moment he pulls apart from you, and you can sense that he’s hovering an only an inch or so from your face as you feel his warm breath on your skin. The pad of his thumb traces your lips. 

“Cyare means beloved,” you feel his fingers move some of the hair from your forehead, “and what I told you was ‘ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.’ Kar’taylir means to know, to hold in the heart. Adding ‘darasuum’, eternity, changes it’s meaning to ‘I will know you forever.’ Essentially it is our phrase for expressing love. As I said before, this connection means something to me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the realization of his confession hitting you so hard that anther of your soft sobs echos through the cockpit. It’s not lost on you that you can feel fresh, warm wetness on his own stubbled cheeks. Tears, you’re feeling Din’s tears. He just told you that he loves you and he’s weeping. You almost can’t wrap your head around it. 

“Din,” you are so overwhelmed with emotion, feeling your own tears form as they soak into the blindfold. The part of you that is afraid to give yourself over to him, afraid of the risk involved in giving your heart to another, wants to stop you from expressing how you feel. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers.

Cara’s advice echos through your mind, This life is too short not to get what you want out of it. You consider this for only but a moment, deciding that she was right and you cannot let yourself miss out on this. Yet something still feels off, and then it occurs to you, “Saying I love you just doesn’t feel right, like it means less to just say it in basic knowing there’s a beautiful way to say it in Mando’a. Say it slowly so I can hear the pronunciation.”

You feel Din hover just above your navel, placing a kiss to the flesh just below your breasts. “Ni,” his lips move between the soft peaks, “kar’tayl,” they migrate to your throat, “gar,” then he’s kissing you on the mouth again, “darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Din Djarin,” you whisper, lips spreading into the widest grin. 

His face nuzzles into yours some more, sighing heavily before the sound morphs into a low chuckle. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.”

“I wish we could sleep together like we did on Nevarro,” you say as you nuzzle him back. The smile on your face would have to be jackhammered off at this point, your heart is just too full of glee to for it leave anytime soon. 

“Let’s try to sleep in the cot together,” he suggests, “I can’t be apart from you. Not right now.”

“Is the kid in his hammock?” 

“Yes. It’ll be a tight fit but I think we can make it work.”

“It wouldn’t be the first tight fit we’ve had to deal with tonight,” you can’t help but joke, chuckling. 

Din laughs, kissing you once more. This kiss is not deep, there are no tongues and the pacing is not feverish. His lips simply linger on yours for a long, loving moment. 

“I need to put it back on, Cyar’ika,” he eventually says as he breaks apart. 

Your chest aches a little, but you lift up to brush your nose against his once more. “Thank you for sharing this part of you with me. Will this be the only time I’ll ever get to feel you like this?” 

“No,” he breathes, tone confident, “this will not be the only time.” 

“Well until next time, then,” you say, pecking at him once more. 

You feel him move away, and then after a moment his voice is once again being filtered through the modulator of his helmet. “It’s on, you can remove the blindfold.”

The cockpit had been dimly lit to begin with but everything seems incredibly bright as you slowly peel the damp fabric from your face and the visual world comes back to you. 

Din is seated in front of you, once again wearing his helmet. You stare at him for a long moment, and suddenly none of what just happened feels real to you. 

“Holy fucking hell,” you exclaim, giddy giggles bubbling up your throat. You long to cry out in elation, like when you used to go driving alone and joyfully scream in the sanctity of your car if you were in a great mood. 

“You okay?” Din asks.

You nod, “more than okay.” 

Din watches you re-dress, the two of you looking at each other as you pull the shirt over your head and hike the stretchy pants back up your legs. He’s sorry to see your body disappear behind the fabric, but sleep is starting to sound nicer than anything else. When you’re finished, you stand next to him with a hand outstretched. Din takes it, allowing you to help him up off the floor. He scoops up the blanket and hands it over to you, checking that everything with the ship is in order before motioning for you to start heading downstairs. He quickly cleans up the mess he’d made under the pilot seat and then comes to join you. As Din descends the ladder, he sees you standing there waiting for him with the blanket draped over your shoulders and a sleepy smile on your soft features. 

“You’re a vision,” Din remarks as his feet touch the ground. 

“Mm,” you hum, smiling at him. That lovely, kind smile that first caught his attention all those months ago on Nevarro. Maker, how far things have come. He’d been so annoyed when Karga coerced him into hiring you on as the nanny, and now he can’t imagine what his life would look like if he hadn’t. 

“Let’s sleep, Cyar’ika.” Din says, tapping his forehead to yours. 

“How’s this supposed to work?” You raise an eyebrow at him, grin cheeky.

Din peers into the thin sleeping cabin, noticing that the kid is still sleeping away in his little hammock above the bed. Jupiter has somehow managed to squeeze her way onto the thing with him, and the kid is using her as a sort of pillow. Admittedly, the scene is quite endearing. 

“We lay on our sides,” Din shrugs, “you go in first and I’ll climb in after.” 

“If you say so, Chrome Dome.” Chuckling, you crawl into the cot, laying on your side up against the right wall to give him enough space to enter. 

Din kicks off his boots, bending forward to craw in with you. It’s certainly going to be a tight fit, but he thinks this may actually work nicely. He pulls himself all the way in, the door sliding shut once he’s inside. His body is already pressed to yours, so he carefully shifts around until he’s spooning up to your backside. One arm is tucked under his helmeted head, while the other is draped over you. You pull his hand into yours, tangling your fingers with his. 

“Goodnight, Din,” you whisper in the darkness.

“Jate ca,” he whispers your name, “rest well.” 

When Din awakes several hours later, his heart is so incredibly full that he’s not sure he could jam any more affection into it if he tried. You’re still out cold, but the kid has since migrated from his hammock to laying between you and the wall. One of your arms is curled around the foundling tightly, a content smile on your slightly parted lips. Jupiter has also relocated, as Din can feel her purring against the back of his helmeted head.

He should get up and start his day, but he instead closes his eyes once more and allows himself to feel happy for a long while. 

*****

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Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

@luc-k-y | @theslytherinwriter | @somewereinthegalaxi | @leithatnight | @missbabyjay | @theyoutubedork

*****

[the-book-guild]

Book Guild Reviews #1—The Gilded Ones

Book Stats: Author: Namina Forna Publisher: Delacorte Press (imprint of Random House) Page Count: 418 Genre: Fiction—Fantasy Star Rating: 5

Diversity Portfolio: BIPOC Author: Yes—African American (literally, Sierra Leonean-American) Female Author: Yes Non-Binary Author: No LGBTQIA+ Author: No (as far as I know) LGBTQIA+ Content: Yes, but it’s subtle and understated; it’s not a focal point of the plot Original Publication Language: English Author Under the Age of 25: No Disabled or Other-Abled Author: No (as far as I know)

Reader Stats: Why I Acquired the Book: The social media hype around it piqued my interest plus I liked the look of the cover. Dates Read: 01 Jan 2024 to 05 Jan 2024 Experiences While Reading: I self-commentated throughout the entire read and nearly every theory I came up with was spot on. That was a lot of fun for me and did not detract from the  novel experience in the least.

Recommend? Yes, to all young women regardless of race or color.

Notes & Opinions:

This book speaks quite clearly and effectively about female empowerment, the heroes of the story are all women. This isn’t to say all men in the novel are the villains, quite the opposite, but the point is picking women up out of the dirt and putting them side-by-side with men as equals in all possible ways. Equally strong, equally brave, equally wise, equally intelligent, equally wicked, equally weak-willed, equally confused, equally scared, equally vulnerable, equally abused, etc.

It speaks to strengthening women while also allowing men to break free of toxic masculinity. The book features strong black leads and showcases the different natural and protective hair styles of black women. It also has a diverse cast that never draws attention away from the leads or giving a voice to black women while at the same time it also doesn’t push the diversity of the other characters down. Each race, each color, each culture has a chance to shine on its own and stand on its own two feet. The good and bad are diverse together, no one color/race is drawn out to be inherently good or inherently bad.

It does feature the enemies-to-lovers trope which progresses naturally to the point of being genuinely believable. It also strongly features the trope of found family, championing Supernatural’s catchphrase “family don’t end in blood.” In fact, by blood isn’t what makes you family it simply makes you related. Deeper ties that cannot be quantified make family.

The book covers quite a range of topics but the ones that stood out to me were religion, oppression, government, & inner turmoil.

The book neither espouses nor eschews religion. What it does is point out the dangers of fervent, mindless, fanatical worship. It shows how deeply entrenched the fanatics are in their own lies and their twisting of scriptural/sacred writings, rewriting of histories, and hypocrisy in their hierarchies.

The biggest oppression highlighted is that of women. The female deities were rewritten to be demons who had to be overthrown. Daughters must go through a blood ceremony to make sure they are “clean” enough to be allowed to live with their families, villages, and pure enough to be married off. Marriage for women purely means a life of servitude to husband and children, the marriages can be strategic for powerful or wealthy families. Women must hide their faces behind masks, the masks also show off their wealth or lack thereof thus creating a caste system based on economic status.

If a girl’s blood is differently colored, she is ostracized at best and executed at worst. Religious elders will lie to the villagers and lead them to believe the “cursed ones” have been executed but often they’re being held elsewhere to be bled dry. Gold is currency after all, even if it is the life in your veins. Families will literally turn on their daughters if they bleed gold instead of red. It shows how quickly bonds can be broken if you truly believe lies and believe you are doing right and just things in the name of those lies.

The laws of the land are pulled from the laws of the religious texts, there is no true separation of religion and state. The laws allow for the murder, rape, and constant physical and verbal abuse of girls and women. The blood ceremony is just one more way to control the female species, the masks are another, the permission to outright kill your own daughter if she bleeds gold. All of these are ways to oppress women. It gives the woman’s right to live into the hands of men.

This isn’t to say all fathers and mothers sought to destroy their own daughters, some tried very hard to hide their daughters or quietly send them away to live in safety. But those were few and far between.

Government was highlighted but not really how it worked so much as the complete and utter blind acceptance of the authority of government. The lies of the rulers were as accepted as the lies of the twisted faith. Since the leader of the country was appointed by gods, you can see how there was no separation of the two and how the two work in concerted effort to destroy women who are literally half the population. It’s not that government is bad because anarchy can be just as bad, but it was the complete acceptance of everything without question.

No one stopped to ask if a law was moral or just. No one stopped to ask any questions, to ponder the ethics and morality of what they were doing or saying. If something was decreed to be so, then everyone just went along with it. It was staggering to see how this blind loyalty with no regard to thought or contemplation led families, who supposedly loved their children would instantly revile them as soon as they were shown to be a bit different.

Inner turmoil was granted to our protagonist who struggled left and right with reconciling her faith with her reality, accepting her lost familial bonds for her new found family, admitting her worth as a woman against her fear of her own power, and relishing in love versus running from it. She had to learn to trust herself, her “sisters”, the female powers that be, truth, and a few decent men. She had to unlearn her faith, unfollow her government, let go of family ties that did not bind after all, and understand that men currently ruled the world but they weren’t all to blame.

She also had to experience the horror that is war. She not only shed her own blood time and time again, but had to spill the blood of others. The world was at war and she had to become a warrior. It’s a miracle the girl didn’t get whiplash from all the ways she was pulled. Beloved daughter to scorn of her village, being bled out for cash to being enrolled into the military, from demon to hero, from lowly girl to independent woman.

Her inner struggles were believable and she showed how hard it is for women who have been embroiled in abuse for years struggle to break free. It’s not enough to be presented with truth. You have to weigh truth against the lies and be willing to not only learn but to see it fully and accept it. Once you accept you can finally begin to heal and grow and move onward and upward.

Honestly, the book is extraordinarily powerful and uplifting. I look forward to reading the remaining two works of this trilogy.

[homenecromancer]

regarding this post, and the Dune sequels by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

So I haven’t picked up any of these Dune followups in about twenty years, and for all I know, the books released in the intervening time are much better. And I’m operating off memory here.

But the main reason I’m content not going back is that… they’re not all that good. At best they’re about equal to some of the fanfiction I’ve read lately. At worst, there’s some deeply goofy worldbuilding and plot decisions. I should back up and give a little context.

The books I’m talking about here are written by a team of Brian Herbert (Frank’s son) and Kevin J. Anderson, who has written a lot of spinoff novels. I went to go check out his other work — he did a few Star Wars novels and three X Files novels, among others, and here is a very telling quote from his website, describing one of his original novels:

Unpretentious, unapologetic storytelling that transports busy readers to other worlds for a quick escape and fast-paced entertainment

Which… is both a perfect description of his writing and the absolute opposite of the Dune novels that Frank Herbert wrote. I’ll get back to this in a moment, because there’s another important detail: the Herbert+Anderson team, according to them, work from outlines and notes left by Frank Herbert before he died. So far they’ve gotten seventeen books out of these outlines and notes — Frank wrote six Dune novels.

OK. So. I do not envy the H+A team the effort required to imitate Frank Herbert and live up to his legacy — Dune and its sequels are dense books that interweave science fiction storytelling with politics and philosophy, all in a prose style that’s hard to mimic. I think they’re legitimately trying their best, and working on a compressed timeline compared to Frank. (The original six books were published over the course of twenty years — H+A have put out seventeen books in the 25 years since 1999, and they are not short.)

The problem is that, unless they’ve really switched things up, the H+A team put way heavier emphasis on the storytelling, and almost none on the politics and philosophy. So their Dune novels are much quicker reads than the originals! In my paperback edition, Dune takes about 150 pages of small type until the “action” begins — Herbert really takes his time setting up his characters and setting, and begins to explore his main theme of the risks of political power. And then the main characters find themselves in nonstop life-threatening peril.

I… do not recall the H+A Dune novels having themes in the same way. A lot happens, but like. Dune is constantly saying things to the reader about how, say, carefully-orchestrated plans can easily go awry in tragic fashion, and also there are dozens of memorable setpieces. The H+A Dune novels have memorable moments, but they all feel rather shallow. The deepest thing they’re asking you to consider is gonna be, like, “wouldn’t it be fucked up if weird robots ruled over people?” And yeah, that would be fucked up, but it doesn’t have the staying power of some of the weird ideas in Dune.

Anyway I don’t bear either Brian Herbert or Kevin J. Anderson any personal ill-will. Their Dune books just don’t do it for me the same way as the Frank Herbert originals.

Also Anderson’s writing process is interesting — I can’t seem to make this a proper link no matter what I do (????) but he discusses it on his blog at kjablog.com/dictating-writing-hiking . And that method explains a lot, to me — I don’t know about him, but I would not be able to imitate Frank Herbert’s prose style by dictation while hiking, even if I had the ability to revise later. Makes sense that the text of the H+A Dune novels sounds like Kevin J. Anderson more than it sounds like Frank Herbert.

Oh and fun fact I learned writing this: Kevin J. Anderson lives in my state. Wild.

[jovenshires]

i did it, i read the whole thing in a day i'm not a sportsy gal, i have asthma, and was always bad playing whatever, also i'm not really competitive, so not usually a universe that calls me, you know. But we are spommy simps, what can I do. Also, big fan of your stories, and a fan of a rival to lovers trope. I just had to. Loved everything about it. At the end, i also got emotional over a bunch of fictional teens playing soccer. Coach Amanda? I'm here for it. Bonus that i'm contemplative because new years, 2024 i'll have some mor leadership responsabilities at work and i'm kinda not feeling myself so, yeah, spence, i feel you. The whole story put my mind in a good place. And I can barely wait for all the spin offs and all other stuff I know you will post as well. Like, you could share the charts mapping you said you had, and what was your thinking process behind some stuff like who as goind to be in each team and so on.

!!!!!!! this is SO so kind omg this made my whole day :')

i am no longer sporty so i totally understand you!!! im honestly shocked people read this at all LKNDFLKSNGKLNR but im honored yall did <3 thank you so, so, SO much. trust me i am emotional about the cheetahs at all times......... they are everything to me i love that dynamic. and yes im the same about all the responsibilities!!!! KALFNLKFNNR you know me so well - there's a prequel and two sequels planned ! (at least. idk where else we'll go but i Know those are in the works <3)

OH well if you insist..... @spencersagnew also asked me for this in a comment on ao3 so i suppose.... (i am dying to talk about it for the love of god). i will say if you're interested..... a lil edit might be dropping tonight that also says some of this stuff. IF you wanna wait for that. anywho all the info-dumping lore under the cut:

okay SO. i have all of the positions for the main two schools AND all the other schools charles/sorrow played. i will just post this for now but if you want other shit (ages and why i chose them, explanations on the positions, all the easter eggs, why i chose the school names, all the minor school MASCOTS bc the devil works hard but i work harder, etc. whatever you want i will never stop talking ab this fic) pls let me know.

ANYWAY. main cast:

and minor cast:

as for who went on what team - i built the Main Friend Groups first (spencer/damien/shayne/alex and tommy/keith/chanse), then built the cheetahs (bc i knew this was gonna be spencer's pov), and then the pirates!!

i knew i wanted shayne as like... spencer's confidant, his right hand man, etc. so he was the basis. and where shayne goes (and where my relationships/dynamics developed), damien goes. and alex was ORIGINALLY going to be the only person spencer could stand from the other team but. things got moved around and yk i love the games pod squad. so that was the core of that!!

after that, i also decided who i wanted to be in tommy's lil friend group. i Knew i wanted keith there - underrated duo tbqh. i also put him there as a parallel / equal to damien, the two who tried their best to bridge the teams together. keith is a Bitch but he's also a people person so he just made sense to me for the pirates. the pirates... i could only describe their energy as cunty. like they're all assholes in the opposite way of the cheetahs. the cheetahs are fight first ask questions later, and the pirates are gonna study you and then deconstruct all of your insecurities to cut you down. so very keith to me !

chanse was also included bc 1. that is his energy come on, and 2. he's. he's tommy but again. like joven is to tommy as tommy is to chanse. like obviously he's different but he's there to parallel that relationship. that's his best friend, his pseudo older brother, his mentor!! chanse is THE number one tommy bowe defender. period.

okay so onto the cheetahs. i knew i wanted to feature..... whatever patrick and jeremy have going on. i also thought they had pretty contrasting personalities to the four i was starting with. (jeremy in particular became... smth so personal. iwks!jeremy is his own entity. i am OBSESSED with him you guys have no idea. thats my lil best friend i wanna keep him on a shelf.) then i was like 'ykw they need. a third buddy who is so tired of their shit and yet has nowhere else to go.' my apologies to ify bc he has to suffer <3 he's so himbo trapped as the third wheel coded okay and someone has to be there for alex next year !

i started assigning positions next. and i decided i wanted spencer as a midfielder and he needed like. a partner. an equivalent. and i ended up going with brennan bc that just made so much sense to me. it needed to be someone spencer trusts, someone who he could communicate with in silence. brennan may be quiet but like he's a killer. i also just wanted some more people spencer's close with - like rock, who he's worked with like forever. rock is also just. the most sane insane person to me. like his sense of humor is fucking crazy but also if he thinks you're being dumb he WILL tell you to stfu.

tim also kind of falls into this 'people spencer gets along with' category, but honestly. this was pure selfishness. i just love tim. the bit where he didn't speak the entire time gave ME personally a really good chuckle. he's an icon and also as someone who played defense/goalie, i was biased choosing my defense/goalies. and i think tim is just such a good pick for goalie there i said it thats my guy. marcus however was pure selfishness. i needed a silly lil freshman. i chose my bud marcus. he's one of my fave Background characters in this fic because everyone's like "well........... after what happened Last Year.........." and marcus is like haha! so true! what happened :) like there's not a clue in his fucking head he just loves his captain and i love HIM for that

and then the pirates were a combo of Who Was Left and who i wanted to feature. i liked this idea of aguilar as a mythic mean bitch who's always lurking. garrett of course had to get a shoutout (my beloved goalie <3<3<3 imagine how HE FEELS letting in that final goal rn huh). and shoutout to all the guys i didn't really cover but who i think about all the time - luke being a dry humored asshole, duran banging his head against the wall, josh and peter So Scared of the atmosphere but happy to be a part of something. i love them all their dynamic is also funny to me in my brain where it lives <3

ty so so much for giving me an excuse to lore dump i adore you <3<3<3