#turbulence and helplessness embodied

[tothepointofinsanity]

It only took me five hundred years to realise that the theme that plays when Sayaka and Madoka are angsting and trying not to argue with each other in the rain is called “Serena Ira” - meaning serene anger. Sayaka genuinely makes me sick to my stomach smh my head.

[feng-huli]

Do you think Jinyan misses his life as a Eunuch in the imperial court?

Interesting question, thanks for the ask! 😺 Jin Yan’s post-canon situation is quite fascinating to explore, and I’ve thought about it a lot. The live action leaves his circumstances rather vague other than Jin Yan now being under Jin Xian’s watch, but there are two small details the novel adds that give clarity and direction to their future:

The world believes that Jin Yan is dead. To hide him, Jin Xian has personally ordained him a monk and given him the name Pushan.

After Jin Xuan was confronted by Jin Xian, Prince Bai, and the rest, he was locked up in Heavenly Prison but escaped several days later. No one has seen him since.

For the first point, I expect that Jin Yan would play the role of a monk fairly effectively on the surface. He is well-practiced in being careful with his words, which would go well with the Right Speech aspect of Buddhism’s Eightfold Path. He would, however, likely struggle to actually be a monk. One of his most notable traits is greed, a form of attachment—which leads to suffering, according to Buddhist philosophy. Whether or not Jin Yan would actually be inclined to embody the part he’s playing, Jin Xian would likely encourage him to do so. Jin Yan’s gratitude to Jin Xian for saving his life may make him more open to listening to his lectures, or at least pretending to.

Interestingly, the name that Jin Xian gave Jin Yan, Pushan, is a Hindu god known for protecting travelers. This could be reflective of Jin Xian’s desire to travel the Martial Arts World and his intention to do so with Jin Yan.

Which brings us to the next point: Jin Xuan. Jin Xian probably remained in Tianqi because he wanted justice for Jin Yu and Jin Wei. Jin Xuan’s escape could be the catalyst for Jin Xian and Jin Yan to finally leave and track him down. I expect Jin Yan would have complicated feelings about this; he was betrayed by him, yes, but Jin Xuan has a hold on him that may not be so easily broken. Jin Yan may have been able to stand up to him once, but could he do it again?

There is another thread of vengeance that live-action Jin Yan may be more inclined to pull: Xiao Lingchen. In the novel, Zhuo Xin’s death was caused by someone in self-defense and wasn’t witnessed by Jin Yan—and there’s no indication he would seek revenge against this person. But in the live action? Jin Yan watched Xiao Lingchen betray their plan, stabbing his helpless shifu right in the heart. Zhuo Xin was there of his own initiative in the novel, but in the live action, Jin Yan was the one to convince him to come. Unlike in the novel, where he had Zhuo Sen and Zhuo Luo to keep him company, live-action Zhuo Xin was alone in the mausoleum; he took this risk—made this sacrifice—so Jin Yan wouldn’t be. The guilt that Jin Yan would feel might not catch up to him for a while, given the turbulent circumstances of everyone in the world hunting him down immediately after, but eventually he would remember his shifu’s death—and would likely rather turn his anger toward Xiao Lingchen than blame himself.

So, would Jin Yan miss being an imperial eunuch? There’s one more thing to establish: what does he want? He wants power, yes, but I think he wants a specific type of power. The kind of power that Marquis Lanyue has: low responsibility, high respect. Both Jin Yan and Marquis Lanyue are used as messengers by their superiors, but, given Marquis Lanyue’s complaints at his brother-emperor’s requests, it is likely that such tasks are much rarer for him—especially as Emperor Mingde is the only person in the world he needs to answer to. Otherwise, he can live as indulgently and glamorously as he wishes. Meanwhile, Jin Yan is used by several individuals and put in most of the footwork necessary to hold the entire Langya Rebellion together. Indeed, I believe that Jin Yan envies Marquis Lanyue above all others. The reason for this is best illustrated in a scene in the novel during an important ritual. Jin Yan complains about being hungry, while Marquis Lanyue can chat freely and munch on snacks during it. Marquis Lanyue does what Jin Yan wants to do—and he has the life he’s hungry for. And while Jin Yan needs to act submissive and watch his every step around Prince Chi, he has likely witnessed Prince Chi demeaning himself just to win his uncle’s attention and favor. Jin Yan wants to be like Marquis Lanyue, and a Eunuch of Seal is closer to a marquis than a monk—unless Jin Yan finds a new way to satisfy his hunger, he will crave his old life.

[fyboynextdoor]

BOYNEXTDOOR HOW? Melon introduction

translated by so0nagi

BOYNEXTDOOR releases their second mini-album “HOW?”! The highlight of their first love story trilogy.

“HOW?” a story of youth that anyone can relate to, whether they've experienced it before or are going through it now.

Title track “Earth, Wind & Fire” blending BOYNEXTDOOR’s signature friendly charm with a kitschy aesthetic.

BOYNEXTDOOR is making a comeback on April 15 with their second mini-album "HOW?"

“HOW?” serves as the grand finale of their first love story trilogy, filling in the narrative gap between their debut single “WHO!” and first mini-album “WHY..” starting with “WHO!” which captured the thrill of first love, then “WHY..”, which conveyed the pain of a first breakup, and now “HOW?”, which dives into the complex emotions and situations between love and separation. Through their own unique storytelling, BOYNEXTDOOR explores a spectrum of emotions, evoking memories of first love and creating a strong sense of relatability.

First love’s turbulence, infused with ‘kitschcore’ aesthetics

As you listen to the tracks in order, you can feel the waves of emotions that come with first love. The narrator goes from the nervous excitement of a first date (OUR) to repeatedly fighting and making up (Amnesia). A romantic nighttime date unfolds (So let's go see the stars), but love doesn’t always go as planned, leading to frustration (Earth, Wind & Fire). They then have a candid conversation with friends about love and life (l i f e i s c o o l) before eventually accepting the breakup with a calm heart (Dear. My Darling). Rounding out the album is an english version of the title track “Earth, Wind & Fire”, making a total of seven tracks.

To vividly express these emotional ups and downs, BOYNEXTDOOR has incorporated a ‘kitschcore’ style into this album. ‘Kitschcore’ is a blend of kitsch (playful, retro aesthetics) and normcore (effortlessly cool style), perfectly encapsulating BOYNEXTDOOR’s witty and uniquely charming identity. This theme is evident across all aspects of the album, from concept photos featuring surreal collage art that reflects love-induced confusion, to a music video set against the vast backdrops of earth and space, to the incorporation of hyperpop elements in the music and fresh, eye-catching performances.

Dynamic and catchy energy! Title track "Earth, Wind & Fire"

The protagonist in “Earth, Wind & Fire” is someone who once carried themselves with confidence but finds themselves helpless when it comes to love. Just as no one can control the earth, wind, and fire at will, they struggle with a relationship that refuses to go their way, expressing their frustration and confusion with honesty.

The song’s sound and performance cleverly channel these turbulent emotions. One particularly striking feature is the “self-speed-up” section, where the vocals are delivered at a rapid-fire pace, creating a sped-up effect that immediately grabs attention. This part directly conveys the protagonist’s urgency and anxiety. The choreography follows the same emotional trajectory, matching the song’s fast-paced energy.

“Earth, Wind & Fire” is defined by its distinctively segmented structure, and the choreography accentuates this with bold shifts in movement, making the performance visually captivating. Specific dance moves mirror the lyrics, like “i put up with everything, but this time i won’t” and “what's all this confusion, doubt over me”, making it easy for viewers to get immersed in the protagonist’s emotions. The members’ synchronized teamwork enhances the intricate and fast-paced choreography, prioritizing the overall impact of the performance rather than just individual moments.

The music video for “Earth, Wind & Fire” visually represents the unpredictable nature of first love by drawing parallels to ever-changing natural forces. Scenes of deserts, glaciers, storms, and lightning appear at key moments, reinforcing the song’s theme. This video perfectly embodies BOYNEXTDOOR’s kitschcore aesthetic, featuring vibrant sets, playful CG effects, and fast-paced editing, resulting in a music video that feels both unique and full of youthful energy.

BOYNEXTDOOR’s self-made sound

Members Myung Jaehyun, Taesan, and Woonhak contributed to the songwriting and composition of five out of seven tracks, crafting a sound that resonates with youth while incorporating their natural manner of speaking into the lyrics. The three have consistently been credited on all three of the group’s albums, steadily shaping their own musical identity. Meanwhile, Riwoo personally fine-tuned the details of the title track’s choreography, ensuring the performance perfectly aligned with the group’s style.

Zico, the producer and artist overseeing the album, alongside lead producer Pop Time, worked closely with the members to refine their creative input and elevate their artistic capabilities.

BOYNEXTDOOR’s music embodies a friendly, youthful spirit without losing its wit. While they sometimes radiate an effortless coolness with a hip and kitschy vibe, they remain approachable and down-to-earth. Their music is defined by easy listening sounds paired with the members’ natural talents and charm, setting them apart in a distinct and refreshing way.

[TRACK LIST]

01. OUR

A hip-hop track that captures the excitement and nervousness of a first date. The playful beat is wrapped in a sweet melody, expressing the fresh thrill that gradually blooms amidst the tension. Over the bouncy sound, the members' unique voices and skills shine through in their dynamic sing-rap delivery.

[BOYNEXTOODR said…] “O U R O U R O U R oh you are oh your oh you are” It's finally the big day, our first date! I check the weather first thing in the morning, pick out my outfit carefully, but as I get closer to our meeting spot, my mind just goes blank. Should I lighten the mood with a joke? Is it okay to hold your hand? My thoughts are racing. But slowly, my focus shifts away from my own nervousness and onto you.

02. Amnesia

This song compares a couple’s cycle of arguments and reconciliations to amnesia. Taesan and Woonhak took part in writing and composing, portraying the complex emotions of a relationship where fights only make the love feel more precious. the lyrical guitar riffs and rhythmic drum beats create a unique atmosphere.

[BOYNEXTDOOR said…] “It repeats everyday, think I have amnesia” Are you doing this on purpose? Do you even know how much your words get under my skin? One moment I’m so angry I can't stand it, and the next, I miss you like crazy as if I have amnesia. The more I care about you, the more I expect, and the more I feel let down. This isn’t the kind of relationship I wanted…

03. So let's go see the stars

A rock-infused synth-pop track that paints a romantic picture of a nighttime date. Soaring vocals, refreshing drum sounds, and gliding synth melodies bring to life the image of youth gazing up at the stars. Taesan and Woonhak, who participated in the songwriting, capture the bittersweet honesty of confessing love spontaneously only to realize too late that their mic was still on.

[BOYNEXTDOOR said…] “Sing “I love you” every day. huh? what's this? I left the mic on?” The stars are extra clear tonight. On this special night, I show up at your door and ask you out on a date. I want to remember this moment forever, and suddenly, I feel like confessing my feelings. The dark sky, the shining stars, everything feels meaningful because you're here with me.

04. Earth, Wind & Fire

The title track, “Earth, Wind & Fire” is the best representation of BOYNEXTDOOR’s free-spirited and trend-setting identity. The lyrics compare a lover to the earth, fire, and wind, someone so important that they become the whole world, yet as unpredictable and uncontrollable as nature itself. Infused with hyperpop elements, this dance track features bold transitions that break genre boundaries and a high-energy performance. The rapid-fire self-speed-up section leaves a lasting impression with its addictive melody. Myung Jaehyun, Taesan, and Woonhak contributed to the lyrics, while Myung Jaehyun and Taesan participated in composing.

[BOYNEXTDOOR said…] “You ain't just a girlfriend, that's not enough. you're my earth, wind & fire” One moment you act like you’ll give me your whole heart, and the next, you turn away, leaving me completely lost. You do whatever you want, and it feels like you're targeting my weak spots on purpose. No matter how much I try, my “love formula” just doesn’t work on you. You’re like fire, stars, wind, and flowers, untamable, yet somehow, you’re my entire world.

05. l i f e i s c o o l

A hip-hop track that feels like a group of six young friends gathered in one place, sharing open and honest conversations about love and life. Myung Jaehyun, Taesan, and Woonhak took part in the songwriting, tailoring each part to fit the members' distinct personalities and charms. the real and casual lyrics reflect their genuine friendship and chemistry.

[BOYNEXTDOOR said…] “Singing, laughing, life is cool” It’s been a while since we all got together. Tonight, we’re not worried about puffy eyes in the morning or reading the room, we just laugh and talk until it’s too late to sleep. We’re all so different from one another, but maybe that’s what makes us even more special!

06. Dear. My Darling

A rock ballad blending vintage, retro sounds with BOYNEXTDOOR’s heartfelt vocals. Myung Jaehyun and Taesan wrote the lyrics, while Taesan also took part in composing. Framed as a short letter, the song expresses the hope that an ex-lover finds happiness after the breakup. Instead of clinging to lingering feelings, the lyrics convey a calm acceptance of parting, creating a bittersweet but romantic ending to the first love trilogy.

[BOYNEXTDOOR said…] “By the time this reaches you, you're not darling anymore” After we broke up, I look back on our time together. When I was with you, it always felt like I was walking on a rooftop, just a little closer to the sky. I hope our memories don’t feel too cold when you think of them. I won’t try to hold on to you, but I still hope you’ll be happy. Because I really did love you.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 62: The Underking’s Victory

Ulf's pulse quickened, the name "Rode II" clawing at her memory like a long-buried curse. She remembered her mother’s only mention of him—a dark tale of a tyrant prince, once a bane upon Farfield. He had seized the throne in his father’s absence, turning it into a nest of corruption. Under Rode’s rule, a foreign faith had taken root, twisting the customs of the land; his taxes bled the people dry, while non-humans faced his ruthless persecution. He was a tyrant without remorse, a prince who had cared more for his own twisted ambitions than his people. Her mother had spoken of him as the embodiment of a poisoned heart, driven from Farfield only when his schemes to destroy their ancient faith had been exposed. Yet here he was, transformed, living on as the Underking—a skeletal shadow of his former self, holding dominion over death and darkness. But why had he fallen so far? What had driven him to plunge into this abyss and become the terror that now stood before her?

As if reading her turbulent thoughts, Rode grinned, his skeletal features twisting with a cruel pleasure as he leaned closer. "Oh, my dear princess, you wonder how this came to be?" His voice filled the chamber, dark and triumphant. "When I was exiled, cast out like refuse by my own kin, my mother and I fled, wandering through the Outer Realms. Eventually, we found ourselves here, beneath Sidhedark, in the caverns and shadows. I named it the Underkingdom, for I knew it would be my realm, my rebirth."

Rode’s eyes flared as he continued, each word steeped in malevolence. "In these depths, I stumbled upon an ancient Elven school of magic, abandoned yet still potent with forgotten power. I studied, I devoured every spell, every curse, every incantation left behind. I honed my abilities, and in time, I found a gift unlike any other—a talent, if you will. I gained the power to rip memories and knowledge from others as if shedding their very skin. Their experiences, their secrets, their lives—all mine."

He raised his arms, his purple robe billowing with ethereal energy, his voice turning almost reverent in its madness. "I scoured Sidhedark, visiting every wizard, warlock, and necromancer, feasting on their magic and adding it to my own. Each soul brought me closer to perfection, to divinity. Now look upon me, Princess Ulf!" His laughter echoed, deep and menacing, filling the chamber like thunder. "I am the culmination of hundreds of years of magic, of hundreds of magic users! Who else would be worthy to become the next God of Sidhedark?"

Rode's skeletal fingers reached toward Oznacht, his touch slow and almost tender. His eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation as he raised his bony hand, hovering it just above Oznacht's face. There, in the dim light of the chamber, Oznacht felt a strange, sickening sensation—a twisting inside him, as though his very soul were being pulled toward Rode's touch. And then, like the shedding of old skin, a translucent layer began to peel away from Oznacht, drifting into the Underking’s palm. The skin shimmered for a heartbeat, then dissolved into Rode's skeletal grasp with a sharp, blinding flash of light. Rode’s hollow sockets flared with newfound knowledge as the memories and essence absorbed into his being.

Rode sighed, a sound that dripped with mock pity. "Ah, Oznacht, such potential wasted. You rejected my gifts, my necromantic blessings, to cling to what you called honor and friendship." His voice turned to a whisper, dark and condescending. "A shame, truly. But perhaps, in this way, Atlug can rest—he won’t suffer, at least." Oznacht's face contorted with fury, his voice hoarse as he cursed Rode with every ounce of strength he could muster. Oznacht spat through clenched teeth, "Curse you, Rode, may your stolen power rot you from the inside out, and may every soul you've stolen haunt you till the end of days!" Yet, bound by the Underking’s overwhelming power, he could only watch, helpless, as Rode drank in the remnants of his spirit, wearing it like a trophy.

Rode grinned, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Ulf, his gaze sharp and triumphant. "You, Ulf," he intoned, his voice thick with malice, "are the last part of my plan. The final key that I need to unlock my apotheosis." Ulf’s eyes narrowed, a chill settling over her heart as she managed to demand, “What do you mean?”

Rode’s smile widened as he began to recount, pride gleaming in his eyes. "Everything that has come to pass—every plot, every theft—was my doing," he declared. "It was my agents who stole the Droplet of Creation, forcing the Inert Lightning to be moved to Gelberg, where I could seize it as well. With them, I obtained all the Keys of Creation… yet, one ingredient was missing." He paused, savoring the look of realization dawning in her eyes. "The blessing of a god."

Ulf gasped, her mind spinning. The blessing of MOG! The traits that had set her apart—her red skin, her scales, her fangs, her blazing yellow eyes—all stripped from her, leaving her looking no different from any other Orc. She whispered, barely able to comprehend, "It was you... You stole it?"

Rode’s smile darkened, and with a flourish, he revealed a slender, glowing dagger that pulsed with an eerie blue light. "Yes,” he said, his voice a sinister whisper. “Behold, Magebane—an ancient elven blade designed to seal magic." He lifted the blade, twisting it so its light glinted across her stunned face. “Your blessing of MOG is held within this blade. And with that power, I will complete the transformation needed to ascend into the empyrean.”

Ulf’s eyes widened in horror, disbelief twisting her expression as Rode’s laughter echoed through the chamber. “How could you have done this? How could you have slipped into the Orcish Hall to steal the Droplet of Creation—and my blessing?” she demanded, her voice trembling with anger. Rode chuckled, the sound cold and cruel.

“Oh, my dear, it’s quite simple,” he replied smoothly, his gaze burning with twisted pride. “My plans have been unfolding for years. All I needed was someone to slip into your ranks unnoticed—someone with access to the castle, to the Hall itself. And for that, I found a traitor.” He paused, savoring the shock on Ulf’s face. “An Orc, to be exact.”

“Impossible!” Ulf spat, her fists clenched as she glared at him. The notion was unthinkable. “No Orc would betray their kin!”

Rode’s smile grew sharper, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Ah, but you Orcs are as predictable as you are fierce. You’d never suspect one of your own. Yet here he is, my crowning triumph—and, in many ways, your greatest enemy. He is an Orc imbued with all my rage, my malice, my....Hate...”

From among the Orcs, the hulking figure of Hate stepped forward, his head bowed, eyes cast down, his expression uncharacteristically subdued. Slowly, Hate knelt before Rode, his voice low and laden with shame. “My lord…”

[80pairsofcrocs]

Jedis and Tin cans || 1

series master list - Star Wars master list - main master list 

A/N - for my old jatc readers, im rewriting all the chapters, and for the new people, HI WELCOME!! glad to have you, so yeah.

no taglist for this story, sorry :(

pairings - The mandalorian x teen!reader(platonic), Greef Karga x teen!reader(platonic), The child x teen!reader(platonic), any others will be platonic or specified

TW - language, sexual jokes, mentions of losing a limb, Star Wars canon stuff, let me know if missed anything

~~~

My name is y/n, a constant reminder of my uncertain past. I seldom mention my last name, if I even have one. It's a fragment of history lost among the wreckage of my shattered childhood. My family vanished before my memories could even take root, leaving me navigating the turbulent waters of existence alone. The desolate sands of Tatooine served as the backdrop to my tumultuous upbringing, as I was shuttled between foster homes like a mere parcel, an unwanted burden in a harsh world.

From the tender age of a helpless infant until I reached 11 years, I was tossed about like a discarded trinket, never finding a secure harbor to anchor my troubled soul. The tender innocence of childhood was cruelly wrenched away when I was bartered into the heartless clutches of an illicit fighting syndicate. In this den of savagery, bloodlust ruled, and the spectators placed grisly wagers on who would succumb to the unforgiving arena. Against all odds, I emerged victorious in all my brutal confrontations until the fickle hand of fate intervened to deliver me from the abyss.

Captured by the machinations of a remorseless combat ring, I was brutally indoctrinated into a world where killing was not just a skill but a way of life. The price of my perceived defiance cost me my left arm, torn asunder in a cruel echo of my shattered existence. An uncaring replacement of cold, silvery metal stood in place of the warmth of flesh, an embodiment of the void that consumed my youth. The harsh transformation into a heartless weapon of destruction bore witness to my transformation into a soulless agent of death, a stark metamorphosis that left me forever scarred.

Ripped from the grasp of innocence at a tender age, I honed my deadly craft upon the anvil of adversity, honing my skills in hand-to-hand combat, wielding a lightsaber with deadly precision, and harnessing a mysterious "gift" bestowed upon me by unseen forces. The origins of my weapon remain shrouded in enigma, its power a double-edged sword that cut through my foes with terrifying ease.

The force, my "gift," a blessing and a curse, marked me as an outcast in a world that feared the unknown. Control was a fleeting illusion, and my failures earned me a severed limb as a harsh lesson in mastering the untamed power that coursed through my veins. Yet, through sheer determination and unyielding resolve, I tamed the tempest within me, bending it to my will like a tempestuous young prodigy finding her stride in a world devoid of mercy.

The passage of time was marked by a dark shadow that trailed in my wake, a grim specter that stifled any flicker of fleeting joy that dared to break through the armor of my stoicism. Walls of cynicism rose around me, turning me into a sardonic echo of the person I once was, a mere shell of the innocence I had lost.

With the weight of countless lives on my conscience, I trudged through the shattered remnants of my youth with grim determination, a spectral wraith clad in the trappings of a life bereft of solace. The hollowness within me was a palpable void, a chilling reminder of the sacrifices I had made in the name of survival. Yet, amidst the desolation of my existence, a flicker of hope emerged on the horizon, a beacon of light in an abyss of darkness.

At the cusp of my 15th year, a fateful encounter with a mysterious benefactor altered the course of my destiny, offering me a chance at redemption in a world steeped in shadows. A silent guardian in the guise of Greef Karga emerged from the shadows, a harbinger of liberation and salvation in a world plagued by malevolence and greed. With a single act of defiance, he shattered the bonds that ensnared me, setting me free from the gilded cage that had trapped my spirit.

Under the wing of my unlikely savior, I found sanctuary in the midst of chaos, a brief respite from the unrelenting tempest that roiled within me. For a fleeting moment, I tasted the bitter sweetness of freedom, a tantalizing dream that beckoned me from the depths of despair. From the ashes of my former life, a new chapter emerged, one defined by the pursuit of justice and the quest for self-discovery.

Embracing the path of the bounty hunter, I found solace in the shadows, my skills honed through the crucible of adversity and strife. With each mark I hunted, a piece of my fractured soul found fleeting reprieve in the echoes of the past. The ghosts of my former life lingered on the periphery, a haunting reminder of the deeds that stained my hands with blood.

As the sands of time trickled away, I found myself on the precipice of adulthood, a survivor of a crucible forged in the fires of adversity. The nameless void of my past loomed large, a gaping maw of uncertainty that threatened to consume me whole. Yet, amidst the turmoil of my tumultuous existence, a newfound sense of purpose blossomed within me, a beacon of hope that guided me through the darkest of nights.

With my 17th birthday looming on the horizon, I stand on the threshold of a new beginning, a chance to rewrite the narrative of my life and forge a path of my choosing. The specter of my haunted past lingers like a shadow at my back, a constant reminder of the trials I have overcome and the battles yet to come. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, I find solace in the simple pleasures of life, in the camaraderie of newfound family, and in the companionship of a friend who stood by me in my darkest hour.

As I make my way to the familiar embrace of the bar, a sense of calm washes over me. The neon lights beckon like beacons in the darkness, promising respite from the storm that rages within. With each step, I leave the ghosts of my past behind, embracing the uncertain future that awaits me with open arms.

~~~

After getting ready for the day, my routine involves more than just donning my gear for battle - it's a meticulous process that involves fastening my lightsaber to the sturdy belt at my waist, and securing my blasters snugly in the holsters strapped to each thigh. As I stand before the mirror, a sense of familiarity washes over me, the reflection revealing not just my appearance but a glimpse into the scars and memories that adorn my body. The scar on my neck, a visible reminder of past battles, is just one of many that tell the tales of survival etched into my skin. Despite my aversion to tattoos, there's one that stands out amidst the scars, a permanent mark of a moment in time that I carry with mixed feelings. With a resolve not to dwell on the past, I stride purposefully towards the door, taking a final moment to adjust my (h/c) hair and meet my own gaze in the mirror, a silent acknowledgment of the journey that has sculpted me into who I am.

Exiting the safety of my dwelling, I lock the door behind me and descend the stairs to the bustling market below, the air heavy with the scent of exotic goods and the eerie presence of traders peddling questionable wares. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, I take in the sights with a trained eye, noting the peculiarities that define the essence of Mos Pelgo. Among the strange menagerie of caged creatures and shadowy figures lurk in the corners, my attention is drawn towards the welcoming glow of the bar entrance, a beacon of familiarity in an otherwise foreboding landscape.

Stepping into the dimly lit interior, my senses alert for any potential threats that may lurk in the shadows, a voice cuts through the ambient noise, calling out a name that is intricately woven into the fabric of my identity.

“Y/n!”

I recognize the voice as Greef, and he smiles slightly as I walk over to his table, completely disregarding the presence of the other man seated there. "How are you doing? Any new jobs?" I ask him as I approach. He nods over to the man across from him, indicating we were about to discuss potential tasks. "We were just about to discuss that," he replies. My curiosity piqued, I inquire further, "We?" Greef explains his intention for us to work together, citing our close friendship as a reason why we could complement each other well. My eye twitches slightly as I shift my weight to my left foot and casually slide my hands into my pockets.

"I don't do partners, Greef," I begin in a warning tone, but the metal man interjects with disbelief, "You're having a kid collect bounties?" The remark irks me, and I mumble defensively, "Not a kid." The tin man persists, suggesting that working together might help me overcome my perceived bad attitude. Annoyed, I retort firmly, "I don't need help." It seems we share the sentiment, as both of us reject the idea simultaneously. I shoot a disdainful gaze at the metallic figure, rolling my eyes before discreetly pulling my left hand further into my sleeve.

"Will you quit with the glaring and sit down, y/n?" Greef's voice interrupts my silent confrontation. Realizing I've been caught in my moment of defiance, I emit a heavy sigh and nudge the tin man to make space before reluctantly taking a seat at the edge of the bench beside him, propping my feet up on the table. I sense the tin man's disapproving gaze on me, prompting me to acknowledge his fixed stare by instinct, only for him to divert his eyes as if on cue.

Greef moves to scold me for my feet on the table, but he appears to think better of it, elicits a hum of sarcastic approval from me, and shifts the conversation back to business. "Anyways, jobs," he announces, clearing his throat. He proceeds to list a series of potential bounties - a bail jumper, another bail jumper, and a wanted smuggler - placing fobs representing the targets on the table. Eager to claim them all, I assert confidently, "I'll take them-" Before I can finish my sentence, the tin man unexpectedly interrupts, turning his head to lock eyes with me.

"That won't be necessary; I'll take them, easy," he asserts, dismissing my intention. I fix him with a sharp look of disagreement, only to find him returning the gaze steadily. However, before he can claim the assignments, Greef interjects, pointing out the involvement of other guild members and emphasizing the limited job options. Curious as to why there are few tasks available despite a supposedly busy period, I query Greef, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. He explains that despite the busy nature of the industry, reluctance to pay guild rates has resulted in fewer jobs being circulated, often leading to compromised quality.

As I mull over Greef's explanation, the tin man cuts in, inquiring about my highest bounty. Sighing in resignation, I rest my chin against the metal of my left arm, which makes an appearance as I ponder the inadequacy of my previous bounty in covering expenses. The tin man remarks on the insufficiency of my earnings, to which I jest in response, "Well, don't go getting your panties in a twist, tin can; there are always other ways to make money." Even though I am unable to see his eyes behind the mask, I sense his fleeting glance at my arm in acknowledgment.

Eager to share more about alternative income sources, the tin man starts, but Greef intervenes, halting the conversation and gently placing a hand on my arm, redirecting my attention. Annoyed by the interruption, I groan and roll my eyes, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation. Despite my efforts, Greef maintains a stern expression, contemplating the possibility of sharing a particular job opportunity.

"Well, there's one job..." Greef begins tentatively. Anticipating a tangible lead, the tin man demands to see the specifics, only for Greef to reveal that there is no physical puck or documentation. Frustrated by the lack of instant gratification, I glance around the bar, feeling a surge of boredom. I briefly muse on the audacity of this Mandalorian, contemplating my own prowess compared to his.

Tuning back into the conversation, I catch my name being mentioned. Greef inquires if I'm paying attention, leading me to retort playfully, "Nope." His response is unexpected, as he promptly pushes my feet off the table before leaning in to emphasize the importance of safety. Mimicking his serious tone, I lean in nonchalantly, resting my now crossed arms on the table, accepting his caution with a graceless shrug.

Reassured that I would be adequately cared for on our upcoming mission, I decide to playfully banter with the Mandalorian, teasing him by poking his metal-covered shoulder. As we prepare to depart, Greef bids us farewell, urging us to travel safely. The tin man signals for us to leave, prompting me to follow his lead with a nonchalant reply, all the while shooting a playful smile and a two-fingered salute to Greef. As we leave, I fail to notice the fleeting look of apprehension that crosses the tin man's face the moment I turn my back.

~~~

A/N - first one redone yippee!!

[djarinsbeskar]

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 3 - CRASH LANDINGS

A/N: I think I’ve read and re-read this part so many times that I’m not sure I’m fully happy with it anymore. However! I do hope you can all enjoy the latest instalment, with our lovely Din (finally) getting some well earned attention.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 14.4k (I have no self control I’m sorry if it drags on)

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: language, (some) dirty talk, SMUT! - oral (m receiving including deepthroating and gagging), handjobs, fingering, Din being slightly awkward before embracing his dom side

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You could say with some confidence that most times in your life, you had smooth landings.

A small swell in your stomach as a ship glided down into atmosphere. The gentle, paced approach of land or sea, of mountains, forests and cities materializing as you descended. The gradual growth of buildings, speeders and individuals from pinpricks into distinguishable features of the landscape. A smooth landing was like sliding into a warm bath, where you only realized how good the water felt when it was lapping around your ears and soothing away the aches of a bad day; the touch down of a ship letting you bask in being on solid ground once more.

Sometimes, you admit, there were rough landings.

Your heart hammering in the back of your throat while you desperately tried to smother the creeping nervousness with every bump of turbulence or rattle of a ships’ engine. The rapidly approaching planet being anything but a welcome sight; the hollow, raw sensitivity to every noise both inside the ship and out suspending you in time before the worst passed. Rough landings to you, were like rolling down a hill as a child from a grassy knoll, the incline of which – to an adult – was nothing more than a slight slope. Chaotic in the movement as your head became dizzy from spinning, but once laying on your back and laughing breathlessly up at wispy clouds, you realized it wasn’t so very bad after all. The same could be said when a ships mechanical functions and sensors righted themselves through automation or a talented pilots guide to land… not so very bad in hindsight.

And then there were crash landings… rare but staggering in the impression they left.

Moments where you weren’t sure if you were hyperventilating or holding your breath, if up was down and if the ship you flew was evening functioning beyond alloying gravity to pull it mercilessly towards wreckage and death. Total clarity and yet, an inability to focus on any one thing as the rapid descent fogged any ability to see the ground coming hard and fast. The shrill alarms and warning lights ceaselessly reminding you of how fucked you really were. The adrenaline it inspired – having nowhere to go – could make you giddy and exhilarated despite the danger. In your life, the feeling of a crash landing couldn’t be compared to the physical; they were the sinking realization of someone falling out of love with you, of the betrayal from a loyal friend, the abandonment of a lifelong support. They were the serendipity of a chance meeting, the recognition of a hidden talent and the reciprocation of long held feelings. Crash landings were all the times you had ever been blindsided and helpless to prevent them: an embodied vulnerability.

The day you landed on Nevarro was a crash landing in more ways than one.

One being the literal – survived by the seat of your pants – landing that had you questioning Mando’s ethnicity beneath the helmet. Was he from Corellia? Or Maker-forbid, Pamarthe? Because there was simply no way, no way, that he managed to pull off that landing with one engine blown and a fleet of pirates on his tail. But he did, and you were all alive because of it. He guided the Razor Crest like it was an extension of himself, completely in control of every movement and never anything but calm as he did so.

For as long as you had known the Mandalorian, he had owned the fossil that was the Razor Crest, and now you could see why. You wanted to weep and apologise to her for every stray thought you had about how old and outdated she was. You knew a brand new gunship that people paid obscene amounts of credits for wouldn’t have survived the same strain the Razor Crest was just put under.

You had come to think of the two – Mando and the Razor Crest – as mirrors of each other; intimidating, ageless and well able to endure more than a ship – or a human body – was naturally capable of. It endeared you to both of them more than you already were.

The other proverbial crash landing you experienced that day, was the incident that preceded your less than desirable entry onto the Nevarro; the one that stripped away all pretense and ignorance that had strained your relationship with Mando in the weeks prior.

After hastily grabbing the child from his pod and staggering back up the ladder one handed as the ship shook violently to strap you both into the co-pilot chair, you didn’t have the presence of mind to notice the heavy scent still permeating the cockpit, or the slightly uncomfortable feeling of your release drying on your thighs. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your mind around the fact that Mando, that stubborn, stoic, recklessly unattainable man you had spent years patching up over and over again, had gotten you off with just his thigh and a few well placed rolls of his hips.

You were too busy trying not to panic at the prospect of dying or being captured which really, would just be your rotten luck after finally seeing the immovable control the Mandalorian exerted, waver. You were distracted from those thoughts right up to the point where the rough rasp of Mando’s voice as the pirates engaged with the Razor Crest’s commlink made your prior activities glaringly obvious. His voice, still thick and heavy with his unfulfilled released gradually morphed into a cold anger as he shut off the connection when the pirates’ demanded payment for your lives.

Of the things you came to realize about Mando since travelling with him, one of the few that surprised you was his refusal to negotiate with nearly everyone he encountered. It gave the small allowances he made when you treated him – and the many he gave the kid most days – a lot more weight. But you didn’t have time to think about that as he dodged shot after shot.

Your landing on Nevarro was a combination of whiplash, soot and precarious rocking before the Razor Crest skidded to a final, jarring stop a few meters away from the closest ship docked outside the main town entrance. Only when the ship stayed upright instead of bowling over from the momentum did you allow yourself to breathe again, grounding yourself back in the cockpit despite your stomach being left somewhere in space.

The return of your breathing and the realization that you had in fact survived, allowed the reality of what happened before to slam to the forefront of your mind.

You dry humped a Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Him. Mando.

Like a kitten in heat… the echo of his words had heat instantly returning to your face at the memory. You remained flushed even as you attempted to distract yourself by running an unnecessary mental check on your body for injury. Apart from a small ache growing in your head from the whiplash, you were good as new. Too good if you were being honest, and the reason for that was hardly a mystery.

You ran your eyes over the child, smoothing a hand soothingly over his wrinkled head and along one of his ears to make sure he wasn’t hurt, cooing at him gently as he nuzzled back against your chest with a string of sleepy babble. He was more concerned with being woken up than the manner of your landing apparently,

“I know darling, I’m sorry I woke you,” you muttered against his head, the sheer relief that he was out of danger roiling in your stomach and made you close your eyes as his familiar scent invaded your nose while he settled back down to sleep.

As he settled, the cockpit swelled with a heavy silence, reality catching up with you both now that the distraction of pirates and possible death was gone.

The red warning lights and occasional alarm were flicked off one by one with every resounding click of a button. When you first entered the cockpit earlier that day, you struggled to keep your eyes off him and now, now your eyes focused on anything but the man who had groaned your name so sinfully. Those clicks and snaps of levers and buttons – while quiet – were the only sounds that filled the air, enhancing the silence you sat in.

Mando was tenser than before, his shoulders stiff and movements more forceful than necessary as he geared the ship down. A malicious thought surfaced momentarily that he might be regretting what happened already.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, recognizing the ridiculousness of the notion immediately; you had just spent several heart-stopping minutes being chased and shot at and only landed mere moments ago. Of course he was tense. Stars, your muscles had yet to relax from the anxiety inducing minutes before Mando finally out maneuvered them with an unfazed countenance.

But heightened emotions and the insecurities they could bring with them weren’t uncommon after an orgasm. You merely tried to keep the more ridiculous ones at bay, a benefit of maturity and age you appreciated. It allowed you to have had your fair share of purely physical relationships; one night stands and friends with benefits over the years. It wasn’t in you to get overly attached to a sexual partner after the uncertainty of the war. You were certain Mando would be no different. You appreciated sex for what it was; a release, a coping mechanism or simply just something fun to do.

Mando’s arm reached across the small distance in front of you, one final switch and silence reigned once more. He hesitated as he withdrew his hand, resting it heavily on the dash and his helmet turned marginally to look at you, your eyes instantly lifting to the visor. You cursed the damn shiny thing silently; you had never felt the lack of expressions, or small facial tells that might have given you an indication of how he was feeling more than now. The feeling of his gaze didn’t however stop the pang of arousal reawakening after being doused so suddenly before; it simmered low in your stomach now as he watched you.

Your eyes searched his visor, hopefully conveying – if nothing else – that you didn’t regret anything. A soft quirk to your lips and he released a long breath, hanging his head slightly before pushing back up to his seat. Your smile increased subconsciously; he seemed exasperated, not ashamed and that would have to be good enough for you.

It didn’t take long for the silence to turn more comfortable after that, more familiar as he stood from his seat to make his way past you, cape brushing your arm as he did so. He hesitated at the door, considering something before he left. When he evidently came to a conclusion, he turned back to look down at you, forearm resting above his head on the doorframe as he did so,

“I’ll be gone a few hours. The Guild will be by to pick up the quarries so…” he trailed off and you waited expectantly for what he was trying to tell you, “get some fresh air. We’re leaving as soon as I pick up the next batch of pucks.”

You craned your neck to keep your eyes on him and the sudden déjà vu of looking up at him wasn’t lost on either of you as a sharp exhale left the warrior. You nodded a few times to his suggestion, mulling over anything that was low or might need restocking, mind running a klick a minute before an idea sparked in your mind, making you sit up straighter in excitement,

“Mando? Is there an automated banking center here?”

Your question seemed to throw him because he didn’t answer immediately, mind more pleasantly distracted by your appearance,

“Why?” was his only response in the end.

“I want credits, that’s why,” you rolled your eyes in playful exasperation as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. Why else would you go to a bank?

“The New Republic pay a pension for anyone who served in the Rebellion. It gets fed into an account that can be accessed from most galactic banking centers,” you explained, excited by the possibility of actually having your own credits and being able to contribute rather than living off the credits Mando earned from his bounty hunting.

“Oh,” came the lackluster response, “I don’t know. I’ve never used one before,” he finished simply, dropping his arm from the doorframe and turning to make his way down into the hold without another word.

You deflated a bit in your seat before perking up. No. ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t a negative answer, just an unhelpful one. You chuckled quietly so as not to disturb the child sleeping again you, he was still no better at talking than when you first met him. Perhaps it was simply a case of not being able to teach an old Massiff new tricks. Funnily enough, you didn’t think he needed to. You were adapting well enough to his silence as it was.

You could find out for yourself. You were dying to get off the ship and it was the perfect excuse to explore a new town for the precious few hours you had planet-side, a chance to stretch your legs and get some much needed fresh air. It was also a much better alternative to sitting on the ship and replaying the last few hours in your head, working yourself up over a husky voice and a hard body.

No, that would just drive you mad.

Since he left the cockpit, some of the heat left with him and you were able to lean back and take a long, deep breath. Fuck… but he was still able to get to you without even trying, you admitted yourself as you closed your eyes. You didn’t even have the chance to touch him beyond that momentary glance against the smooth, burning length of him. You never believed in karma before, but you must have done something truly rotten to have been stopped from touching that man.

A warmth filled you at the thought of how good he felt under you; the promise of more taken away before either of you had a moment to think. You felt wrecked from the orgasm he gave you and that hadn’t even required the removal of clothing, let alone his hands or cock.

But he hadn’t finished.

Your brows furrowed at the thought, along with a small swell of guilt in your stomach. You considered yourself to be a generous lover and wouldn’t cheapen the sentiment of wanting him to feel satisfied by thinking you owed it to him. You wanted to make him feel good, knowing the bliss someone else could give you was infinitely better than one’s own hand. You wanted to preen with the knowledge that you could bring this man, this immovable force to his knees in ecstasy.

You wanted to make him feel that good now, not later.

Steeling your nerves, you gracelessly wrestled yourself out of your seatbelt, hindered by the loss of one arm that supported the child. Finally free, you followed the same path the Mandalorian took down the ladder (equally as inelegant but climbing a ladder was awkward with two hands let alone one so you forgave yourself). You hurried over to the child’s over-pram and, once he was tucked in and the pram itself closed, turned to where you had glanced Mando preparing to leave.

He was adjusting something on his vambraces’ control panel, so he hadn’t acknowledged your presence yet, but when he picked up the control that opened the ramp down, you opened your mouth,

“Mando!” you called just before he lowered the ramp onto the lava flats that made up the improvised spaceport on Nevarro.

Your voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned his head slightly to indicate you had his attention.

Your feet were moving before you knew it, rounding in front of the warrior and removing the push-button control that hung from the wall of the Razor Crest; obviously, a temporary fix that had become a permanent solution. The remote fell easily from his grip when your fingers caressed the back of the hand that held it, your gaze never leaving where you hoped his was behind the visor.

You kept your hand on his as he lowered it down to his side, enjoying the tactile sensation of the buttery leather of his gloved fingers as they netted across your own before you pulled your hand away just far enough to trace along the duraweave at his hip and across the softer, more flexible ribbed armor on his abdomen.

“I—need to check the damage to the ship,” he rasped quietly after the control clattered loudly back against the wall it was attached to, no bite in his words as you stepped into his personal space. As expected, he didn’t move, your eyes searching for any indication of discomfort in his body language and – finding none – drifted down his body appreciatively, a knowing smile dancing across your lips.

“Gotta… collect the payment for---” he trailed off when your fingers returned to where they had been before you had been interrupted in the cockpit. His words petered off on a low exhale and you hummed in approval when you felt he was still half-hard under his flight suit.

“I don’t just take, Mando,” you said quietly so as not to break the little bubble you found yourself in with the Mandalorian. You were almost gentle in your cadence, as if anything louder would spook the intimidating man. Something inside you told you that his acceptance of your touch was no insignificant thing, not to him. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, whether it was his devotion to his Creed he mentioned or some other personal reasons. Whatever it was, you didn’t take the liberties he afforded you lightly.

You wanted to make him forget his reservations, completely.

Your fingers easily undid the fly at his crotch and fit inside to wrap around the thick girth of his rapidly hardening length. Your stomach flipped at the sheer size of him, making you swallow while Mando braced his forearm on the wall behind you, folding over you slightly from his greater height. The deep sigh he released, a shuddering sound of relief and pleasure spread electricity across you, your body instantly reacting to the guttural sound instinctively. You gave his cock an experimental squeeze as you pulled him out from his flight suit in the hopes of hearing that noise again.

But Maker, your mouth watered when you finally tore your eyes from his helmet to his exposed length.

Rich, tan skin stretched taut across the thick length of his cock as it sat heavy in your grip, a shade darker than the skin you had seen while treating him before. Pearly precum was already beading from the blunt, swollen tip and your thumb automatically swiped through it to spread over the head. You reveled in the low moan you heard in your ear as Mando’s head dropped forward to rest on your shoulder, a shaky inhale making his shoulders shudder.

“It’s okay?” you whispered, needing to be certain. The immediate nod against your shoulder settled the last of your reservations and you gave him a long stroke in return. You wondered briefly if the dryness of your hand was uncomfortable so, releasing his cock briefly, you spat on your palm before wrapping it back around the base and started stroking him steadily.

“Fuck…” his voice was barely above a whisper, his cock heavy and rigid in your fist that barely managed to close around him as you squeezed him firmly.

Stars, he felt divine. All hard ridges covered in velvet skin, a hot pulsing weight in your hand that made you chew on your lip as you imagined the size and weight of him on your tongue or the sweet sting of him stretching your cunt around him. He was bigger than you had had before, and you knew you would probably feel him for days afterwards.

He twitched under your grip, but apart from the occasional shiver and low groan in your ear, he allowed your hand to explore and learn this part of him at your own pace. Your free hand skirted down his side to gently draw his tight balls out too and when you massaged them in your palm, you received a gravelly moan in your ear. It was followed by a heady rasp in that language you still couldn’t place; the sound of it running down your spine pleasantly and making your body react viscerally, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the material of your chest band and wetness soaking your underwear again.

His shoulders sagged as the tension began to bleed from his body, his helmet turning on your shoulder to watch your hand stroking his cock rhythmically.

You were throbbing with renewed arousal from just the feel of velvety steel in your hand and from hearing those low, gravelly sounds you had been thinking about for weeks. Nothing you had fabricated in your mind came close to the reality; deep and rich, they rumbled through his whole body until you could feel their echoes in your own.

Twisting your wrist on an upward stroke, his hips snapped forward and a groan left him. His free hand unexpectedly lifted to grasp the side of your neck, his staunch control wavering. His fingers spread around easily to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck to anchor himself and you had to bite down on your lip hard to keep from moaning at the sound of him panting your name in your ear. Your eyes fluttered closed when he tightened his fingers, holding your head in pace as you increased your pace to match his hips, random twists of your wrist making him curse and groan your name desperately.

“Fuck… kitten, don’t--- fuck, don’t stop,” he panted against the side of your head, the words interspersed with quiet moans as his control continued to bend, his hips thrusting shallowly into your hand as he chased the release that he had been denied earlier. You tightened your grip and it made him practically shake with pleasure. You were only using the weeping precum leaking from his head to smooth your hand along his length but Mando didn’t seem to mind the dry friction that tethered on discomfort. He seemed to like the added sensation that made his cock throb and his mind cloud with a primal desire to fuck.

“You feel so good, Mando…” your own voice was nothing short of a moan itself, heat gathering at your core and reminding you of how empty your pussy was. But you wanted to finish him first, to bring him to the height of pleasure like he deserved before you considered your own release again. The next time you got off, you wanted to feel him completely overwhelm your body with his own, whether that was with his cock or his fingers or hell, even his thigh again. Whatever he would give you.

You massaged his sensitive head at the thought, your cunt clenching. His fingers flexed in your hair, tugging on the strands and pulling a soft gasp from your lips as he lifted his head enough for the cool beskar to press against your forehead. Your eyes flickered frantically across the visor, the strength of his fingers tangling in your hair making your lips part,

“Fuck, you want more already, don’t you?” he growled with a hitch in his labored breathing when your thumb circled the head of his cock again. You didn’t try to hide the way he was making you feel, there was no point with the desire written plainly on your face.

Drunk on the heady, heavy scent of arousal that filled the hold, you nodded desperately to his question and released his balls to run your hand along the perfectly polished beskar on his chest, the warrior shuddering as if he could actually feel you through the armor,

“I want you…” you purred against his helmet before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip when he groaned.

His hand loosened in your hair, fanning up over your cheek and across the edge of your jaw before he cupped it roughly. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip to release it from the hold your teeth had it in. He repeated the motion, slower this time to savor the pillowy softness of the flesh before pressing his thumb into your willing mouth, the fingers he had around your jaw tightening to encourage your mouth to open for him.

You accepted the supple leather eagerly, letting it rest on the flat of your tongue before you closed your lips around it, the stagger in his shallow thrusts and the sharp, distorted exhale through his modulator telling you just how affected he was.

You moaned around his thumb when he pushed it deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth, letting your tongue circle it before sucking on it hard, showing him exactly what you were imagining doing to his cock and eyes still trained on the black shine of his visor. Your mind was filled with the sounds of his raspy groans and the quick drag of your fingers of the soft skin of his cock. You matched the pace of your hand as you sucked on his thumb and when he pressed closer to you, caging you against the wall, you arched against him and keened under his movements.

“You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered breathlessly and slightly awed, as if he had come across something so unexpectedly amazing when he hadn’t even been looking, “you wan---”

He was cut off as his commlink came to life.

“Mando! You ever going to come out? What’s taking so long?” the crackled, disembodied voice sounded from his vambrace, your eyes widening slightly before you deviously picked up the speed with which you stroked him.

Mando hissed, his helmet falling back on his shoulders at the pleasure that set every nerve in his body alight. He pulled his thumb from your mouth but kept his grip on your jaw firm,

“Dangerous game you’re playing, kitten,” he panted, his voice strained as you felt him twitch and grow harder in your grip if it was possible, the thrill of danger you both felt at someone else’s presence turning you both on more than you anticipated.

You ignored his words and watched him from under heavy lashes with a cheeky glint in your eye, “Aren’t you going to answer that?” your question was saccharine sweet, as if you didn’t have your hand wrapped around his thick cock.

Playing Mando at his own game – challenging him – might have been a stupid move, but he had you riding his thigh that very day and now you wanted to even out the playing field. You ached a brow when he didn’t respond, your hand slowing to a stop on his cock even as his fingers dug into your jaw. With a vicious snarl in his own language, you knew you had him beat and started stroking him again as a reward.

“You’ll regret this,” he promised darkly when he released your face to press the connection link on his vambrace currently braced against the wall above your head,

“Looking after the kid, won’t be---” his head snapped down when you sank to your knees now that you were free from his hold, eyes sparking with mischief while you tried to smother the smile that turned your lips up when you looked up at him,

“Don’t you dare,” Mando hissed down at you, even as his head feel forward against his arm when your tongue flicked out to glance across the tip of his cock, a choked moan caught in his throat.

“Dare? Dare what?” Confusion was evident in the booming yet jovial voice on the other end of the link.

“N-nothing Karga. The kid…. The kid is just somewhere he shouldn’t be,” he directed the emphasis down at you as you lapped around his head teasingly, giving him a taste of the soft, wet heat of your tongue and only a taste.

“Ah! Bring him out! I’ve missed the little womprat.”

“Just give me----”

Mando cut the connection off on a loud moan as your lips suddenly engulfed the head of his cock, your own moan at the salty precum on your tongue making you salivate and lap up every drop. Maker, he was big. You circled the head with your tongue a few times and pulled your mouth off him after a few wet suckles so that you could lick a thick strip along the underside, eyes still shining with mischief despite the dark lust clouding them as he shook above you.

Fuck, he was so sensitive. A rush of arousal pooled low in your stomach and you moaned around him when you took him into your mouth again and sucked on the head while stroking the rest of his length. You would have to get used to his size before taking any more of him. But damn, if your eyes weren’t bigger than your belly and you let him sink deeper once, getting about half of him along your tongue before you felt yourself gagging.

“Stars, yes—” he groaned, the tight heat of your mouth making him want to sink his cock as deep as it could go before you pulled off him with a gasp, your saliva making his length glisten.

Neither of you had the time to dawdle; you could feel the coiling tension radiating from him as he dropped his hand to card his fingers through your hair. You could have spent hours kneeling there with his cock in your mouth, happily keeping him on the verge of pleasure, but he needed to go sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, you gave the tip one last lick before using your saliva as lubrication to stroke him quicker when you stood back up, his hand never leaving the back of your head.

“Tease--- fucking tease, always---” the staccato of his speech was dotted with more frequent rumbling moans and when he bit out a curse as your fingers massaged along the thick vein under his cock, he dropped his head back to your shoulder, the space between you reducing to only as much as your hand needed to jerk him off.

“You can get me back later, Mando,” you purred, squeezing the head lightly, “but right now I want you to cum.” Your free hand went back to palming his balls, rolling them between your fingers and you could feel them tightening in your hold. Your cunt clenched needily when the Mandalorian actually whimpered.

He had slipped back into his native language as he muttered darkly in your ear and even if you didn’t understand the words, the rasp and sinful promise in them as his tone became more and more desperate was enough to make another gush of wetness drench your pussy.

You knew it hit him the moment his spine went rigid, and he choked on a gasp, his hand tightening almost painfully in your hair reflexively. You slowed your pace with a whimper, lazily stroking him through his orgasm as several thick ropes of cum splattered against your jacket, the rest coating your hand as it dribbled down his cock.

His breathing returned in short, stagnant gasps, his arm taking most of his weight while his forehead rested heavily on your shoulder as he recovered. He hissed tiredly, pushing your hand away when the overstimulation made his spent cock twitch even as it softened. It gave you the perfect opportunity to lift your hand and delicately swipe your tongue along your finger to taste him. Slightly salty and a bit sharp, you sucked the finger into your mouth with a hum and let your eyes drift closed at the taste.

A long groan pulled your eyes open again to see Mando lifting his head lethargically from your shoulder, tilted down to watch you clean your fingers of his release,

“Don’t waste any, kitten,” he rumbled, his voice rougher than usual and you felt a swell of pride at the fatigue you heard in it. His hand wrapped back around your wrist to lead your other fingers to your mouth, as if to be part of this ritual of you eating his release. You were only too eager to lap each of them clean, eyes heavy-lidded as you sought his invisible gaze. His chest was still heaving from his release, breathing labored and he looked absolutely wrecked.

You moaned your approval at his taste, enjoying his eyes on you as you did so. You spread your fingers and turned them to rest against his chest and he hummed a “good girl” as he fingers released your wrist to trace up along your arm and across your collarbone lazily, curious in their exploration as though he had never thought to take the time to simply touch for the sake of touching. He probably hadn’t, you realized when you thought about it a little deeper.

His fingers roamed up along the column of your neck and settled there, flexing before they relaxed into a content hold that made you lean into the solid weight of his caress,

“Be here when I get back,” he rasped, fingers spreading to spear up through your hair at the base of your neck for a brief moment.

He only released you when you nodded, mesmerized by the lights that caught on his visor and the shine of his unpainted helmet.

And then his hand dropped and the overwhelming heat and presence of his body leaning over yours was gone. A single input into his vambrace and the child’s hover-pram followed him dutifully. You leaned back against the wall to gather your own breath that you seemed to have lost and pressed the forgotten control button to release the ramp for him and when it flattened on the lava fields below, he offered you a nod before wandering down to his… welcome party?

You snorted on a laugh to yourself, turning back into the bowels of the ship to shower and get changed before going out yourself.

That’s a first.

  You wasted no time stripping out of your clothes, flushing slightly at the stains on your jacket and pants from Mando’s release. You showered without washing your hair to save time and pulled on a new pair of pants along with a cream, loose linen top. For warmer climates like Nevarro, you were glad you had picked up the piece despite not wearing it often. You liked the feeling of not having layers of fabric clinging to you, the wispy soft length of the fit caressing rather than constricting and the dip in the neckline was tastefully offset by a string tied across your collarbones that gave it a breath of femininity. You stretched your arms above your head and enjoyed the occasional brush of the material on your back before you grabbed a satchel to make use of the unexpected free time you had been afforded without the child.

You greeted the mechanics setting up by the Razor Crest. Mando had obviously sorted the repairs out, whatever they entailed when he left the ship. Poor old girl was in some state after that landing but her condition wasn’t enough to wipe the content grin off your face as you walked in through the main gates with a small spring in your step. Despite the slight hiccup, today hadn’t gone quite so bad as you thought.

Nevarro was an… interesting place, you came to realize after a short while walking through the ragtag streets and down dusty roads. It boasted the same clientele as most Outer Rim planets, but the place wasn’t nearly big enough or significant enough to garner the attention of anyone more dangerous than a petty thief. The presence of the Bounty Hunters Guild also had a hand in dissuading criminals from setting up on Nevarro. It was charming, in a way. But then, you always were drawn to… unconventional things.

The marketplace – when you arrived – was, in a word, chaotic. There was no clear system of stalls or shops, hardly any signage and people seemed to make do with the most uncharacteristic objects upon which to sell their wares. You had seen no less than four sabacc tables, what looked like the carcass of an old mining trolley and you were nearly certain the Jawas were using stacked stormtrooper helmets beneath a large cloth to make a very wobbly table. You hadn’t managed to confirm that one unfortunately, instead trying to garner what information you could about what each stall and shopfront sold to know where to come back to after doing a leisurely loop of the market.

People bustled here and there, chatter flowed freely, and it felt similar to when the Empire first fell; as though a great weight had been lifted from these people, excited to enjoy the liberties freedom gave them. It was infectious, and you were charmed by it; swindling Jawas and all.

You had been delighted to learn from a helpful human man tinkering with the wiring of a pit droid outside a non-descript repair shop that there was a banking center on Nevarro – a New Republic one at that – recently installed with all the changes happening on the planet.

You threw your silent thanks to the Maker that at least now you had access to your own funds and could stop feeling guilty about living off Mando’s hard earned credits. Noticing the stiffness in the man’s legs when he stood to point you in the right direction, you stalled your journey to the bank to enquire about it.

“Only age, love. Nothin’ to be done about that,” he had waved you off with a dismissive chuckle.

You smiled in return with a brief nod before you took your leave, filing through information in your head about age-related joint stiffness as you did. You simply couldn’t help yourself; you hadn’t had a patient in months and Mando was the worst possible one whenever he was injured so you indulged yourself on your way to the bank with a pain relief plan for someone who had been kind to you. Not just because he reminded you of an elderly Mirialan who complained of similar pains what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The banking center was thankfully, a straight-forward experience. A gatekeeper droid scanned your chain code and then all you had to do was select the service you required. Withdrawing the sum of your accumulated pension that had been deposited but untouched for the last few months left you with a satisfying weight to your satchel as you left and was hardly dented as you went about your errands.

After a few wrong turns and your insistence that no, you didn’t need whatever piece of junk the Jawas were trying to peddle, you managed to replenish the food supplies you felt had either been running low or knew the other two enjoyed along with a few much-needed additions to the medical kit you were building and maintaining. You even went so far as to purchase a few tools you had been without since leaving Mynock, medical and otherwise that would no doubt come in handy eventually. The medical supply store was quite well stocked on Nevarro and given the number of bounty hunters you had seen prowling; it really came as no surprise.

A few tubes of heating liniment added to your satchel along with the other bags you carried, and you returned to the repair shop to hand them to the elderly man there. Your hastily demonstrated number of gentle exercises had him chuckling at you good naturedly and an hour later, you were still chatting over tea and some sort of oat biscuits.

 “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked conspiratorially when you had first sat down gingerly to accept the mug he slid over to you. The question had made you laugh,

“What makes you say that?”

He hummed in contemplation around a bite of his biscuit before pointing what remained of the biscuit at you, “Folk ‘round here are too caught up in their own lives, they don’t be worryin’ about others.”

“It could also be because I’m a medic, no?” you aired your thoughts aloud after a sip of the fragrant tea, a mix of what tasted like ginger and something floral.

“Ah, but you’da charged me if you were workin’ here,” he tapped his nose, a fond wink thrown in for good measure, “go on so, where are you comin’ from then?”

You weren’t able to stop the bubble of laughter that rose, “Pamarthe, for my sins,” you admitted.

“Ah!” he clapped a hand on his knee jovially, “A Pamarthan! Great pilots. Great drinkers!” he chortled, and you snorted into your cup on a laugh, nailed it. You chuckled as you took two biscuits off the table with a small explanation that they were for a child you were looking after. That led you to fielding questions about if the child was yours, but you were able to skirt away from that topic with a well-placed question,

“So, have you ever been to Pamarthe?”

“Me? No, no not with the Empire. Very hard to travel back in those days, very hard. Now, well. I’m not the lad I once was, love. Can’t be off planet hoppin’ anymore at my age. But a few of your people have been known to pass through here, like you.” he explained while you nodded along politely.

“Mores the pity, I can imagine you’d like it. It’s… very different to Nevarro,” you admitted with a glance around the bustling crowds kicking up ash and soot from the extrusive ground underneath. The temperate climate of Pamarthe brought grass and mud, not rock and ash.

“Is it true that all the islands are connected with rope bridges? And not something more modern?”

Your eyes widened pleasantly, the same rush of warmth anyone experienced when faced with the welcome surprise that someone knew about their homeland while not being native themselves,

“You do know your stuff!” a wistful smile broke out on your face at the thought, “and you’re right. It’s just always been that way,” you shrugged, “I’ve never really thought about why some of the old ways were kept; technology is used to prevent erosion of the islands themselves after all.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it? The things we miss that are right under our noses. Simply because that’s the way they’ve always been.” he hummed sagely, and you couldn’t help but agree.

And on your conversation went. It was refreshing, to have a conversation again. You had gotten so used to one-sided chattering on your part to the child and the simple answers from the Mandalorian that didn’t invite any more speaking than necessary.

This was nice, it was a change from the norm. But a part of you started to long for the quiet hum of the ship the longer you stayed away. Perhaps it was down to being unaccustomed to the prolonged sensory overload between the bustling crowds and loud bartering that had you eager to get back, and not just the thought of seeing a roguish warrior who seemed to embody the safety silence could provide. At least, that was what you tried to convince yourself of anyway.

So, bidding your new acquaintance a good evening along with a stern instruction to do his exercises that held no real bite, you left, your pace a little quicker than could be described as casually strolling, “be here when I get back” echoing in your mind and setting flurries of anticipation off in your stomach.

Life still seemed to go on even as the suns in the sky began to age and the shadows they cast on the low buildings and narrow streets shifted. There was still plenty of activity and you casually ruminated on where all these people went when the day was done as you reached the Razor Crest. The Guild had finished unloading the quarries in the time you had been away, and the engine seemed relatively repaired if your untrained eye was anything to go by. Lowering the ramp, you lugged the progressively heavier bags back up into the hold and unpacked them merrily; the outing and the fresh air had done wonders for you a world of good.

With the last of your supplies tucked away under the galley counter, you found yourself with nothing to do. Dismissing the thought of making something to eat after just eating biscuits, you found yourself climbing the ladder to the cockpit instead.

Chewing your lip contemplatively once there, you gingerly sat in the pilot’s chair before you could talk yourself out of it and took in the sweeping view of lava flats as far as the eye could see from this higher vantage point.

Honestly, you chided yourself internally, it’s a chair.

But in the same way you would never sit in your mother’s favorite seat at the table, where the view of the vast ocean framed by towering cliff edges of far off islands was best – even when empty – you still hesitated before you relaxed into the large seat.

Maker, was it always this big? It seemed much narrower when he sat in it… but with space on either side between you and the armrests, you were once again reminded of the size of his presence, unconsciously and perhaps foolishly dwarfed only by your familiarity with seeing him so frequently. You remembered how big he was on your examination table when he had been poisoned. The table had groaned under him and while you had seen taller, you had seen broader, his was the aura that told you he could put every inch of height, every pound of weight to better use than anyone larger or stronger than himself. Heck, even a Houk warlord hadn’t stood a chance against him.  

Your fingers ran along the sturdy leather of the armrests, the dry fabric catching the pads in their exploration and reminding you vaguely of a tookas tongue, an abrasive yet gratifying sensation on your softer skin. Your muscles sagged as you relaxed further, the trepidation of being somewhere you shouldn’t be beginning to melt away and causing your head to rest back.

You enjoyed the tactility more with your eyes closed, the deprivation of sight transforming your awareness of the leather beneath your fingers; the shallow veins of aging cracks along the material, the dips where more pressure was repeatedly placed when the Mandalorian sat here and the small fraying of the stitching at the seams. It became a map under your fingers, with rivers and valleys and mountains and you lost yourself in the idle relaxation it brought to you.

So immersed in your tactile exploration, your ears didn’t pick up on the ramp lowering, nor the presence that paused in the doorway of the cockpit, startled at first before he relaxed against the side of the doorframe, admiring the sight before him where he could leisurely take you in while you were caught unawares.

“Planning on stealing my ship?” his voice came out rougher than either of you anticipated and your eyes immediately snapped open to look over your shoulder from where you sat, lips parted in a surprised ‘o’ and looking very much like you had been caught.

You took him in from your position and, after running your hand along the armrest to find the correct button, swung the chair around to face him. You were quite comfortable where you were and didn’t fancy getting up despite your prior hesitation. One leg crossed delicately across the other, you rested your chin on a propped-up hand with a grin,

“If I wanted to steal your ship, I’d have gotten it months ago,” you teased, the familiar ground you had somewhat lost with him over the last week making a welcome return, “you’d have never even known.” you finished confidently with a wink.

Mando said nothing for a moment, assessing your words and mannerisms, “You think you could steal a bounty hunters ship from right under his nose and not get caught?” he hummed, his disbelief evident in his dismissive tone, “Please.”

“No?” you tapped your fingers along your cheek where they rested, “You seemed pretty out of it after I had your cock in my mouth,” you threw at him casually, tone light as if you were merely discussing what you wanted for dinner, smirking at the surprised choke it pulled from him, “probably be pretty easy for me then, wouldn’t you say?”

His body stiffened as he collected himself at the abruptness of your words, fingers flexing on his arms where he had them crossed across his chest and head shifting to look away from you before his visor refocused itself on where you sat,

“I don’t think you were much better, kitten,” his husky voice was deeper than it had been, thicker.

Your stomach fluttered at that stupid fucking nickname, the rolling rasp of it on his tongue only enhanced by the natural lilt of his accent. Your flare of temper gave him the time to push off the wall and saunter over in that arrogant way you hated as much as loved and pressed a hand to the back of the seat by your head,

“I think sucking my cock got you wetter than riding my thigh, didn’t it?” he rumbled, as though his question was merely a token gesture, used to amplify the truth in the statement that came before it, “I don’t think you’d be able to do anything, let alone steal my ship.”

It was your turn to be flustered now, dammit. You had the high ground for all of two minutes before he effortlessly flipped the control. Your body thrummed with how close his was but not one part of him even brushed against you; not the coarse fabric on his arm where it was braced on the seat, not the solid beskar on his legs against yours, nor his helmet against your forehead as he leaned over you. Touch was not a language Mando knew well beyond violence, but he was well aware of how to use his body to intimidate… to dominate… to captivate.

Your eyes stayed on his visor, focusing your attention on breathing normally and to not let the effect he had on your body show. You could feel the heat of his gaze running down your face, over the exposed skin at your collarbones and down the light material of your shirt. The appreciative grunt slipping through his modulator had your thighs clenching together instinctively as the craving you had been distracting yourself from all day reignited with a soft gasp when gloved fingers traced over the bend of your knee that sat crossed over your leg.

“Take these off,” he muttered, patting your thigh once as his fingers traced up from your knee, running them along the outer seam of your pants before pulling his hand away as though it had never touched you and rested it on his belt expectantly as he looked down at you, “I want to see how wet sucking my cock makes you.”

His crass words, so unlike his usual stoic statements were characteristically blunt but filled with a vulgarity that simultaneously shocked you and turned you on. For such sinful words to fall from the mouth of a man who kept his thoughts and emotions in a chokehold, there was a thrilling sense of depravity that exceeded the fact that you had gotten each other off already today.

You leaned back languidly against the pilot’s chair, watching him leisurely as he stood over you and made no attempt to hide the way your eyes trailed down his body. You rode his thigh and sucked his cock already; was there really any point in trying to hide your attraction to him anymore? Life was too fucking short.

“Are you asking me to go down on you again, Mando?” you purred, loving the virility in his tone; there was nothing you loved more than an insatiable lover, it boded well for him being able to keep up with you.

“I’m telling you that if you don’t remove them now, you won’t be allowed to.”

There was a barely restrained thread of anger surfacing in his voice, possibly the residual effects of making him answer the commlink from his contact in the Guild while you had your hands and mouth on his cock, but instead of the spark of fear your instinct would usually alert you with, a trickle of desire kissed your senses instead.

“An interesting punishment,” you hummed, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants, “given that you’d be missing out as well.” Even as you said it, you were uncrossing your legs. He pushed back a pace or two from where he loomed over you to give you room or to get a better view, you didn’t know. Lifting your hips from the seat, you shimmied the form fitting material over your ass and down your legs, kicking the material off one foot before the other, panties staying on.

His helmet snapped up from the smooth skin of your legs to your face and, in a move that had a sense of déjà vu settling over you both, you reclined back comfortably against the chair again, your eyes dancing with the same challenge he had thrown to you on Klatooine.

The pants can come off, but the underwear stays on.

For now, you told yourself, but he didn’t need to know that right away.

The warning growl he emitted was the sweetest response you could have wished for. Revenge after all, was better served ice cold.

Your move. Your eyes dared him with a glimmer of amusement and a quirk of your brow even as a knot of anticipation began to curl in your stomach.

He surprised you by sitting in the co-pilots chair you usually occupied after a tense few seconds, leaning back into the leather, relaxed.

You frowned, breaking the nonchalant façade you tried to deceive him with as your mind scrabbled to figure out what he was planning. You hadn’t anticipated him sitting away from you and simply watching you. You were about to question him when your lips parted as the hand resting on his thigh lifted to palm himself through his flight suit slowly.

Your teeth dented your bottom lip, shifting yourself in the seat while your eyes immediately focused on the way his hand flexed and curled around the prominent bulge and your fingers itched at the memory of his cock filling your hand.

His game, obviously, was to drive you bantha-shit insane, because the moment he unzipped his fly to pull himself from the tight confines of the flight suit, already hard and leaking, you wanted him.

You’ll regret this…

The growl reverberated in your mind from hours before. He was using the very thing you had used against him, on you. Your eyes glazed over as they followed the steady path of the Mandalorians fist as he stroked himself, small grunts the only sounds he seemed willing to let you hear.

You swallowed, heat rose to your cheeks and your skin becoming uncomfortably hot. It made you increasingly aware of your own arousal as you remembered the weight of his cock in your hand, the pulsing length of him on your tongue… your tongue peaked out to taste your bottom lip, all traces of his earlier release unfortunately gone.

Your eyes darkened when a quiet groan was picked up by the modulator, his head dipping with a ragged breath as his thumb swiped over the swollen head. You had to stifle a moan of your own when you recognized that the movement of his hand was mimicking yours, twisting momentarily on the upward stroke and squeezing as it came back down to the base.

Your idle fingers itched to touch yourself and one hand began subconsciously moving between your thighs as they spread enough give you space. But the Mandalorians sharp eyes – even clouded with lust – didn’t miss a thing as his head rolled around to look at you,

“Hands by your sides, kitten.”

His voice was dangerously low, thick with lust as he slowed his strokes to a lazier pace, prolonging his desire and by default, prolonging your inability to touch yourself. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke, and it made you huff indignantly, but you fisted your hands on the leather beside your bare hips nonetheless. The ease with which he gave commands, the casual control he exuded, it sent tremors of need through you, a baser side of you eager to obey even if it conflicted with your stubborn nature.

“Good girl,” he rasped with an unmistakable tease lilting his voice when you settled, “keep behaving and I’ll let you taste it.”

You hated to admit it, but the promise of having him in your mouth again was almost worth the silent torture you were being made endure now, cunt throbbing in neglect and skin humming with sensitivity. You had always been able to succeed with a mind over matter approach, with the constant knowledge that the reward was worth the work it took to achieve it but Maker, was he making it difficult.

The minutes he sat away from you felt like hours despite your resolve and the temptation to touch yourself only grew as the air grew thick with tension. Your eyes drank their fill of the warrior getting himself off mere feet away from where you sat half-naked. The sound of his hand stroking himself and those breathy exhales were going to drive you mad.

Your panties felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin and you cursed your stubbornness in keeping them on, shifting in your seat and making yourself whine quietly when they brushed against your clit, drawing Mando’s helmet down to look at you once more,

“Take them off,” he repeated breathlessly, and you wanted to weep in thanks, eagerly lifting your hips to push the offending piece of clothing down your legs. You didn’t have time for shyness or modesty when the cool air on your bare cunt was soothing for all of five seconds before the throbbing heat made you ache with a renewed need to touch your clit, to somehow relieve the pressure. The approving groan that rumbled from the Mandalorian was a stroke to your ego as you spread your legs for him, revealing your damp folds to him and tempting him to break the rules of his own game.

“Maker, I can see how wet you are from here,” he moaned and picked up the pace of his stroking momentarily, caught up in the vision you presented him with, half naked in his pilot’s chair; you were a veritable galactic pin up girl.

You made a small noise of impatience, your darkened eyes pleading with him as your body burned under his unseen gaze.

“Tell me what you want,” he grunted, squeezing the base of his cock to slow himself down from simply getting himself off as quickly as possible as he would normally.

“Your cock,” you answered shamelessly before tagging a quiet “please?” to the end which seemed to break him just like you hoped it would.

He stood not a moment later and made the few steps to stand beside you and you wasted no time in greedily wrapping your fingers around the thick base of his cock. You turned your head so your lips could instantly wrap around the head of his cock again, beyond teasing him and addicted from the brief taste you had of it earlier in the day and making you moan around him in both pleasure and relief.

The vibrations made Mando hiss as they ran through him before his head tipped back on a moan when you relaxed your jaw to take a bit more of his length into your waiting mouth, tongue massaging as much of the underside as it could reach. You began a steady rhythm moving up and down his cock, your muscles relaxing to let him move easier along your tongue.

Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take into your mouth, using your saliva to glide your hand down to his base with a firm squeeze. You knew it would take a little time to get familiar with taking him in fully, so you enjoyed each drag of his length over your tongue and lips, along with the occasional teasing scrape of your teeth that had his breath hitching.

He gripped the headrest behind you when you pulled off him to latch your lips wetly along the length, licking and kissing your way to the base nestled among dark, trimmed hair, your hand massaging the head as you did so. The sight made you hum and lick a long strip back up the underside to suckle on the head once more. You had deduced he was probably dark haired given the beautiful tan of his skin, but having it confirmed made your stomach clench giddily.

Your eyes lifted back to Mando’s helmet when he cupped your jaw, pressing his thumb slightly against your cheek for you to open your mouth so his cock could settle back on your tongue. You moaned, taking his none too subtle hint and started sucking him off again in earnest, your saliva and his precum leaving his cock messy and wet and the sounds it made as you sank your head down on it were profane and loud in the otherwise silent cockpit.

You keened when you felt a gloved hand trace down your front, ghosting under the swell of your breast before giving it a tentative squeeze that had you whimpering around him and relaxing your throat to ease more of him into your mouth. He grunted and kneaded the soft flesh of your breasts above the thin linen shirt at the perfect heat of your mouth, learning you as you were him.

You dug your nails into the backs of his thigh to stop yourself from gagging when his tip pushed against the back of your throat, the sudden sensation making him jerk his hips forward with a gasp of your name and a hard squeeze to your breast while tears formed in your eyes. The slight burn was delicious, and the sounds he made as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as possible were even more so.

“Fuck yes…” he groaned, your mouth molten around his cock while he rocked against you shallowly, his gaze roaming your entire body and when it fell on the thin ring of ink surrounding your left thigh, his cock twitched in your mouth and caused you to pull back enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive head before sinking back down on him to take in as much as you could.

The sound of him choking on a moan encouraged you to hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, your eyes glittering up at him with a mix of tears and teasing when he jerked his hips forward again, pushing his length that bit deeper.

“Such a… fucking filthy thing---” he moaned, releasing your breast to tangle his hand in your hair to slow your movements as you withdrew your head eagerly and sank back down on it, “but so… so fucking thorough in your examinations.”

You pulled off him, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth even as trails of saliva kept you connected to his cock and messed up your mouth and chin. You pumped him with your hand while you rested the head against your cheek,

“What did you call it again? Coercive medical attention?” your voice was hoarse, but it dripped with a lovely mix of amusement and desire.

“So long as it ends with my cock in this perfect fucking mouth, I’ll accept medical attention of any kind,” he bit out, the slight tremble in his voice when you gave him a long hard stroke was endearing in a way you hadn’t anticipated the warrior being.

“I’ll believe that when Mustafar freezes over,” you chuckled, giving his cock a squeeze for good measure before taking him back into your mouth.

“Maybe we’ll go there then---” he cursed when you let him hit the back of your throat again, “be—be the only way to shut you---” he never did get to finish that sentence, his head falling back on his shoulders with a sound that got caught in his throat when you took the remaining few inches into your mouth valiantly and swallowed hard around him, breathing deeply through your nose.

Feeling yourself start to gag, you pulled off his cock halfway, gasping around him before starting to lazily bob your head in order to get your breath back and do it again. His hand tightened in your hair but allowed you to move at your own pace. Your attention was pulled back up to him when he leaned over you slightly, a slap to your inner thigh making you moan and spread them for him eagerly.

“Fuck…” he groaned, and you felt the soft leather of a finger swipe through your folds, making you whimper. He growled something you couldn’t quite pick up with your blood pounding in your ears from that single jolt of pleasure he gave you but when you felt him again, it wasn’t the cool leather of his gloves, but the warm skin of his fingers instead.

The realization made you jump on contact with a mewl as he spread your wetness along your dripping cunt. You knew what he would find there without him having to say a word. Slick, swollen and burning with need as you keened, your sounds were muffled by his cock filling your mouth. You struggled to keep the lazy pace of bobbing up and down on his length when you forgot how to breathe from the slight calloused tips of two of his fingers spreading your slick lips and pulling a vicious growl from the Mandalorian.

“All this from sucking my cock?” his voice was labored, control razor thin as he struggled not to merely grip your head and fuck your mouth to chase the release dangling before him. It seemed every part of you was hot and wet and soft as his fingers spread through your folds and his cock buried in your mouth. Your bright, wide eyes, glassy with lust looking up at him made that struggle even harder as his hips rolled involuntarily, your cheeks hollowing and wet tongue massaging under the prominent vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You were addicted to the way he sounded, the ever-present discipline he exuded daily was being pulled taut as more primal urges overtook him. It was an intoxicating reminder of his humanity, of the man under the armor and the mere thought of his possible expressions beyond an impassive helmet as curses and moans and filth fell from his lips, had a wave of wetness slowly pulsing from your neglected pussy.

“Oh fuck--- fuck what, what was that--” he rasped, his fingers diving into the arousal that dripped down your open thighs and over your cheeks to the seat underneath you, making a mess. The sudden gush seemed to short circuit something in Mando, his mind struggling to focus on anything but the soaked cunt under his fingers.

When the pads of his fingers brushed over your aching clit, you cried around him, squeezing the base of his cock, and making him hiss your name; a surprised hitch that had him nearly doubled over you in pleasure. The next brush of his fingers was not as surprising, but no less intense before he began a stead rhythm of circling your clit, dipping his fingers down into your sopping folds before dragging that wetness back to soothe over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You tried to mumble something, your head foggy with the need to cum from being filled with something other than your own fingers, but his cock garbled your words, the two of you slipping into that tangled, desperate side of lust. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him out though, lamenting the loss even for a moment as you greedily tried to take more of him again, the choked gasp above the only reward you needed when your nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. It had to be a sin, to feel this good from giving someone else pleasure. Maker, you could get off just by sucking this man’s cock for hours and be satisfied.

Mando however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment and when he suddenly pushed a finger into your tight cunt, your eyes rolled closed as you both moaned in unison. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the thick, foreign digit and you felt your orgasm cresting at your sensitivity before it abated somewhat when his finger settled knuckle deep inside you.

“Stars, so tight for me, kitten--- tight and wet and fuck,” he spat as you clenched around him again at how wrecked he sounded, giving his cock a particularly hard pull into your mouth while you whimpered around him, “can just imagine, shit, imagine how tight you’ll be around my cock.” His words were almost slurring in their delirium and you knew that if you tried to speak, you wouldn’t sound much better. Especially not when he added a second finger into your pussy and started pumping them achingly slow and more controlled than he sounded.

“So big, you- your fingers--- more,” you whined after pulling his cock from your mouth to suck in a breath, the task suddenly becoming manual as you struggled to remember what came first, inhale or exhale? “I want more, always more,” you were babbling against his cock now, begging words interspersed with wet licks and kisses to the length as if you could convince him with affection to give you what you wanted.

“That’s it kitten, fuck, t-tell me what you want—” Mando was panting now, the quick jerks of your wrist along his cock, slippery from your drool and saliva making his own breathing an unbearable task as his fingers pumped inside you harder, the wet sounds filling the cockpit both mortifying and evocative, “such a greedy, hungry, smart-mouth medic I—shit.”

He almost sounded angry, the tempestuous rumble rolling from his voice like thunder, but paired with one hand roughly thrusting a third finger into you and the other carding his fingers reverently through your messy locks, you knew he was as unhinged as you were with the intensity of the pleasure you were somehow able to give each other. As if the tension that had been steadily growing from that first fateful night on Klatooine was suddenly boiling over, spilling, and hissing as it stoked the flames beneath; a closed circuit that could no longer be stopped or broken.

When his thumb began working tight, practiced circles around your clit as his fingers fucked you into the chair, you knew you wouldn’t last long. The looming pressure that had been building the moment he asked if you planned on stealing the Razor Crest was coming at you faster than a TIE fighter,

“Gonna cum, Mando--- Mando, feel so good, please---” you whimpered, grinding your hips down on his hand desperately as your orgasm drew near.

He slowed his fingers despite your protestations, and he gentled your frustration with a well-placed curl of his fingers inside you, “Shh, shh—fuck, not yet---” he started and you whined as you sucked the head of his cock back into your mouth ardently, as if somehow, that would change his mind, a mixture of saliva and precum drooling down the sides of your mouth as you messily lapped at him, “fuck… kitten--- wait.”

He pulled himself from your mouth and his fingers from your cunt, chuckling breathlessly at your frown as you glared up at him, “wait…” he purred, the sound running down your spine and across your overheated skin while he hooked one hand under your knee to drape your leg over the armrest, giving him a better view and greater access to your soaked pussy.

You shivered as he gathered some of your arousal to coat his fingers before your jaw slackened when he spread your juices along his cock – the shudder down his spine evidence of just how effected he was – until it glistened with a combination of your saliva and arousal. The visceral image of your arousal coating his cock had any last shred of control or shame disappearing, impatience taking its place.

 It was filthy, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. You dragged your eyes up to his visor slowly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, lips parted and chin messy from your ministrations. The resounding growl he released had your cunt quivering, missing his fingers and it pulled an impatient whine from your lips as your nails raked down his covered hip.

“Mando…” you began, eyes dropping back to his cock with a silent plea.

He led his cock back into your waiting mouth, running the head along your plump bottom lip and smearing the mess already at your mouth and chin before pressing it back against your waiting tongue. His fingers immediately returned to push into you and began fucking you in earnest. The tangy taste of your own arousal mixing with his made you moan around him and your eyes flutter shut, your hips grinding down on his hand immediately once he found a rough, fast pace to bring you over the edge. You greedily engulfed the length of him, your hand stroking along the base as you hummed when you felt him get impossibly harder on your tongue.

His fingers curled against that small patch inside of you and made your hips jerk up to his rough chuckle, “there we go, good girl---” he panted, his thumb once again returning to your clit which had you practically sobbing around him with the need for release. You had orgasmed only earlier today and yet, it felt like you had been edged for weeks, months even. You were so desperate to come apart that when it did hit you, you were blindsided.

“Fuck, fuck! That’s it, kitten---” Mando pumped his fingers through your quivering walls, slower as they clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside while your cries bounced off the steel surrounding you in the cockpit and soaking his hand in your release. It kept going, for several long seconds and you were certain your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen with how you were unable to take in a full breath and all you had to ground you, was your hand working over the solid thick length in front of you.

“So good, it’s so good---” you heard yourself babble, moaning his name like a prayer as you latched your lips to his length to drag open-mouth kisses to the shaft, hips still rocking against his hand as the last convulses ran through you, “want your cum, Mando- “

He didn’t respond, his fingers running sloppily over your clit once more as you whined with the overstimulation and tried to pull away despite being trapped against the seat,

“Another. Give me another,” he groaned, his fingers leaving no room for negotiation as they began a renewed onslaught on your sensitive nerves, already raw and frayed from coming so hard already. You shook your head even as you lapped at his head, eyes teary and unfocused as you looked up at him, “I can’t, it’s too much—”

“’More’ you said…” he released your hair to grip under your chin, pulling your head up to be pressed against his helmet, “I’m gonna… shit, I’m gonna give you as much as you need.”

His voice was strained, and you could hear it wavering the closer he got to his own release. But even in your foggy mind, you could feel the steel determination rolling off him. He wasn’t going to cum until you did. The thought alone made you whimper and despite your earlier declaration, a fresh wave of arousal pooled around his fingers as he pressed them back into you.

“Do it…” you heard yourself whisper, lowering your head enough to nuzzle the head of his cock against your cheek while he still held your jaw and you hoped you were meeting his eyes behind the helmet, “give me everything, e-everything I’ve been missing.”

His answering growl and the press of his thumb into your mouth for you to bite down on was all you could remember clearly before he built up a brutal pace once more. Your head fell back against the seat once he released you at the overwhelming friction on your swollen cunt, but Mando wasted no time in guiding your head back to his cock and with a whimper, you took him back into your mouth easily, his tip brushing the back of your throat now without hesitation as you swallowed.

His fingers stuttered while he groaned before regaining their rhythm and curling up against that spot inside you, a flick of his thumb against your clit sending flames scorching over your skin again as your release approached embarrassingly quick,

“Better than I ever imagined… this mouth—” he moaned, “you’re so wet and fuck… I bet you taste—” he was cut off on a long moan as you let him sink down your throat, breathing heavily through your nose before pulling back and repeating the action, your hands reaching into his flight suit to fondle his heavy balls once more.

You were equally determined to make him cum, a small taste earlier hadn’t been enough to satiate your craving and with a second orgasm about to overtake you, you were ravenous with the need to have him cum down your throat before you were struck dumb with the pleasure his hands would give you.

His breathless chuckle, such a foreign sound to come from him, made you want to smile had you not been preoccupied, “trying to beat me, kitten?” he asked, slowing the thrusts of his fingers so they were longer and harder, the change in pace heating you up beyond boiling point and you gave his balls a gentle squeeze in retaliation.

He was breathing hard, trying to limit his hips from thrusting into your warm mouth but even you could tell the shallow thrusts highlighted how close he was. But given his stubbornness, he doubled down on his efforts and with a final hard press on your clit and a perfect curl to his fingers your release crashed over you, less intense than the first but more surprising as it washed over you and kept you quivering and shaking under him, trying to ride it out with a silent cry. He pulled you through it once again with lazy strokes of his fingers, but they were messy, sloppy as he finally allowed his head to drop back on his shoulders, the tight leash he had on his control finally snapping,

“Yes, fuck— you want my cum, kitten?” he snarled when you nodded around his cock, eagerly pumping him and the change in his breathing told you he was nearly there.

He braced the hand that had been inside you to the back of the chair while the other tangled in your hair to keep you in place, his hips movements uneven and erratic before he stilled, your mouth opening for his cock to rest on your tongue while you pumped him.

He growled your name when his cock pulsed, a rope of cum hitting your cheek before you closed your lips around the head for him to continue coming in your mouth, the thick fluid coating your tongue and making you moan at the taste of him before you swallowed it down. You sank your lips slowly down the length of him, coating him with any residual cum in your mouth while you languidly basked in both your orgasms with a fond lick to his tip.

His shoulders lifted and fell in great rolls as he struggled to catch his breath, the heat in his invisible gaze not lost on you as you held his cock up to lick it clean languidly, reveling in every twitch you could feel in his muscles as a result.

“Maker…” he whispered into the cockpit, now filled only with your combined breathing. He hadn’t stopped stroking your hair as you cleaned his cock up, and the gentle act belied the gruff exterior he presented. It wasn’t lost on you, even if it might have been unconsciously done on his part in his post-orgasmic haze. Your leg dropped from the armrest to fold closed, and you hummed at the pleasant ache you felt once they were together despite the stickiness of your release drying on your thighs.

Once your tongue had become too much for him, he pulled back from you slightly, just enough to push himself back into his flight suit and with a fleetingly soft caress to the side of your head, he dropped back down in the co-pilot seat where he had first begun. You swiped the warm cum from your face and licked your thumb clean while you both basked in the afterglow.

His helmet tipped back against the headrest but kept it turned towards you, his chest rising and falling in large swells. You probably should have grabbed your underwear to cover up, but you were still basking in the euphoria of two breath-taking orgasms that the most you could do was stretch an arm over your head with a soft moan to release any remaining tension in your muscles, your eyes blinking tiredly at Mando all the while.

“Keep that up, and I’ll fuck you right now,” he rasped; his voice lower from how much he had used it in the last while. He didn’t speak often, but you were tickled to find out how vocal he could be when aroused.

You hummed at the thought, relaxing your arms back by your sides as an amused laugh left you, “A tempting offer, but I think my bones have been liquified.” Your words inspired another unencumbered laugh from you, still high from your orgasm and his posture adjusted slightly as if proud of putting you in this state, “I wouldn’t be much use.”

“Until next time then,”

He sat up, the smooth words making you smile tiredly at the familiar phrase. He ran his bare hand behind his neck, a lethargic groan leaving him as he tried to wake himself up from a stupor and your eyes followed the movement. The flash of tan skin made you chew your lip on a smile, knowing exactly where those fingers had been not a few minutes earlier.

You finally pushed yourself to sit up properly, toeing your underwear closer to you so you could bend and shimmy them up your legs, feeling his eyes follow the movement silently. You decided against your pants, the length of your shirt covering your modesty somewhat and you released a long, satisfied breath before turning your gaze to inky darkness that had engulfed Nevarro while you were occupied.

“Did you finish up with your Guild contact?” you posed, and he nodded once,

“Five more pucks,” he explained simply, standing from the co-pilots seat, and you wrinkled your nose, you guys would be travelling for a while, so it seemed.

“Is the kid still asleep?” you hummed tiredly, “I have biscuits for him.”

“Still knocked out from earlier. We had come back to leave when---” he trailed off to your laughter, standing up once you felt your legs wouldn’t give out from under you and turned the pilot seat back to face the viewport,

“Are you saying I made us late, Mando?” you threw over your shoulder, startled when you found him standing directly behind you, his hand falling heavily to your hips and his chest against your back while he hummed in agreement,

“Exactly. You’re as troublesome as the kid,” he murmured against your temple with a squeeze to your thinly covered flesh while you rolled your eyes at him, no heat in the action as you were more pleasantly preoccupied with the comfortable weight of his hands and the warmth that flowed from them into your body.

“Please. Go on then, get us up in the air since we’re so far behind schedule.” You pressed back against him cheekily before his head leaned back to look down at you as he pondered something for a few moments,

“You do it,” he replied simply.

You blinked, he had never asked you to fly before, excluding the time he came back injured on Scipio, and even then, he hadn’t asked. You had taken it upon yourself to do. You couldn’t help but feel that this was a tentative move on his part, a small gesture of confidence he had in you that you didn’t want to refuse.

“I’ll… check on the kid,” he continued with one last caress to your side before he released you and disappeared out of the cockpit, leaving you floundering.

Orgasms put Mando in a much better mood, you determined with a chuckle, taking a seat again and beginning the routine procedures to take you up and off the planet, running your hands back over the dry leather of the armrests fondly.

Crash landing or not, today had been a pretty good day.

 Stitches Taglist:

@geannad​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @gracie7209​ @pychedelic-star @nova646​ @theflightytemptressadventure​ @wantingtobekorra​ @computeringturtle​ @slayerette26​ @kesskirata​ @greatcircle79​ @boxdyeblonde​ @fangirl-316​ @niiight-dreamerrrr​ @tanzthompson​ @theamuz​ @the-scandalorian​ @gallowsjoker​ @helmet-comes-off​

[cuttothefeeling]

Phantom Thread (2017) || dir. Paul Thomas Anderson || 100/100

You can sew almost anything into the canvas of a coat. Secrets.

I feel like Paul Thomas Anderson must find a lot in common with his neurotic haute-couture designer Reynolds Woodcock, a man fully committed to his craft in every sense of the word. And so I ask myself as I sit down to rewatch his latest enigma, Phantom Tread: what secrets is he hiding in the fabric of this work for us to uncover?

Before I start, I apologize that my thoughts are going to seem scattered. This really is a brilliant, multilayered film and so I'm naturally going to be all over the place when discussing it.

First let me say: Daniel Day Lewis is at the height of his capabilities, that much is certain. Leslie Manville is equally perfect as Cyril, a character that I don't think I'll ever be able to pin down. But it's Vicky Krieps as Alma that ultimately steals the show. She really is the heart and soul of this film.

Johnny Greenwood's score is also very much a star in its own right. The film ends up achieving an almost lyrical quality by cutting to the rhythms of his music, which is sublime. PTA is also working as his own cinematographer this time around, and honestly I couldn't imagine it any other way after seeing the final product. What he does with light and shadow is nothing short of brilliant. There's this hazy sfumato effect that he's able to achieve throughout and it's gorgeous.

One thing I notice right off the bat about this film is how much PTA has grown in terms of subtlety (Compare this with Boogie Nights and it's almost as if we're dealing with a totally different director altogether!). The characters here are opaque and virtually impossible to read; one is forced to mine the minutia of the dialogue and the barely-perceptible expressions of the characters in order to construct some idea of what is happening in a scene.

One thing is for certain though: Phantom Thread is a film fundamentally about love. A burning love that rages and dies down and flickers back to life. For Paul Thomas Anderson, love seems to be something cyclical; he immediately throws the myth of a "true" love that never fades right out the window. The relationship explored here is an incredibly turbulent affair that reaches sensuous highs and nearly catastrophic lows. In other words, it's real.

*Spoilers start here*

Reynolds and Alma are two very dominant personalities, or at least try to be. Alma wants Reynolds to be able to submit to her, at one point telling him she wants him to lie flat on his back, helpless and tender (We can here recall Freud's famous Wolfman patient who desired a woman "viewed from behind, on her hands and knees"). And so we come to the ingenious plot device of the poisoned mushrooms, which Alma uses - with (and here lies the interesting part) Reynolds’s consent- to briefly incapacitate him.

For Reynolds, the three women of his life - his mother, his sister Cyril, and his wife Alma - are all intertwined. There is a deliberate Oedipal element here to be sure: the spectre of the Mother haunts all his relationships. That role - the Mother - has been taken up by Cyril at the beginning of the film. In the scene where Alma reveals her surprise dinner, it is obvious Reynolds can't function properly without Cyril. In a later, equally pivotal scene, Reynolds is seen lying in bed with fever from the mushrooms. Alma begins taking care of him and therefore assumes the role that Cyril has up till now occupied, to the extent that Cyril and Alma are shown speaking in unison to the doctor! 

The literal ghost of Reynolds's mother then visits him. Reynolds tries to communicate with her, but she says nothing. When Alma walks into the room, however, the ghost disappears - Alma has now taken her place. She is the Mother. It comes as no surprise then when Reynolds asks her to marry him in the following scene.

This is, without a doubt, the greatest film of the year. I cannot think of another that achieves this sort of depth, psychoanalytically. I have not once stopped thinking about it from my first viewing; it is one of those rare films that works its way into your mind and heart and refuses to let go. The term "masterpiece" gets thrown around too much, but if there was ever a time to use it, it's now.

You know, I keep thinking about the ending of the film, which closes on what can only be termed as a cinematic high. That final kiss! The total weight of  Alma and Reynolds's tension over the course of their entire relationship is embodied in this single, spontaneous moment of passion. Johnny Greenwood's score picks up for the denouement as a self-consciously artificial light flashes across our characters in embrace.

Perfection. Utter perfection.

[neoduskcomics]

Steven Universe Review: Seasons 4 and 5 (PART 1)

STEVEN UNIVERSE SPOILERS

Okay, so, I haven’t done one of these in quite some time (I think like two or three hiatuses ago). But we’re once again at a point where we don’t know when SU is coming back to us, so I feel like this is a good time to get caught up on my thoughts of the show. This is gonna be a two-parter since I’ve skipped over so many episodes.

But anyway ON WITH THE REVIEW

Steven’s Dream

This episode doesn’t really tell a whole story so much as mainly set up what’s to come, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hit some good points. Steven having some kind of ominous, mystical dream is a great way to get us intrigued with what’s going on. We follow up with an uncomfortable confrontation between Steven and the Gems, and it’s actually kind of cathartic to have Steven finally stand up to Garnet and Pearl like “You know what? Screw you guys. I actually want to be told something straightforwardly for once instead of having to piece it together myself across seventy episodes which then culminate in an earth-shattering plot twist.”

Greg and Steven’s short little montage in Korea was pretty amusing (did not expect that fourth-wall breakage in the Korean animation studio) and it was nice to see Andy is still around and serving the plot. Of course, this is all topped off with the unexpected emergence of Blue Diamond, and her very presence in this episode just creates a huge shift in tone. When Greg actually converses with her, there’s such a feeling of tension, like you couldn’t have put two characters who are on more opposite ends of the threat spectrum together into such an awkward and serious situation.

And of course, it doesn’t end well. Greg gets captured, and this event sets up the rest of the episode. So this wasn’t really a self-contained story and it doesn’t really follow any kind of significant plot or emotional thread, but it was pretty good as setups go. There’s not a lot to say about this aside from that it made me want to keep watching.

Adventures in Light Distortion

This episode isn’t terribly memorable to me as it felt a little all over the place and, again, didn’t feel to me much like a significant story, but I think there are a couple good reasons for that. For one thing, it’s a bit all over the place. Again, this episode doesn’t really feel like a self-contained story so much as a continuation of the last episode and a lead-in for the next one. But that makes sense, because all these episodes are very much meant to blend into one another to create a multi-chapter arc. I almost considered just writing a single review for the whole thing, but I think it’s better to break it up by episode.

Now it’s not a bad episode by any means. It has some fun and creative bits, playing with the effects of the ship on the Gems’ physical forms in a pretty innovative way. It also has a pretty intense sequence where Steven accidentally launches them into faster-than-light travel and you can really feel the helplessness and desperation of his struggle. Especially when he starts crying for his dad. It’s actually one of the few moments in the show (post -first half of season one) where you’re really reminded that he’s a just a kid.

Of course, everything gets resolved by the end and we feel all comfortable and secure and Steven learns his lesson, etc. etc. etc. Again, not really a strong plotline or arc here—just a continuation of the story. You could arguably have cut it out, but I think it helps reinforce the emotional stakes of what’s going on and just how important Steven’s dad is to him, and how he reacts when his dad is threatened. We’ve seen him get worried about and rush after the Gems, but his own biological family has never been threatened in this way, and it’s pretty effective to see just how torn up Steven is over it all.

I wouldn’t say it’s a terrific episode, but certainly not pointless, either.

Gem Heist

Now, again, this episode is another continuation of the previous episode and a lead in to the next one. But, like the last couple episodes, it has some pretty strong moments. Except instead of turbulent, emotional scenes, they’re comical. The title is pretty appropriate because the episode does feel like something of a humorous heist movie plot. Seeing Ruby, Sapphire, Pearl, and Amethyst trip over themselves to fool the Holly Blue Agate is pretty damn funny.

And Holly Blue is a great character. You only have to spend half an episode with her to completely get what she’s about and what her role is at the zoo, and it makes for fantastic dramatic irony when the cast is fumbling about to pull the wool over her eyes.

I actually can’t say much else about this episode. It’s fun and funny and I very much enjoyed it.

The Zoo

This episode feels a bit more like a self-contained story than the other ones do. We’re introduced to a new setting, new characters, a new status quo, and a new conflict that are all contained within this one episode, even if it still ends with a cliffhanger.

At the same time, though, while the premise of the episode is somewhat intriguing, it’s ultimately not that entertaining or engaging. I mean, it’s not boring by any means, but there’s not a whole lot of terrific comedy or drama driving the episode. We’re sort of just observing and learning about this little self-contained world that comes crashing down around them by the episode’s end. There are a few amusing moments and some message in there about choosing freedom over a rigidly dictated security (though I think I feel a bit conflicted over how they seem to trivialize the validity of the zoo-humans’ way of life), but that’s really about all I can say with this episode.

It’s not great, it’s not bad. It’s just somewhat interesting and somewhat amusing.

That Will Be All

This episode feels basically like Gem Heist, except with a couple more dramatic beats and a great payoff to the heist component of the plot. Which is to say, I liked it quite a bit.

First of all, it’s great seeing Amethyst bond with the other Amethyst and Jasper soldiers at the Zoo. Homeworld is always made out to be such a rigid, restrictive and totalitarian society, so it is interesting to see that Gems there are capable of (and perhaps, against their purpose, predisposed to) having individual personalities, being a little rebellious, and developing relationships that foster happiness and unity—not just utility. Also, with Amethyst always being the black sheep of the group, it’s just nice to see her find something akin to a community that she can identify with and that doesn’t judge her for being different (fun trivia: the term “off-colors” is actually first used in this episode as far as I can tell).

And seeing how those Amethysts bond and get along actually just makes Holly Blue out to be even more of a tightwad, which is why her downfall at the end of the episode feels so great.

And of course we get that scene with Blue Diamond and Yellow Diamond, and we get that song. Now, I didn’t love this song when I first heard it, but now I’ve listened to it quite a few times (thanks to the new Steven Universe soundtrack) and I have to say it’s really grown on me. I love how the Pearls provide backup singing, and the song itself is just so strong and somehow weirdly eerie. And really, who saw it coming that Yellow Diamond would get a musical number in this episode? I think this is actually the first song we can consider to be a “Villain song” in this series, and it’s pretty damn great.

The best part of this episode, though, has to be the end where the gang is just trying not to be spotted by Holly Blue as she prattles on about the Diamonds. It’s just so damn comically tense, especially when the Amethyst guards are seeing what’s going on and just look so nervous for them. And then Holly Blue catches them in the act at the very last second in the most compromising position possible. And then if that weren’t enough, we get an awesome scene where Ruby and Sapphire fuse back into Garnet and the Gems fluidly and almost effortlessly take Holly Blue down. That bit where Garnet is like “I’ve been waiting to do this all day” and then just bops her with her un-gloved hand kills me.

And then, and THEN as the cherry on top of the sundae, we get Pearl just totally telling Holly Blue off in the absolute most perfectly vindicating scene for the character ever. I don’t think that sequence could’ve been scripted or animated any more perfectly.

So overall, while this story arc didn’t exactly quite have the emotional gravity I was expecting from a multi-episode arc, it was still pretty damn entertaining. My favorite parts were the heist bits, hands down, and Yellow Diamond’s song. As a plot, maybe it felt a tiny bit contrived and awkwardly paced at moments, but still very entertaining.

The New Crystal Gems

Okay, we are out of the five-episode story arc and are now entering filler territory.

And as light, fillery episodes go, this one is fine. When I first saw it, I actually found it pretty boring and had some disdain for it as I felt that the plot was overly simplistic and seemed like something I’d seen a dozen times in other shows. But, on a second viewing, I more readily accepted the simplicity and lightheartedness of it. It has some playful, self-referential humor that I can appreciate, and it’s interesting seeing Connie interact with Peridot and Lapis. In the end, I still can’t say that I thought it was terrific or hilarious, but I think it’s alright. Not much I can say beyond that.

Storm in the Room

Now this episode is a lot meatier, and it tackles some conflicts going on in Steven that needed to be addressed. Over the course of the series we’ve seen Rose Quartz be built up as this ultra-divine, flawless goddess who serves as the very embodiment of unconditional love, righteousness, and beauty—before being gradually complicated as a Gem who had a darker history than Steven might have thought. I think it was a great idea to have an episode where we have Steven try to reconcile these two seemingly contradictory images of his mother and then bring that conflict to the forefront of the plot.

Using Rose’s room to give a physical manifestation to that conflict was also very creative. I like the idea of Steven creating an ideal version of his mother with whom he kind of lives out this fantasy he’s always had, only to remember that there’s this darker side of his mother that he only just recently has begun to grasp, and it physically transforms her and the room around them. It’s a very appropriately poetic way to convey the war going on inside Steven’s head.

Now, while I’d like to say that I unequivocally loved this episode, I do think it’s bogged down by a couple issues. The biggest one is that I think the episode simply spends too much time on the Connie subplot. It’s like, I get it. I get what you’re doing. Connie’s worried about her mom, the mom comes and gets her, and Steven starts thinking about his own mom and how he’s never had that relationship. I don’t need to spend so much time dwelling on it. Just please do it and move on.

The other thing is that I think the ending of the episode feels really forced. Not the resolution, but the actual ending before it cuts to credits. Having Steven be in this bad mood and then the Gems and Greg suddenly pop in to make everything better—again, it’s like, I get it, Steven still has his family and they’re always gonna be there for him. But do we need to wrap up every episode or heartfelt story like that, now? I feel like this is increasingly becoming a thing, where we have some emotional, possibly sorrowful tale and then we have to end with things on a high note where Steven’s happy to be with family. Bismuth kind of gave me that vibe, this episode gave me that vibe, the most recent episode gave me that vibe—I mean do people remember Rose’s Scabbard? That episode was heavy—possibly the heaviest in the whole series. And it didn’t end with some uplifting note. I mean it kinda does, but it’s still definitely bittersweet. It’s just Pearl and Steven riding on Lion’s back, and Pearl doesn’t even look happy. She’s kind of just sitting there, taking it all in, letting it register. I think the show needs to have more endings like that. Endings which aren’t afraid to just leave you off on a note that doesn’t feel like it was crammed in to make you feel secure by the end.

But that being said, it’s still a pretty good episode. It had some nice atmosphere, a good story to tell, and a creative way to tell it. Maybe it was plagued by a couple awkward notes, but it’s still very well crafted and very well delivered.

Rocknaldo

This episode is an interesting one. Now, I don’t really participate in online discussions of the show, but I think that there is some understanding out there that this episode came across as being at least partially directed at the fans. At the very least, it takes a couple jabs at them (“rock people hate men”). I mean, look, everyone knows it. SU has a some pretty damn toxic fans (everyone remember when that girl was almost driven to suicide because of people harassing her over her SU fanart?).

If this episode is meant to be in any way a commentary on them, it does a pretty good job getting to the heart of the problem. Steven Universe is a show about understanding, acceptance, and being who you want to be. To turn that message against other fans and the show itself completely goes against everything that the show strives toward. Even if this episode isn’t meant to be directed at the fans, though, it still embodies that message and I think it does in some indirect way hold a mirror up to the face of those types of fans (or just those types of people in general who harass and judge in the name of stopping harassment and judgement).

But that all aside, this episode was just sort of…not great. Like from a straight up storytelling perspective. There’s not really any character to root for in this episode. There’s no real conflict to be resolved other than “Ronaldo is acting like a total douche” and then Steven tells Ronaldo off at the end. And, okay, yeah, maybe it’s sort of cathartic, but to me it doesn’t justify the eleven minutes we had to spend with Ronaldo being like “I’M A CRYSTAL GEM! LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” The comedy wasn’t that great and the story is incredibly thin.

The main redeeming qualities to this episode are that 1) it has a message for the show’s toxic fanbase, intentional or not and 2) it finally has some goddamn character progression for Ronaldo. Maybe he won’t be as annoying from now on? Only time will tell. But, yeah, overall, not an episode I think I’ll be watching again anytime soon.

Tiger Philanthropist

This episode’s not bad. It has some cute moments and is generally fairly amusing. I like that it goes back to the whole pro-wrestling plot thread that it sort of left dangling back in season one and never really went  back to. Not that this was something I was dying to see addressed again, but I like that it sort of goes back and says “hey, look, Amethyst has undergone character progression since that episode. Let’s see how it affects her relationship with Steven.” There are a couple funny jokes and a somewhat sentimental ending—pretty much just like the last wrestling episode. Not much I can say about this one. It’s just pretty standard as filler-y episodes go. Pretty good, not great.

Room for Ruby

This episode was kinda weird. I wasn’t really sure where it was going, other than that I totally saw it coming that Navy was gonna turn out to be a total troll at the end of the episode. But the whole thing is basically just setting up that plot twist joke at the end. There’s KIND OF a character thing going on with Lapis and how she’s sort of upset at herself for taking so long to adjust to the Earth, but really there’s nothing that strong going on there. It’s mostly absurd gags and that twist at the end. I saw it coming pretty early on, so I can’t say I thought it was mind-blowing or hilarious or anything to that effect. Just kind of another substandard to standard filler-y episode for me.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2, WHERE I TALK ABOUT MORE FILLER, PLUS SOME EPISODES THAT ARE ACTUALLY INTERESTING!

[angrycollectordaze-me-blog]

Essay代写：Doctor zhivago

下面为大家整理一篇优秀的essay代写范文- Doctor zhivago，供大家参考学习，这篇论文讨论了小说《日瓦戈医生》。《日瓦戈医生》是一部集诗、文、译为一体的经典之作，曾获得诺贝尔文学奖。小说《日瓦戈医生》是对爱和尊重等情感题材最大限度的还原，作品通过爱的故事引导人们对小说中的事件进行反思，因而其在很大程度上具有十分重要的社会价值和教育意义。另外，小说还运用了独特的艺术手法将小说情节中富有诗意的人物形象充分地表现出来，这也赋予了小说更多的浪漫色彩和神秘感，提升了整部小说的艺术魅力。

Doctor zhivago, a classic work of poetry, literature and translation, was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. The novel doctor zhivago is the greatest reduction of love and respect and other emotional themes. The work guides people to reflect on the events in the novel through love stories, so it has very important social value and educational significance to a large extent. Doctor zhivago USES unique artistic techniques to fully present the poetic characters in the plot of the novel, which also endows the novel with more romantic colors and mysterious sense and enhances the artistic charm of the whole novel.

In the whole novel, the author runs the poetic theme throughout the whole text, and USES a unique way of expression to shape the characters, so as to maximize the poetic expression of the full text. Zhivago has a special liking for poetry and is good at applying poetic words to his novels. For example, lala, with typical independent personality, embodies the strong and unyielding characteristics of that era. In the novel, zhivago appeared in the public view as a doctor. In fact, he was also a poet who was deeply concerned about his country and people. However, his tragic life was also shaped by his characteristics of being deeply concerned about his country and people. The story plots and characters in the novel all embody a kind of poetic aesthetic feeling virtually. The characters' strong and unyielding spiritual quality is embodied in three dimensions through the poetic expression of words, which is also the key factor of casting classic novels.

In the novel's character setting, zhivago is both a poet and a doctor, which lays a foundation for the poetic expression of the novel's theme. At the same time, the background of zhivago's time also had double characteristics, the tars Russia was faced with the choice between prosperity and decline. Against this backdrop, zhivago made a poetic vow at his funeral -- to be a doctor to others, a poet to himself. In the spirit, the poet is concerned about the country and the people, and at the same time has the sense of responsibility of doctors. This dual identity zhivago characters under the poetic expression appears more noble and brave fearless, zhivago own efforts and dedication to explain the difference between humans and other creatures, humans in the human society needs more love and care, to make society more poetic, let the life become poetic, is more meaningful to make the life cycle of reincarnation.

In the description of the novel, the growth process of zhivago is strikingly similar to the development history of Russia. The degree of turbulence in this period is unimaginable to ordinary people, but the author makes parallel poetic expression of this unforgettable background and zhivago's growth and transformation, so that the whole novel presents as a classic history of destiny. This parallel personality with The Times also adds a peculiar epic meaning to the novel. Doctor zhivago's noble behavior is actually a poetic writing of the whole world.

In turbulent times, the coldness of human nature is vividly expressed in the novel. What is rare is that at any time, doctor zhivago and his family all maintain a pure and kind heart, able to maintain social fairness and justice at all costs. Doctor zhivago was small and helpless in those turbulent times. He, like ordinary people, needs to protect his family and has the responsibility and obligation to help those in need. With the deepening of the theme of the novel, doctor zhivago's soul has been poetic sublimation. A person's characteristics can be fully reflected in special circumstances, but doctor zhivago can always maintain a pure heart in different circumstances, his soul is noble and valuable. Doctor zhivago used his own small power to transfer the energy of love, help the suffering people out of pain bravely.

The poetic quality sublimation of the theme of doctor zhivago is actually the sublimation of the noble sentiment of doctor zhivago in the novel. In that sad and helpless age, doctor zhivago brought a light of hope to people immersed in pain with warmth and love. Its spiritual state is beyond any age. Therefore, through deepening the content of the novel, doctor zhivago's noble sentiment has been essentially sublimated, and at the same time, the main idea of the novel has been sublimated. Doctor zhivago used his whole life to fulfill his promise made at the funeral, and fully integrated his sense of responsibility into his care for the injured patients, so that these injured patients could feel love and warmth. Doctor zhivago is actually a miniature of the people who still have the original idea in the turbulent times. They are using their own meager power to maintain the only fairness and justice in the society, which is actually the noble sentiment of people in suffering.

Doctor zhivago USES a lot of poetic images in the expression. In the novel, zhivago is not an earth-shattering hero, nor does he have any achievements in history, but he makes the noblest choice in that extremely turbulent era. The fundamental reason for the tragic end of doctor zhivago in the novel lies in his excessive immersion in poetic life, which is obviously incompatible with the turbulent social environment at that time. But it also reflects the image of doctor zhivago who is not afraid of the world and pure and kind. Doctor zhivago's story is like a bright light of that era, illuminating the dark side of people's hearts. The novel USES flexible narrative techniques to express the powerful inner power of zhivago in a poetic way, so as to sublimate the theme of the novel to a certain extent.

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