#A message from the Count | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

utterlyazriel · 2 months ago

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i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....

you’re a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry — you’re the wife of some lord, maybe he’s empire, maybe he’s not, but one thing is for sure; he’s got credits.

enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife who’s grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.

he’s done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesn’t love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them — stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.

you are different from the get-go, first being that you’re alone. in the days he tails you, it’s clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that you’re running off to elope with.

he’s been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like you’ve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.

he wins easily. and then you’re silent as you’re lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if it’s the last time you’ll see it.

it’s only as you’re settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak — “i can get you three times your reward.”

and just as he’s beginning to think you’re different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.

“you’re not in any position to negotiate.”

you shake your head as though he misunderstands, “no, i don’t— you can still complete your bounty. but if you-” you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, “if you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."

and that gets din’s attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. “what’s in it for you?”

you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what you’re about to say is. “a few more weeks of freedom.”

this, din doesn’t buy. you married this man by your own choice— he knows because he did his research. he’s not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.

he says as much, not sure why he’s even giving this conversation time of day— he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.

yet, he says, “you had your freedom. you chose this marriage.”

you deflate at his words and somehow din doesn’t feel like he’s won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, “i didn’t know.” din stops. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even tilt his head but that’s enough for you to keep talking, “i— he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.” something heavy sinks into the bottom of din’s stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldn’t have allowed it.

but din’s seen the galaxy’s worst and knows very well that he would’ve. “i didn’t know what i was signing, i didn’t even know i was signing anything,” you say, voice tight. “just two weeks, please, it’s all i ask.”

it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but… he believed you.

“i can give you a week,” he says and doesn’t wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.

then you have a classic star wars montage — din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if he’s hunting and you’re more than happy about that.

it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself — unless he wants to?— and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that there’s nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesn’t land because you’re too struck by the new planet, a landscape you’ve never seen before.

you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, it’s as though you’ve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.

as you wander, din can’t keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly haven’t travelled much— and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, there’s little to do as a lords wife and you’ve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.

“su cuy’gar,” (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mando’a roll off your tongue. he can’t think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.

you think you’ve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesn’t put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.

it’s only a week but it feels like a lifetime — for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.

after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you can’t help but feel like din’s adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if he’s letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldn’t just for your sake.

when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in manda’o when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that he’s insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.

he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that you’re barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.

you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.

even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.

“home time,” you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.

the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesn’t say a word. he’s suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.

the flight is short and in a manner of hours, you’re walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.

you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you weren’t.

“he deserves handsome reward”, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that it’s being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. “don’t punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.”

your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring

“vor entye, mando,” (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesn’t say anything and you think that’ll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.

then…

“din.”

you halt, unsure of what it is he’s said.

“my name is din.”

you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies — certain you’ll be content with the memories of the week.

it’s not contentness that finds you though; it’s torture, knowing what’s outside, right out of your reach.

you don’t slide back into your old life at all, you’ve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.

your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you don’t have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.

it’s a quiet evening and you’re absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.

a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that it’s your guards, not the intruder, who’s taken the fall.

you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opens— and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. it’s second nature to step forward, towards him.

his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that he’s come back.

he came back, for you.

“do you want to stay here?” he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.

“no,” you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.

“do you want to leave?” he says. “with me?”

you’re nodding before he’s finished his sentence. “yes.”

and then you’re following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done this—come back and made it your choice.

you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around din’s knee and he crumples with a grunt.

you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armour—

“din— din, you have to get up,” you say, voice wobbling.

you don’t even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then you’re fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown you’re in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.

as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, it’s with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison that’s weaving into his blood.

he’s hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless no’s that leave your lips. it’s only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourself— you’re still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, you’re tugging towards him.

you’re both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.

“the very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?”

the lie surges up within you easily. “no! no, it was a plan of my design. i… i tempted him with credits to help me escape.”

and if din wasn’t already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monster— his heart stirs in his chest.

and what’s worse is that it works.

your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeance— “escape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.”

din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til you’re only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. “yes. you’re right. i should have known better.”

din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his leg— the poison is weighing him down but it’s not enough to dull his senses.

he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick succession— but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what you’ve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.

“stop it!” you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husband’s hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.

“stop,” he snarls. “trying to get away from me,”

“no!” you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.

“i won’t stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,” you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.

“but,” you begin.

“no,” din’s voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than you’ve ever heard it.

“if you let me give him the antidote,” you voice trembles. you’re running out of time. “i will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escape—”

“no,” din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. “i will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.”

the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally it’s lowered an inch— your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. “cuff him.”

you’re snatching up the vial before he’s even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to din’s weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.

apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured din’s breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to push— when his arm sways back, away from the needle.

“no,” he says once more, breathless. “not… for your freedom.”

you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.

“i’m not worth dying for.” you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.

your chest heaves, the finality of what you’ve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasn’t just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.

“goodbye, din,” you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submit— when din’s gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.

you barely get a moment of confusion before he’s murmuring, “get down,” and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.

you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and din’s hand tugs you forward so you’re upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.

din’s body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and there’s another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.

the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is… this real? are you free?

“breathe, mesh’la,” din commands softly.

you realise you’re holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you — then din’s shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise there’s blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.

“your leg—“

din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. “i’ll deal with it at the ship. c’mon.”

he stands like it’s no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and… your husband.

he isn’t moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab din’s blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.

din’s gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what he’ll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.

you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,

the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return — that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.

your choice.

#i never normally post things like this... like its a fic but its not a fic yanno? a drabble? an idea?#sloane writes #din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #this takes some dialogue directly from tangled as i mentioned in the beginning!#also (whispering) like i was sayin i would never normally post smth like this #but its freaking 3k so i figure thats worth smth #and im stuck between a rock and a hard place with my other wips #and we're whispering bcos my hope is that without attaching a word count to this ppl will just start reading and get sucked in <3 #also if this storyline seems reminiscent of my latest arthur piece u would be correct <3 #this is my exact brand of angst & hurt/comfort. utter devotion and fighting to save each other #ok i done now :D #if we're friends u can unlock this style of fic! this is just copy & pasted from me and em's messages lol

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dailypokemoncrochet · 3 months ago

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I realized another specific thing I don't like about people asking me for patterns: the idea that there is One Specific Way to crochet something.

This is part of a broader issue I have about the distinction between crafts and arts that I think about a lot, but in this particular context, I don't like the idea of people restricting themselves and refraining from experimenting with crochet because they think there is a Right way or only One way to make something. What pattern? Just look at the thing I made (which by the way, in asking immediately for the pattern you're kind of devaluing this art piece I've made as some kind of trinket you should also possess, but that's a slightly different issue) and make your own thing like it. Even if you followed my notes exactly, you wouldn't have the same exact result as mine unless you had my exact tension, yarn, and physical quirks of crocheting. I don't even have the same result following my own notes in subsequent crochets because it's all slightly different each time. You would have something that looks similar to mine but is your own, and that's something you could achieve just by trying to make your own thing from the get go. Doesn't require a pattern.

Use your eyes, work stitch by stitch and row by row. If it's as you think and there is only one correct way to do it, then you can try and figure it out. Doesn't require a pattern. If it's not as you thought and there are actually multiple ways to do it, then you'll find a way as you try. Didn't require a pattern. Either way, pattern not actually needed.

#text #ngl some of yall are one step removed from being the kind of people making ai art because 'real art is too hard'#its just exceptionally weird to be treating Me A Human Person as if i were an ai chat bot to spit out patterns for you.#do you see the similarities. reflect.#this message brought to you by me being frustrated at people complaining about how a pattern they bought didnt have exact stitch count #FOR WHERE TO PUT THE SAFETY EYES. 🫠😒#JUST USE YOUR EYES. EYEBALL IT FFS

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bucephaly · 2 years ago

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It's kinda shocking to me how few people seem to know how prevalent the 'my great grandmother was cherokee' myth is and how it's almost never actually true, especially when it comes with things like 'never signed up' or 'fell off the trail' or 'courthouse burned down destorying the documentation' etc etc.

People just don't even seem to know the history like.. when the Trail happened. My great great great grandfather was 2 years old during Removal in 1838, so peoples 'my great grandmother hid in the mountains!' is so clearly wrong. And we have rolls. From before and after removal, rolls done by cherokee nation and others by the government, rolls that were not stored in one random flammable courthouse. It's not difficult to find the actual evidence of ancestry.

And just.. there are lots of ways those family stories get started. It was a practice during the confederacy to claim cherokee ancestry to show one's family had 'deep roots in the south' that they were there before the cherokee were removed. Many people pretended to be cherokee and applied for the Guion-Miller payout just to try to steal money meant for cherokees - 2/3rds of the applicants were denied for having 0 proof of actual cherokee ancestry. [We even see lawyers advertising signing up for the Miller roll just to try to get free money.] And the myth even started in some families in the cherokee land lotteries, where the land stolen from us was raffled off, including the house and everything that was left behind when the cherokees were removed. We have seen people whose families just take these things stolen from the cherokee family and adopt them into their own family story, saying that they were cherokee themselves.

If you had some family story about being cherokee and you wanna have proof one way or the other, check out this Facebook group run by expert cherokee genealogists that do research for free. Just please read the rules fully and respect the researchers. They run thousands of people's ancestries a year and their average is only around 0.7% of lines they run actually end up having true cherokee ancestry.

#and ive heard even dumber origins of the cherokee family myth #such as an ancestor having a silly sounding name so the descendents just go 'oh she mustve been an indian!!!'#i was one of the few people who had my ancestry done on the facebook and had genuine cherokee ancestry #[though i had found it before it was just really validating to get it double checked and i started finding cousins (:]#like. i was told once when i was a kid by my grandma that my dad had cherokee ancestry and i didnt believe her. its wild that so many peopl #will make it a Fixture of their identity [or even just smth they bring up ever] with Zero proof #at least for cherokees from what ive seen its usually considered really disrespectful to claim to have cherokee ancestry without #actually having the documentation [like ancestors on the rolls]#and no a dna test doesnt count. nor does 'my dad is Clearly not white!' or 'high cheekbones' or old family photos or anything #i had this discussion with someone recently whose dad had been calling himself 3/4 native but didnt know exactly what nation ???? hello?#and its like... sorry but ur dad is like. italian lol.#[and blood quantum is bullshit anyway im tired of the 'im 1/16 cherokee' comments its dumb #cherokee nation does not have a blood quantum requirement. its pointless bringing it up in the discussion of who is or isnt cherokee]#also mandatory disclaimer that im reconnecting. i didnt grow up connected to the culture of even knowing my ancestry #this is all from my looking into this stuff over the past year or so. i cant claim to be an authority over anything regarding this #this is p much all my repeating things ive heard said by people who know a lot more than i do haha #man. and this isnt even starting to get into the fake tribe stuff. the only legit cherokee groups are the 3 federally recognized bands #cherokee nation of oklahoma. united keetoowah band. and the eastern band of cherokee indians.#any others that are state recognized or not at all arent acknowledged as legitimate by any of the legit cherokee groups #anyway. my final message goodb.ye #cherokee #tsalagi

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wandixx · 13 days ago

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Count the freckles, connect them like the stars part 2, Pisces

Summary: Five time Danny found and drew constellations from M'gann's freckles and one time she did that for him

M’gann tried to not do it too often, but there was something really nice in going on a rant about something inconsequential. She was leading a stressful life, like all other heroes, teenage or not. It was impossible not to, when every other day could end in life-or-death situation, with innocent lives as additional stakes. Personally she thought she was quite good at handling it, too. She wasn’t the one to get frustrated easily, to explode at people over things that stressed her out in other parts of life, and lately she even got some useful coping mechanisms thanks to Black Canary. She certainly had bigger problems than characters in her sitcoms.

All it is to say, there was still something enjoyable in channeling pent-up stress into winded discussion about something she found absurd in old English poems or other elements of her homework.

“And it feels so dumb, like, man heard from some witches that he’d get promotion, which wasn’t that surprising, considering everything he’d done, and then become king, and then when he got said promotion by virtue of doing what he was doing, he decided he needs to force the fate”

“Exactly! Like, Macbeth, my man. Even if you assume these ladies are right, which, why would you do that, these were randoms by the road, this means you’re guaranteed to become king. Why kill your king, your friend who you’ve been wax poeting about few pages ago?!” Danny agreed passionately, waving his hands in righteous exasperation so much, that he almost tripped over his tea. In all honesty, he was M’gann’s favorite rant partner. Sometimes he’d ask «Do you need solution or someone to yell with?» and then he was always eager to match her energy and never tried to give her advice when she didn’t ask for it. On few occasions they stumbled upon resolution while egging each other on, but but that was never a point. The point was to complain about whatever until they both felt better about it.

“And maybe it makes sense and makes everything deeper or something, but who the hell is Hecate and why did she just show up? Like, can everyone stop acting like it’s obvious? Not everyone here is human” she whined, slightly redundant. After all, big part of why she was at school in the first place was because people assumed she was human too. Still it would be nice if things were explained a bit more.

“And it’s not even general human thing, just ‘Western’ culture thing. Hecate is goddess from Greek mythology, though I’m not sure why she was used here? Maybe because one of her things were crossroads. But still. She is not really well known. Like, bitch please, not everyone here knows mythology, give people breadcrumbs at least”

“Breadcrumbs?”

“Breadcrumbs. Tiny pieces of information that can lead you to the answer. It’s from some fairy tale, I think”

“Huh. Cool”

M’gann leaned back in her chair and looked at the high ceiling for a moment.

“I need to get around to making bread sometime soon. That could be fun”

Danny just hummed in agreement.

“But it’s hard to heat up the kitchen enough for dough to grow, since it’s connected to main area”

She saw out of the corner of her eye how Danny’s face scrunched up, deep in thought.

“I think Sam mentioned some recipe that let’s bread grow in fridge overnight. I can ask her about it, if you want”

Girl slumped back forward, to look at him surprised, to make sure he was serious.

“Would you?”

“Of course”

“Thanks”

She reached forward to get her own tea. Danny’s eyes followed her hands as if they were artifacts cursed so once you looked at them, you couldn’t look away. She mentally reached out, just a little, just slightly, to brush against his most surface level thoughts to see what got hims so intrigued. Not any deeper, just–

Ah. He found stars in her freckles again. He wasn’t sure if he should mention it.

M’gann wondered how she could ask about it without bringing up the fact that she read his thoughts. Sometimes it was hard to balance between what his comfort and hers. Without telepathy, people’s moods were downright indecipherable, but she knew humans didn’t really see it the same way, and couldn’t separate public thoughts from private ones.

She needed something with hands, something with–

“Unrelated human culture question, girl at my school offered to do some palm reading on me, do you know what does it mean?” she asked, bringing her hands forward a bit. She hoped he’d take them, but didn’t want to make it too obvious. He did, careful warm fingers grasping her left wrist and flipping it palm up.

She slowly moved pen over to where they sat with her telekinesis, doing her best to not call any attention to it.

“It’s a superstition. Some people believe they can read future based on the lines on people’s hands,” he explained, feather-light finger tracing it “It’s usually stuff like how long will you live, something about your love life, maybe some other things? I don’t know much, I always preferred other forms of pseudoscience.”

“Like what?”

“Astrology~” he said with pizzazz, flipping her hand again, “and you have Pisces, which means you’re caring, optimistic, kind and sweet”

M’gann couldn’t help but laugh. She tried to keep open mind to all different Earth concepts, to not treat them as stupid, even if she considered them absurd, but this one caught her off guard. It was fine though. Danny laughed too.

“Does it really?” she deadpanned, after they both calmed down.

“Yeah!” He mindlessly grabbed the pen and started drawing line just below her knuckles “Pisces is one of the Zodiac Constellations, which is this sort of belt of stars that Sun passes through over the year. Each constellation is supposed to take up 30° of the sky and has assigned time to it, based on when Sun is in opposition of it, so it’s best visible at night. People born during that time have specific Zodiac Sign. Like I said, some people believe it affects people’s personalities and life. I’m Gemini, so allegedly, I’m really curious, playful and adaptable–”

“It’s not wrong.”

“Eh,” he stopped drawing to look at her and wave his hand in so-so motion, “Unfortunately some people get really intense and rude about it, so they’d say I’m two-faced and inconsistent or some shit and then decide they should never talk to me again. Personally I see it as dumb fun though,” he finished, scratching against her skin to write visible lines. M’gann was sure this particular pen normally wrote smoothly, but it seemed like skin made it a bit harder to use. It was alright, she liked the slightly tingly feeling it left behind.

“And my zodiac sign is Pisces?”

"I mean, you're not from Earth and I don't know when you were born, so it's hard to say"

"Right, dumb question"

Danny stopped again and stared at her intensely, suddenly deep in thought. M'gann carefully didn't peek, even though she was curious.

"It isn't," he started slowly, "Mars is close enough that parallax doesn't really affect way stars are in relation to each other, at least from what I read, so you probably could see Zodiac Belt from the surface. We can try extrapolating Earth Zodiac to Martian year and based on that see what was most likely visible when you were born. That could be pretty neat exercise"

"Huh. Are our stars really the same?"

"Yeah, it's really cool, but I don't get it enough to really explain," Danny answered, sounding genuinely bothered by the fact. This just wouldn't do, it was supposed to be time for them to unwind.

"It's fine. Maybe next time."

"Maybe next time"

"What's the story behind Pisces? Like the one you told me about Virgo and three Goddesses?"

Danny relaxed, though he quickly turned a bit sheepish.

"Funny story… There is no story" M'gann forcefully tramped down her disappointment.

"So, was Virgo only constellation with the story?" she asked, trying not to grumble. She enjoyed listening to Danny, when he was so excited, with shining eyes and almost glowing. Sometimes, it was hard to get that out of him, even if he genuinely felt it. M’gann was careful to not look to deep into his mind, so she didn’t actually know why at times he kept repressing every bit of excitement he seemed to feel. She was determined to let it surface far more often.

And these were nice stories too.

“No, don’t worry,” Danny said, not quite laughing, but with this type of projection about him, “It's just Pisces really. I think it was because Greeks adopted Babylonian Zodiac and had to scramble to find anything that could be set as origin story for each constellation. For everything else they found something, more or less matching, but Pisces proved to be difficult. Virgo is supposed to look like Maiden and other Zodiac also has assigned something they look like and based on that myths were assigned. Pisces is said to be two fishes that are tied together by their tails but nobody knows why they'd be that. One idea I heard was that they were fish that lead Aphrodite’s chariot after she came to be from sea foam. Aphrodite was Greek Goddess of Beauty and Romantic Love and was born from Uranus' blood that fallen down on see when his son injured him. I'm not sure if said fishes even appeared in any other Aphrodite myths, or even most versions of her origin story, so I don't think this counts. But I like the way it looks. It's pretty."

M'gann looked down on her palm, where Danny successfully kept upon drawing. She didn't really see what could be so pretty about this particular shape, she thought it was no different to other ones she saw, when Danny drew or when she later went to check it out, but who was she to disregard his sense of aesthetics. Maybe it was something specific to how human or ghost brains were wired.

"It's fine," After a moment she added "So, Pisces have no story and some humans can be weirdly intense about stars on night of others birth”

“Exactly”

“And I’m Zodiacless”

“For now… Ha! I’m done!”

When M’gann looked at it again, she still had trouble seeing fishes in it, but at this point she came to understand that humans were really good at finding things in most random places.

Danny was staring at her, when she looked up from wobbly drawing. He grinned, like he was barely stopping himself from laughter.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know how anyone saw fish there either”