#Kessel Street

[emaadsidiki]

Our Lady of Mercy ⛪ Kessel Street ⛪ Forest Hills

[wildoute]

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Christine Rosen

It’s not as if their readers and viewers are unaware of the problem. According to Pew Research, the percentage of Americans who say Jews face discrimination has doubled from 20 percent in 2021 to 40 percent in 2024. And yet, for some reason, mainstream-media outlets seem to be the only ones who haven’t drilled down on the issue.

In fact, the decision to downplay the anti-Semitic threat from the left is deliberate. Left-leaning media do not like to cover the behavior of their own, as the inconsistent coverage of the Jew-baiting members of the Democratic Party’s “Squad” during the past several years attests. Mainstream reporters at outlets like the New York Times take great pains to provide context and explanations for Representative Ilhan Omar’s blatant anti-Semitism, for example. A 2019 piece gave Omar and her defenders ample space to claim she was being unfairly targeted for criticism because she was a progressive Muslim woman while glossing over the fact that she had repeatedly accused Jews of having dual loyalties.

Amid the current conflict, it’s evident there is tacit agreement among most in the mainstream media that because Israel is defending itself by trying to root out Hamas in Gaza, the behavior of protesters is somehow justifiable and acceptable—but only because it involves Israel and the Jews.

This goes well beyond the deliberately misleading stories and factual errors about the war that have appeared in outlets such as the Washington Post. As Zach Kessel and Ari Blaff outlined in National Review, in a deep dive of the Post’s coverage of the Israel–Hamas war, the newspaper “has been a case study in moral confusion and anti-Israel bias” and has “violated traditional journalistic principles that have shaped coverage of foreign conflicts by American newsrooms for decades.”

Similarly, a recent story in the Free Press by Uri Berliner, a long-time editor and reporter at National Public Radio, described how NPR “approached the Israel-Hamas war and its spillover onto streets and campuses through the ‘intersectional’ lens that has jumped from the faculty lounge to newsrooms,” which meant “highlighting the suffering of Palestinians at almost every turn while downplaying the atrocities of October 7, overlooking how Hamas intentionally puts Palestinian civilians in peril, and giving little weight to the explosion of antisemitic hate around the world.”

[fatehbaz]

hello! While we're on the topic of Chicago, do you know about Leonard Dubkin? His writing can be hard to find because it is out of print, but he wrote nature columns about approaching the bugs and weeds accessible in city life the same way you would traditional naturalist landscapes and! It is sometimes neat! Especially for the time period before the turn toward huge public parks projects

Yes, actually, I've heard of Dubkin in two different settings: University course discussions of the history of environmental studies and geographic thought. And also in discussion of Great Lakes "bioregionalism".

Kinda some entangled stuff here that you've brought to mind for me, having to do with how Chicago relates to environmental thinking. Chicago as site of contemporary urban naturalism and community gardening. Chicago as site of "Midwestern gothic". Great Lakes and Great Plains as sites of Indigenous pedagogies. Chicago as site of Progressive era reformism. Chicago as site of influential (imperialist) geographic thinking.

---

(1) You've reminded me of "Muskrat theories, tobacco in the streets, and living Chicago as Indigenous Land" (Bang, Curley, Kessel, Marin, Suzukovich, and Strack, Environmental Education Research, 2014). They discuss: "Chicago is a wetland that becomes part prairie and part oak savannah. It's hard to see with the layers of colonial fill, but actually it's hiding in plain sight [...]. [There is] recognition of how the filling of wetlands factored greatly into the [...] establishing of Chicago as a national transportation hub and why some forest reserves or parks [...] were [situated as they are now] [...]. As teachers [the authors are educators], we began to track and weave into our thinking [...] the waves of ecological restructuring that has occurred in Chicago; from the filling of wetlands, to the rengineering of the direction of the Chicago river, the mass destruction of prairie lands [...]."

---

(2) It's been my impression that, in the past 15-ish or so years, a lot of writing about "urban/community gardening" and the reclamation of space has been coming out of Detroit, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Chicago, etc. Reclaiming of apparently-decrepit urban space after abandonment by institutions, "making a home" even in the face of ruination, etc. Post-industrial decay and the (condescending?) stereotyping of the Rust Belt, and Detroit especially. Much of these efforts led with deliberate intent and passion foremost by Black gardeners. (Milwaukee has some of the most extreme Black-white residential segregation of any major US city. Treatment of Black communities and use of redlining is notorious in Minneapolis, Detroit/Flint, St. Louis, etc.)

---

(3) I think this decay/abandonment theme might dovetail with what seems (anecdotally to me, at least) to be a sort of popular ascendancy of a regional gothic or Midwest gothic kinda thing among wider audiences even outside of the region. Corn fields at edge of town, chainlink fences and crooked oak branches, shuttered Rust Belt factory, Night in the Woods aesthetic-y stuff, Over the Garden Wall-adjacent stuff, etc. Like the celebration of a perpetual Halloween. Really plays on the landscapes, haunted history, attempted concealment of violence, and institutional abandonment of the Great Lakes region. And then there is the advent of more Great Lakes/Rust Belt bioregional identity stuff, which Belt Magazine has been writing about for years now. I'm thinking also of some recently published stuff like "Deep Map Country: Proposing a Dinnseanchas Cycle of the Northern Plains" and Grasslands Grown: Creating Place on the U.S. Northern Plains and Canadian Prairies. As wells as some non-academic general-audience titles (like Rust Belt Arcana: Tarot and Natural History in the Exurban Wilds, etc.).

---

(4) I do also wonder if the apparent rise in popularity recently of Robin Wall Kimmerer's work has contributed to a rise in "ecological citizenship" dialogue and Great Lakes/Great Plains bioregional thinking. But I think it would behoove us to note that Kimmerer is not the only Indigenous thinker discussing ecological citizenship in this region.

I'm thinking of Grace Dillon's writing on Indigenous sciences, Indigenous futurisms, storytelling/narrative, dealing with ecological cataclysm, more-than-human agency, etc (big institutions are "still thinking about knowledge as mere accumulation"). Just as Kimmerer talks about "plant beings", Dillon also talks about "multispecies entanglements" and agency.

Also thinking of Kyle Whyte (Potawatomi, from this region), who's written for years about Indigenous science fiction and Indigenous pedagogies of knowledge, especially situated in the Great Lakes.

Also Leanne Betasamosake Simpson's writing (Mississauga Nishnaabeg, from this region) on Indigenous resurgence and creating constellations of co-resistance. Both Whyte and Simspon write about persistence in the aftermath of apocalypse, which I think works well when considered in relation to Black community gardens and the wider Great Lakes/Rust Belt discourses of building lives in the aftermath of post-industrial decay/abandonment.

Also scholar Zoe Todd as well (Red River Metis, from the northern Plains). Aside from famously criticizing academia's superficial and fashionable appropriation of these Indigenous pedagogies and concepts, Todd also has written a lot about more-than-human agency (especially fish!), ecological citizenship, and a sort of place-based identity (especially in the northern Great Plains).

Considering the appropriation of Indigenous knowledge also brings to mind Katherine McKittrick's writing on "Black methodologies" and pedagogies/knowledge production (universities undermine and appropriate Black knowledge; Black knowledge is "interdisciplinary"; prioritizing multiple ways of knowing; "wonder is study" and "curiosity is attentive") and Fred Moten's writing on the fugitive relationship to academia. Also brings to mind Glissant's writing on opacity.

---

(5) Regarding Chicago as a center of (white) conceptions of environmental space and geographic thought: You mention Dubkin's writing on a sort of urban naturalism in Chicago. And I know that Madison (Wisconsin) and its university have a similar reputation as being an early center of environmental studies among white/national institutions. Meanwhile, seems Chicago might've acted at times as a focal point of this "progressive" modernity kinda thing that celebrates reforms and "innovations" in industrial livability or whatever (much of which still depended on and/or endorsed colonization, extraction, labor abuse, imposed standards of "productivity", etc.). Thinking of Progressive era through New Deal (1890s-1940s, as Chicago had achieved a pinnacle of wealth after establishment of railroads and then industrialization, electricity, monoculture crops, Rust Belt processing/manufacturing, etc.). For example, I recently posted about the work of Oenone Kubie, who studied "urban discipline" and the white anxiety and racial segregation driving children's reformatories in Chicago during the Progressive era. (Kubie argues that eformers were concerned with poverty, truancy, and "delinquency" in tandem with Black migration, which led to "interventions". Chicago hosted the "first municipal playground system" and by 1915 "the city of Chicago ran sixty-six recreation centres. [...] From Chicago, the idea spread around the country. By 1921, almost 200 cities employed a total of over eleven thousand men and women as year-round playground workers.") The case that Martinez was making in the essay we've been discussing (about Chicago's influential role 1880-1910 as a center of policing, surveillance, and the conceptualizing of US imperial frontiers in the Philippines, influenced by Chicago's fear of Black migration) relates to how Chicago has been considered a center of the refining of geographic thought in late nineteenth century, as white Americans crafted ideas of national space (westward expansion into the frontier radiating out from Chicago along railroads; Chicago being hub of industrial agriculture of the prairies/plains as an economic frontier). Kinda brings to mind how scholar Mashid Mayar has recently written about "the cartographic pedagogies of empire" and the teaching of geography to children in the United States in the 1890s ("home geography" school classes, "dissected map" puzzle games, children's magazines that attach "adventure" to ideas of botanical/ethnographic expeditions), giving white children an idea of the planet as an extension of their nation/home at the same time that the US was understanding itself as an empire with dominion in Cuba, Central America, Hawai'i/South Pacific, Philippines, etc.

---

For anyone interested in environmental crisis and multispecies ecologies in prairies, Great Plains, "Midwest", Great Lakes, you might like Grace Dillon, Zoe Todd, Kyle Whyte, and Leanne Betasamosake Simpson.

Lots to consider. Sorry for excessive length here. Thank you for saying hi.

[mrmousetolliver]

Pez Dispenser (1984) by Jean-Michel Basquiat Jean-Michel Basquiat was an American artist who rose to success during the 1980s as part of the Neo-expressionism movement, first gaining notice in the late 1970's as part of the graffiti duo SAMO along with Al Diaz. In the late 70's/ early 80's the Lower East side of Manhattan was a cultural hotbed where rap, punk, and street art melded into early hip hop culture and SAMO was a relevant part of that movement. By the early 80's his paintings were being exhibited at galleries and museums internationally. Basquiat became the youngest artist to ever take part of Documenta, a art exhibit that takes place once every five years, in Kessel, Germany. He was 21. The nesxt year he became the youngest artist to exhibit at the Whitney Biennial in New York. In 1992 the Whitney Museum held a retrospective of his work.

Basquiat's art focused on dichotomies such as wealth versus poverty, integration versus segregation, and inner versus outer experience. He appropriated poetry, drawing, and painting, and married text and image, abstraction, figuration, and historical information mixed with contemporary critique. He used social commentary in his paintings as a tool for introspection and for identifying with his experiences in the black community, as well as attacks on power structures and systems of racism. Since his death at the age of 27 in 1988, Basquiat's work has steadily increased in value. In 2017, Untitled, a 1982 painting depicting a black skull with red and yellow rivulets, sold for a record-breaking $110.5 million, becoming one of the most expensive paintings ever purchased.

[pillowfriendly]

Kes, do you have any hpose (h is for horny) pics of your ff14 character?

Kessel's journal. May 29th, 2024:

Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.

The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Horny Kethry pics!"...

...And I'll look down and whisper "No."

[lieutenant-teach]

Several months after the Clone Wars. Aq Vetina is devastated by the Imperial forces. Ex-Commander Cody meets little Din Djarin. Post The Bad Batch s.2 ep.3, non-canon compliant. 1/3 part (part 2), (part 3).

It was Cody’s best decision in last months – defecting from the Empire. With it came guilt – crushing guilt, sorrow, pain about everything and everyone lost. How easier and horrifyingly right it seemed – to just execute orders given by somebody else without thinking. Good soldiers follow orders. And how harder it was now to fully realise and to live with consequences of what had been done – by him and to him. Now, when he knew about the chips. When he knew that he killed General Kenobi. When he knew how many of his brothers across the galaxy were killed in these several months or remained slaves to the chips. When he knew that they were made to kill their only friends they had in the whole galaxy – the Jedi. All of them.

But also he knew – it was life now. A real life. Owning his body and mind. Out of the Republic’s control, out of the Empire’s control. But also – miserable life. No purpose, no aim, no meaning. Everything he fought for in the war – led to this. Exact opposite of what he imagined, strived for.

The planet of Aq Vetina wasn’t the immediate choice to stop. But it could do – at least to refill the supplies and to fix up an old ship taken from the junk yard on Kessel. Though Cody couldn’t tell where he was heading to. Or what he was going to do at all. Emptiness filled his days and nights, his heart, his every step he took in this new Galaxy.

It was impossible to live without a purpose.

Maybe, some would say ‘live for yourself, for your pleasure’. But Cody didn’t even know how to live for himself – he was designed for serving, and he didn’t want to – while there was so much injustice in the Galaxy. He’d be happy to help his brothers – or anyone, for that matter, he’d seen how many worlds suffer under the Empire’s iron boot – but he couldn’t do it alone. He didn’t have any resources, didn’t have any rebel connections, had no idea where to start. His failure to save still brainwashed Boil hurt as all hells together. The Imperial might didn’t know limits – Cody knew it all too well. As much as it hurt thinking about it, he experienced it firsthand, moreover, took part in it. It disgusted himself – what would General Kenobi say if he saw him like this? Memories about him hurt even more, bleeding his heart almost physically.

The town Cody was approaching didn’t look well. Even more, with every step forward he saw the signs of recent Imperial presence – burned houses, bodies scattered around. Mud, dirt and blood squishing under his boots. Cody could tell the Imperials left – otherwise he’d be already caught, the familiar camps would be erected, just as familiar white armours bustling around. Still, Cody didn’t lower the hood of his tattered brown cloak, looking around and staying alert as he always had been during his whole life. The blaster was on the hip, fingers slightly touching it.

‘Why?’ – he thought looking along the streets and seeing more and more destruction. Though he also knew – the Empire didn’t need much to start ‘crushing the traitors’, as they called it. The propaganda worked magically with the Jedi, after all. From what Cody could tell, moving to the centre of the town, there were no survivors.

The Empire was nothing but efficient, that he knew all too well.

Then he heard something.

Tensed, grabbing the blaster, listening in.

The sound repeated.

Whimpering?

Survivors?

The metal lid in the junk corner moved. Cody froze, not taking his eyes off, squeezing the blaster. It could be an Imp.

And then he saw a child peeking from the hole in the ground from under the lid – Cody guessed it was a basement.

The child locked the eyes with his and dived in back.

Cody holstered the blaster and came to the basement. Not coming too close, kneeled and called softly:

– Hey? – and cringed of the rough and scratchy sound of his voice after several weeks of silence – didn’t have any need to talk, or anyone to talk to, anyway. – Kid?

First there was nothing, only ragged and hitching breathing heard from the slit between the lid and ground.

– I’m not an Imp, - ‘Of course, the kid would be scared. Quite possible, the parents were killed right in front of their eyes’.

A couple of beats – nothing. Then two small dirty hands appeared on the edge of the ground. Big brown eyes looked at him from the red hood with infinite fear.

– Promise. I’m not one of them, - Cody slowly took off the hood. – Have you seen any troopers with pictures on their uniform? – he pointed at gray sunrise on the remains of his armour – the left vambrace, gloves and pauldrons were missing, same as couters and sabatons. He tried to smile encouragingly, but the kid didn’t look convinced, and Cody didn’t blame them – he forgot how to smile since… since Utapau. – Did you hide there during the attack?

The child nodded warily, clearly ready to bolt at any disturbing movement.

– Were… you parents killed?

 The child’s eyes started filling with tears.

– Let’s get out of here, - Cody raised, and the kid shrank and flinched away, awaiting for what – a kick? A shot? Then the child’s eyes widened incredulously at Cody’s outstretched hand.

Fragile fingers clasped cautiously around his.

---

– So, do you have any more relatives? – the kid turned out to be a tanned dark-haired boy of eight standard years, maybe – Cody was always bad at guessing ages of natborns. – I could take you to them, – he mused a little and added: - You do understand Basic, right?

The boy nodded, still tensely looking at him from his hood and hugging himself on the upturned crate near the fire next to Cody’s ship. Then shook his head.

– No relatives, then, - somehow, Cody knew it would be like this. But he couldn’t just take a kid with him – too dangerous. Unless… - What do you think about finding you a new home? – the boy tensed even more. – I know it’s hard for you now, I’ve lost my family too. But I can try to find at least a good place for you to stay, if not a home, – he gave him a stick with some roasted meat pierced on it – the kid raided his home before they left.

The boy shrugged, and Cody could very well relate. Also he knew that the initiate shock would pass, and tears were inevitable – he had similar situations with some shinies after their first battles, seeing how the older, more hardened brothers soothed the surviving newbies, sometimes intervening himself to reassure the boys who lost themselves in horror and shock. Learning within sterile Kaminoan walls had been entirely different form the real taste of war.

– What’s your name, kid?

The boy looked at him, but said nothing. Either he wasn’t able to speak, or stress took away this ability – Cody read about such occurrences among war survivors at the Jedi Temple Archives.

– I’m Cody, - he gave a small mirthless smile, not expecting an answer. – Can I call you… I don’t know, Brown Eyes?

The boy looked at him with eyebrows raised, then shrugged again.

– Fine then, Brown Eyes, - absent-mindedly Cody nipped off some bread – how long hadn’t he tried real, actual food, not tasteless rations? – Finish your meal, we’ll have a night in the ship – it’s small, but you can take the co-pilot seat. Fly-off at 0600, - he mentally kicked himself for talking to the kid as to a soldier, but the boy seemed fine with it.

Some minutes they sat silently, watching the fire sparks trying to break the night’s darkness only to disappear in it.

– Why is your sunrise gray?

Cody startled at the sound of a quiet childish voice. Brown Eyes was looking at him with shy curiosity – or, more precisely, at his cuirass with the paint remains, courtesy of the Empire. Or mockery.

– Because I lost all the sunshine of my life, - grieving pain, his only companion for all these months of lucidity and solitude, rolled up to his throat in a bile, and Cody swallowed hard, not intending to break down in front of the traumatized child. – Sorry, kid.

– Din Djarin, - Brown Eyes suddenly said, looking straight into Cody’s eyes. – This is my name. – He shuffled, as if wanted to move closer. – And I’m not the only Brown Eyes here.

At this Cody actually chuckled:

– Well then, Din Djarin. Welcome abroad.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 39: Threat

Your bounty takes you to Kessel and comes with challenges of its own. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-38 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Smutty smutty smut. Smutttttttt! Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7k

“You’re in position?” 

Din’s voice was crackly through the com link. You didn’t like it. You loved his voice, the com should at least try to do him justice. 

“I’m set,” you replied. “You?” 

“In position,” he replied. “Let you know when the target approaches.” 

The cantina was a nice one, all things considered. Clean, comfortable. You liked it well enough, there had been worse places you’d waited for a bounty or a contact. 

But you didn’t like Kessel. 

The Mandalorian had been here before - back before the fall of the Empire, when things were apparently a bit more stable - but you’d never visited this world. It wasn’t too high on the list of diplomatic missions given that its main export was a drug. Now you knew that you hadn’t missed much. 

Din had made you promise to not kill someone unprovoked when you landed - and clarified that unprovoked also meant that you couldn’t kill someone just because they were a slaver. Because everyone here was either a slave or a slaver and making it off world and through the Kessel run with your bounty, yourselves and your ship intact was more important. 

“Can’t believe you won’t let me just kill slavers,” you grumbled as you settled into the room you were renting. 

“Doll,” he sighed. “We’re here to handle other problems. We aren’t equipped to end slavery on Kessel.” 

The child was toddling around, peeking around corners, exploring the room. You just watched him, your heart warm. It hurt that there were other children who were going to suffer and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“We are here to help keep children on Canto Bight safe,” he said. You went and looked out the window to the street below. It was strange, knowing that damn near anyone in the town and not at the mines were slavers. If it weren’t for the handful of slaves working here, you’d set some thermal detonators, blow the whole place. 

Din stood behind you, his body large and broad. His hand went to your shoulder, slipping down and over you, between your breasts, splaying wide against your stomach before tugging you back against him. Your head was against his chest, you could feel him breathing. 

“I’m sorry we cannot do more,” he said quietly. “I know you are used to… more power.” 

You sighed. 

“I like when we do what we can,” you said, holding onto his arm. “And I knew what I’d be trading when I did what I did during the war. If I made it to the other side, I probably wouldn’t be in the same position after. But it was worth it. If the Empire had won, things would be worse everywhere.” 

Grogu fell asleep not long after you finished the meditative exercises Ahsoka had given you to do with him, drifting off against your chest until you put him in his pod. Din was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him. You watched him for a moment. It felt like you’d been under threat for so long, the constant stress of looking over your shoulder, the fear of losing him or the child eating at you. For a moment, you wanted nothing more than to forget, to get lost in him. 

You went and straddled him, putting your forehead against the cool metal of his. His hands went to your waist and you could feel him starting to harden below you. 

“Cyare,” he said, voice heavy. “Tell me, what do you want?” 

You took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I wanted to ask you for something,” you said, biting your lip. One hand left your waist and he pulled your lip free from your teeth with his thumb before tracing it gently. Your heart was beating in a hard and heavy rhythm against your ribs. He just nodded once, his hand returning to your waist. 

“The time in the shower,” you said hesitantly. “And in the cockpit, with the binders…” 

You took a shaky breath, stomach tight, and you sat back away from him. 

“Yes?” He asked when you didn’t continue. 

“I was wondering if you’d do something like that to me again,” you had to consciously try to not bite your lip, your cheeks hot. You’d never asked for something like this, never wanted to ask for something like this. 

He paused. You could feel his eyes ranging over you, his cock growing harder against your center, a disappointing amount of fabric separating the two of you. 

“You like when I’m in control,” He asked without asking. You nodded. “Want me to make it so you don’t have to think, make it so all you have to do is feel?” 

You swallowed, hard, before nodding again. Nothing felt quite so good - so freeing, so safe - as when he had control. You trusted him completely, more than you’d ever trusted another person - even Sosha. Trusted him to take care of you, to give you what you wanted, to keep you safe enough that you could let yourself be consumed. 

He slipped his hands lower, tugging your shirt up and over you before depositing it on the floor. He cupped your breasts below the band before he pulled that off and discarded it, too. Din then reached for his belt and took his binders out, nodding to your hands. You took a shaky breath and put your wrists together in front of him. He slipped the binders over you, latching them tight before sliding his hands around you, up your back, holding you against the cool armor of him for a moment before lifting you from the bed and laying you beneath him. 

He took something from his belt, lifted your hands over your head, and fastened you to the bed. Your heart sped up. 

Din got up and your eyes followed him as he went to turn out the light, plunging the room into not quite total darkness. You heard the sound of beskar being put down and then his clear, unmodulated voice. 

“If I do anything you can’t handle,” he said. “Say the name of your home world. I don’t plan to give in to your begging.” 

You swallowed past the knot in your throat and took a shaky breath before nodding in the darkness. He got on the bed, you could feel the mattress sink below his weight. His hands went to your knees and he spread them wide before settling between your legs, his skin everywhere, almost overwhelming. His nose ran up and down your own, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you. When you lifted your head enough to try to kiss him - really kiss him - he pulled back every so slightly. You whimpered. 

“So eager,” he said, voice low and soft. “You need to learn to be patient.” 

He didn’t kiss you. Instead, his mouth trailed over your skin, the heat of his breath making the rest of your body feel shockingly cool by comparison. His lips ghosted over your breast bone, over to your nipple. His tongue lightly grazed it before he took it in his teeth, sharp and harsh, making you gasp and your back arch against him. He sucked the stiffened peak, teasing you with his tongue, until you were panting for breath. You went slack below him and he moved to your other breast, keeping his mouth far enough away that when he darted forward and bit you, it came as a shock that made you gasp. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, cradling your breasts, pressing his stomach down into your throbbing, aching core. 

When he released you, he brushed his lips lower, down your body, before pressing a kiss into your stomach, over your womb. 

“Don’t cum without permission, Cyare,” he said. You whimpered again. “Need to learn how to be patient.” 

The next thing you felt was his tongue lightly pressing into your clit, almost making you jump you were so sensitive. He kissed the top of your slit before taking your clit into his mouth, sucking you gently.

“Din,” you panted, your hips pressing into him. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you still. He took his mouth from you and you groaned. 

“No rushing things,” he said before licking a lazy path from your hole to your clit. “You have to take what I give you, Cyare.” 

You whimpered but didn’t argue. He hitched your legs over his shoulders before he released your thighs and, for a moment, that was all of him you could feel - his broad body between your legs, is hot breath on your slit. It was shocking, then, when his mouth covered your clit at the same time one of his fingers thrust into your entrance. The movement was sudden, fast, hard, his finger sinking deep into you, curving up into the soft, spongy place inside you that made you fall apart. 

He sucked and licked you, his finger thrusting in and out in perfect time, your body tightening around him. You were getting close, not sure how to stop the orgasm that was bearing down on you when he pulled away from you. 

“Why…” you began, voice heavy with pleasure. 

“Told you not to cum until I gave you permission,” he said, still between your legs. “Did I give you permission?” 

“No,” you whimpered. 

“Then you can’t cum,” he replied, running his nose up and down your slit. You groaned, the tightness in your body easing but not vanishing, the ache inside you growing. 

“Din,” you groaned. “Please…” 

“Please what?” He asked. 

“Please let me cum,” you whimpered. 

“Not yet,” he said, pulling back from you again. 

His tongue slipped into you next, pressing deep, forcing your tight, aching walls apart until he was buried in you, his nose against your clit. You gasped and fought to not grind against him, a finger from one of his hands pressing into you below his tongue, the thumb from his other hand pressing against your clit. 

You couldn’t help it, your hips ground against him, chasing the orgasm that was growing in you again. Your muscles clenched, the heat in you clutching tighter, burning brighter as he worked you. You were inches, seconds, breaths away from exploding when he took his mouth and hands away again. It damn near made you cry, the tightness in you barely easing this time, the aching longing building so much that it was starting to hurt. 

“Didn’t give you permission,” he said. His voice was thick, hot. Your heart was pounding. “Who does your pleasure belong to, Cyare?” 

“You,” you whimpered. 

“And would you take what’s mine without permission?” 

“No,” you felt like you might break in two if you didn’t find release soon. 

“Then you will take what I give you,” he said, returning to your overwrought slit once more. 

The pattern continued again and again, Din using his mouth and fingers to bring you to the brink of orgasm only to pull back just before you found it. You couldn’t remember your body ever feeling so tight, so wanting. It was like you were a spring that had been coiled past its breaking point but had somehow not snapped, you knew that - at any second - you would shatter and it would overwhelm you. You were soaking wet, you could feel the sheet below you clinging to your skin with your slick. Your entrance was starting to throb and flutter, grasping for something to grip as Din slipped your legs from his shoulders, rising up in front of you, his broad body silhouetted in the slips of light coming through the window. 

“What do you need, Cyare,” he asked, ghosting the dripping head of his cock over your slit. 

“You,” you were panting, all but writhing, desperate. “I need you, I just need you, I need you to let me cum, please just let me cum, it hurts, I can’t….” 

He thrust into you in one swift movement, forcing your tightened channel open, folding his large body over yours, his forehead meeting your own. His lips - still wet with you - brushed your own when he spoke. 

“Cum for me,” he said, holding himself so deep inside you that he was pressed fully against the entrance to your womb. He pulled back and thrust into you again once, twice. “Cum around me, want to feel you…” 

You didn’t need to be told again, his head catching on the place inside you that pushed you over the edge, his body pressing deliciously into your clit. Your walls clamped so tightly around him that it almost hurt, the throbbing so intense that your whole body trembled with it, the heat that had built into an inferno in your stomach exploding out of you in every direction. 

“That’s it,” he panted over you, fucking into you harder, faster, your body still fluttering around him. “Let go for me, I have you, I’ll take care of you. Doing so well, taking me so fucking well…” 

You strained against the binders but they held fast to the bed so you laced your legs with his, holding him close as you rode out what was starting to seem like an endless orgasm, like every one he’d nearly given you was crashing through you over and over. 

After what felt like an eternity, your body went lax and Din slowed his pace. He reached up and freed your hands and you quickly clutched onto him, his skin almost shockingly smooth and soft below your touch after being so deprived. His fingers traced your face, down to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“If you can cum again,: he said softly. “Do it. Want to give you everything, want to feel everything inside you…” 

You nodded and he pushed into you slow and deep, your body gently building to another orgasm as he took you. You weren’t sure how long you were tangled up together like that, the aching, gentle rhythm of him deep within you, his lips on your own or on your throat or on your chest. You traced his face in the dark, memorizing how he felt below your fingers. It was like nothing existed outside of him - not time or space or sorrow or wanting. You couldn’t comprehend something beyond him, it was overwhelming to even consider anything else. You were drawn taught like a bowstring again, panting below him. 

“Going to cum,” you whispered. “Want you… want to feel you…” 

“Cum for me,” he said, taking your face in his large hand and kissing you, his tongue dipping into your mouth as pressed so deep inside you the stretch of him burned. You came around him, gasping into him as you did and you felt him come apart within you, spilling into you for what felt like forever until he went slack on top of you. 

He pulled you against him and rolled so that he was on his back and you were sprawled on top of him, his hands splayed wide over your skin as he panted for breath, his cock still deep within you. You lay like that for a while, feeling like he was everywhere, before he started running his hands over your hair, down your back. 

“Did I give you what you wanted, Cyare?” He asked softly. You nodded into his chest, not sure you could speak quite yet. He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Good. I love you. Want to take care of you, want to give you everything.”

You’d started hunting the next morning, the two of you splitting up to see what information you could find about the source of the spice. 

After a few days, you had a bead on the right hand man of the operation. He frequented the main cantina in town, one that was directly across the street from the inn - a savvy move on Din’s part when picking where to stay. It was easy to monitor the comings and goings from your room. Once you knew who you were looking for, it was easy to find the man in a crowd, get an idea of his habits. Know when to place you inside the cantina to help get him to a quiet place outside it. 

You’d set yourself at the end of the bar, a few empty seats around you, and ordered a cocktail that you were taking slow sips of so you didn’t lose your focus. If he stuck to his usual schedule, he’d be in soon. There were no other women alone in the bar at this time - turns out, spice mining and the slaving that went with it was mostly a male profession - so it was likely he’d sit by you. You’d dressed to encourage it, worn clothes that would fit on Kessel but that also exposed more of your chest than you would if you weren’t trying to catch someone’s eye. Your pants fit well, you’d done just enough makeup to highlight your features without looking like you’d done anything at all. Bait in a snare. 

“Target on site,” Din said a few minutes later. 

“Going quiet,” you replied, pocketing the com. 

The man entered and you were once again relieved that you had the Mandalorian as backup. Not that you couldn’t handle him if you needed to but he was large, grizzled enough that you knew it would be a challenge, especially if he had friends and you were trying to leave him alive. He was taller even than Din was, broader, too, his body all aging muscle covered in signs of survived conflict. He was close to your father’s age, you thought, but, given the life he led, you doubted his age would make him any easier to kill if you had to. 

Not that killing him was the goal. Yet, anyway. 

You glanced coyly in his direction, letting your lips curve into a small smile before looking back down at your drink, leaving your body tilted so he could see it better. 

He took the bait, sliding into the seat beside you. 

“Spotchka,” he said to the bartender with no other form of greeting. You turned your delicate glass in one hand, watching the liquid swirl as you did, your other hand sliding down your thigh, fingers lightly dipping into your flesh. 

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” the man said. You tried to not smile. Maker, men were predictable. 

“Just made it on world last week,” you turned a bit in your seat so you were more facing him than just tilted toward him. You took a small sip of your drink. “Still getting to know the area.” 

“Always good when we get a little…” he looked you up and down. “Fresh meat.” 

“Someone has to mix things up,” you quirked a brow at him. “Seems like you know your way around. Anything a Kessel virgin should know? Assuming you’re willing to give me what I want, of course.” 

“Oh I could give you plenty,” he smirked. So fucking predictable. “Who are you with?” 

“Pyke,” you replied. “Brought me in from Tatooine to help keep things running smoothly. I’ve got some experience in taming some…” you let your eyes drift to the man’s hips and back up to his face. “Harder things.” 

He took a drink, shifting in his chair. 

“Pyke is a good enough way to get on world,” he said. “But what you want is someone who can make you some real money, someone who’s doing something different. Need to find someone whose product is a bit more in demand…” 

“Didn’t know there was something more in demand than spice,” your eyes drifted down again. “Well, at least something that’s exported anyway.” 

He downed the rest of the spotchka. 

“Where you stayin’?” 

You smiled and hoped it looked more flirtatious instead of smug. 

“Across the street.” 

“Show me,” he said. “I’ll let you handle some harder things.” 

You slipped off the barstool and brushed your body against the front of his before you took his hand and led him out the door. You glanced up at the window to your room, where you knew Din was watching. You could feel his eyes on you, even though you couldn’t see him. 

You led the man upstairs and to your room, letting him inside. He was so ready to start getting your clothes off, it took him a moment to notice the almost two meters of beskar standing in the corner. 

“What the…” he began. You didn’t let him get further, taking the hand that was in yours and twisting it, bending his arm unnaturally back and pulling it behind him before you hit him at the knee, sending him to the ground. Din pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, binders in hand. You smiled a little at those now.

“Good work, Cyare,” he said, cuffing the man before he stalked around to the front of him. You followed closely, the man nearly reaching your chin from his place on his knees. “Seemed quick.” 

“It was,” you smiled. “Didn’t take much.” 

“He touch you?” He asked. 

“Kept his hands to himself,” you replied. “I was impressed.” 

Din nodded slowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” The man demanded, pulling uselessly at the binders. “You clearly don’t know who you’re fucking with…” 

“Agur Gall?” You asked, brows raised. “Right hand of the Oska Syndicate?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “No, I think we know exactly who we’re fucking with…” 

He shoved himself forward, going to slam into you but Din stepped in front of you and the man’s head smacked into his beskar chest plate, sending him slumping to the floor. 

“Trying to hurt her is the worst thing you could do,” Din said, rolling the giant man over with a boot to the shoulder. “Right now, I have no reason to kill you. Don’t change that.” 

“What the fuck do you want with me?” He spat, lying on his back. 

“Access,” you replied. “To the leader of the syndicate. We have a bounty on his head, like to cash in.” 

“What would you give me for it?” He asked. 

“Your life,” Din said. 

“You’d think that would be enough…” you looked up at Din. 

“Right,” Gall laughed. “I give you Oska, I’m fucked. There’s a target on my back the size of the maelstrom, I’m out of a job, what good’s my life?” 

“Alright,” you replied. “What do you want?” 

“Come with me to meet with Oska,” he said. “It’ll be small but he’ll still have guards, I’ll need help to take them down. Once I defeat him and take control of the syndicate, you can have Oska.” 

“You have to stop selling the concentrated spice,” you replied. “That’s the only reason we’re here, it’s killing the children who are stuck running it if they come in contact with it, not to mention what it’s doing to the users.” 

He frowned. 

“Shouldn’t be capable of that,” he said. 

“It is,” you shrugged. “And our bounty holder claims your boss knows it.” 

“Not good business to kill off your clientele,” he said. “I’ll look at the purification and distillation process, won’t send it out again until it’s fixed.” 

You looked at Din and felt him looking back at you through the helmet. He gave you a single nod. 

“You’ll set the meeting?” You asked. 

“Should only take a day or two,” he said. 

“Turn on us, try to run, and we kill you,” Din said. “Understood?” 

Gall just nodded and Din pulled him to his feet, freeing him from the binders. He stood between you and the man, almost daring him to try anything. 

“Meet you at the cantina, tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll tell you when we’re seeing Oska.” 

“I’ll be there,” you replied. Gall nodded once before he left.

“That was…” you paused. “Suspiciously easy.” 

“Doesn’t feel right,” Din said, going to the fresher to fetch Grogu from where he’d stashed him for the meeting. The baby stretched and reached for you and you smiled and took him, pulling him against you. He cooed happily and started twisting his fingers in your hair. 

“I know I don’t wear it down like this much,” you smiled at him. “So much more fun when you can get at all of it!” 

“Patu!” 

You kissed his little forehead before you turned your attention back to Din. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t exactly feel like running an interrogation today,” you said. “But I don’t trust this.” 

“We’ll meet with him tomorrow,” Din said. “Make a plan from there.” 

Din came with you for that one, Grogu safely in his pod in the corner of the booth. But the meeting went by without incident, Gall directing you to an old spice mine on the other side of the planet. 

“Should move in tonight,” Din said the second you were back in your room at the inn, Grogu sitting on your lap as he gnawed on some frog-like creature you’d gotten him at the market. “Set up surveillance.” 

“Agreed,” you said, glancing at the bed for a moment. Having one that was a decent size - far bigger than the one in Din’s quarters on the Crest - had been nice. You weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to it yet. But the mission was king. 

Din set the Crest down a few clicks away from the mine, tucked away behind what must be rubble from mines being dug out. He locked down the ship and you took the bare minimum with you to a spot with a good vantage point, settling in to wait, Grogu asleep in his pod. 

The Mandalorian watched in one direction while you monitored the other, the night still and cool and quiet. 

“Where do you want to go after this job?” You asked after a while, still peering through the binocs. 

“You’re asking because you don’t want to go back to Canto Bight,” he asked without asking. You shrugged, knowing he’d feel it with your back leaning against his own. He sighed. “Doll…” 

“I know,” you cut him off. “We need to lie low. But we’re both not happy working on that world. I think we should return this quarry and find somewhere else to go for a bit. We could even try Coruscant, with billions of people even you don’t stand out all that much. Or maybe enough time has passed that it’s safe for us to try to contact Karga again, take some guild work…” 

“I’ll consider it,” he said. “But I’d rather take jobs I don’t like on Canto Bight than risk you and the kid.” 

A few hours passed before there was some movement, a group of men - heavily armed - heading into the mine. 

“You need to wear something from Naboo,” Din said, watching the men go into the mine. “We’re outnumbered, you need something that will soak a shot.” 

“Good idea,” you replied. “Thermal detonators wouldn’t be bad, either. We get pinned down, we can just set them, run and bring the mine down behind us.” 

You weren’t sure what the usual contingent was at a meeting place for Oska. Without context, you couldn’t know if it was a trap. Just that it didn’t look great. The two of you kept watching the mine until sunrise. You walked back to the Crest and changed into what you’d packed when you’d left Naboo - intended for guarding the queen when going into battle. It fit, the muscle you’d lost rebuilt, like you had become yourself again. Your hair had grown out since you’d been back with Din, long enough now that you could braid it in a Naboo style. You sat in front of the reflective crate, Grogu on your lap with one of his toys as he watched your reflection, enchanted, as you worked. You reached out for him with your mind, getting a glimpse of his thoughts when you did. He was endlessly curious, trying to absorb everything. You tried to think through what you were doing as you did it, explaining how it worked. You thought he understood, glimmers of satisfaction coming through the mental bond. 

You tried to think of how long it had been since you’d last done your hair like this. Maybe your wedding day? You’d cut it not long after at Kann’s request and had refrained from styling it that way in the interim, not wanting to look like an off worlder. But it felt wrong to do anything different for your wedding day, even if it had been a wedding in title only. You glanced at Din in the reflection of the crate as he gathered the last of the things you’d need to deal with Oska. 

You hadn’t thought about your wedding day much. At the time it had been… not quite happy but optimistic. Some sign that things would eventually be OK. That you could have a normal life, find satisfaction in something. Of course, that’s not what happened. But it made you wonder what it would be like to marry someone because you wanted to. Because you loved them, wanted to spend your life with them, wanted to belong to them and they to you. 

Your mind was stuck on it, the idea of something permanent because you wanted it, not out of necessity or duty. 

Curiosity got the better of you as you walked back to your vantage point to wait for your meeting time. 

“Do Mandalorians get married?” You asked. Din’s stride stuttered for a moment and you tried to cover yourself quickly. “I just mean… I’m not asking if… I just wasn’t sure if you did. How that worked.” 

“We do,” he said after a moment. “It’s… simple. Just a few words spoken to each other. It can be private, no one needs to witness it. It can even be over com link.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“What was it like for you?” He asked after a moment of quiet. “Getting married.” 

“Simple but not that simple,” you replied. “Aidla and Tam were witnesses, as well as two friends of Kann’s. Aidla let me borrow her wedding dress so I got to wear something from Naboo… We said the usual things, I suppose. None of it was true, which was harder than I expected. I never envisioned love but mutual respect… Anyway. I just… I wasn’t sure how that worked for you.” 

“Not so different from other cultures,” he paused for a moment. “Is that… something you would want?” 

You thought for a moment. 

“I don’t know,” you said eventually. “I never really thought about it, it wasn’t something I ever thought I’d have, at least not really.” 

He nodded slowly, looking straight ahead. 

“What about you?” You asked after a moment. “Is it… Do you want that?” 

“With the right person,” he said eventually. “With you, if the time was right…” 

You smiled a little at that. The time could be right. At least for you. When it came to Din, the time always seemed to feel right.

***

This whole deal had Din on edge. Gall had been too quick, too eager. He doubted he’d been biding his time to stage a coup, just waiting for the right opportunity. It was too convenient. But it was the way he had to find Oska, so he was following through on it. 

At dusk, you descended from your perch to meet Gall at the mouth of the mine, Grogu tucked safely inside his pod. 

Gall was waiting where he promised, standing there alone. 

“Deal is, you get Oska,” he said. “I get the syndicate. Still good?” 

Din glanced at you before looking back to him. 

“Agreed,” Din said. 

“Good,” Gall said. “I told Oska I’m bringing you in as potential distributors. Some of the men inside are loyal to me, try not to kill them.” 

The man had too many things in place. Din was playing into his hand, he could feel it. He only hoped he could protect you and the child if it got out of control. 

“Gall!” The man who must be Oska greeted him in a cavernous space inside the mine, flanked by at least three dozen men. “I’ve been thinking all day about your proposition to move our product coreward. I take it these are the distributors?” 

“A smuggling team,” Gall positioned himself closer. “Willing to run the product to Hosnian Prime to start. We can see about expansion from there.” 

Oska looked you and Din over, nodding in approval. 

“Didn’t know there were Mandalorians left,” he said, sounding almost amused. As though Din were a novelty, something on display. His fist clenched. “I’ve always admired men with a strong sense of duty.” 

He turned his attention to you. 

“Something tells me you’re a deceptive little thing,” he smiled. “A handy skill with smuggling.” 

“I’ve found it useful,” you replied, your fingers close to the blaster strapped to your thigh. 

“Let’s discuss the numbers,” he said. “Gall, why don’t you wait…” 

“Why don’t I what?” The large man drew himself up even taller. Din glanced to you. You looked ready. “Why am I the one seeking out new opportunities while you reap the benefits? Seems like you shouldn’t be the one negotiating. Seems like it should be me.” 

“Gall,” Oska cautioned, about 25 of the men at his back adjusting the grip on their weapons. “You’re on dangerous ground.” 

“No,” Gall drew his blaster. “I think you are.” 

Someone at Oska’s back shot first, a blaster bolt barely missing Gall’s shoulder. There was a split second of quiet after, the moment feeling long and drawn out to the Mandalorian. They often did, the moments before a situation burst into violence. 

The moment passed quickly and a hail of blaster fire began. Din sent the child’s pod to a sheltered alcove he’d spotted when they’d entered and tried to not focus on you, tried to trust you to handle yourself. He knew you could, knew that smart and strong and immensely capable. He knew there was a better chance of both of you getting out of here unscathed if he let you take care of yourself and he focused on doing what he had to do. 

But looking out for you felt like the keenest form of self defense now. Damn near every inch of him was covered in beskar, every inch that wasn’t you. Because it seemed like you’d become an extension of him, something vital and important to protect, something that mattered even more than a limb or an organ and you were outside his armor and control. He’d become even more aware of the risk when you’d brought up marriage that afternoon. 

He wasn’t sure what had made you think of it, why you’d brought it up when you did. Maybe you’d sensed that it had been on his mind with your Jedi-like power. Maybe you’d heard inside his mind that, when he thought of you, he thought of you as his riduur, as his wife. Maybe you’d noticed how tempted he’d become to just… let you see him. Something he never thought he would want. He hadn’t felt that keeping his face hidden was lacking until you. 

He’d become less stringent with his helmet since Tatooine, frequently removing it when you would be able to get a sense of the shape of his brow or the curve of his nose. It was a fine line, not quite breaking the rules, not quite hiding from you. But he wanted you to see him the way he saw you. He wanted to be yours and you to be his. And the need to protect you was strong. 

He resisted the drive to throw you behind him, to shield your smaller, more delicate being with his own. Instead, he fired the whistling birds, taking out a dozen of the men shooting towards them. 

Din caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye as you ducked behind a boulder and fired over it, the infighting breaking out among the ranks. He turned is attention to Oska, the man already moving deeper into the mine. He took off after him, four of his men moving with him. Din started taking them out from behind, forcing them to stop and try to defend against him. But they weren’t good enough shots to hit anything but beskar and he made quick work of them, grabbing Oska before he could make it far. He cuffed the man. 

“There’s a bounty on your head,” Din said. “Your spice has been killing people, including the children running it. I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold. If you make it easy for me, it will be warm.” 

“Killing…” the man frowned. “No, no ours is medical grade, it shouldn’t…” 

Din took him by the collar and dragged him back toward the main chamber, where you were standing beside Gall. It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. You were finishing off the last of Oska’s men, Gall and the handful loyal to him nearby. 

“Gall!” Oska yelled from Din’s grip. “What did the Mandalorian mean, that the product is killing the people running it?” 

Gall sighed, lowering his blaster and shaking his head. 

“Really wish you hadn’t told him why there was a price on his head,” the large man said before grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest, pressing his blaster to your skull. Din dropped Oska and pulled his blaster, leveling it at the man. “Sometimes, the best product comes at a price. One that Oska just wasn’t willing to pay. I am. Now now Mando, do you really count yourself to be a fast enough shot to take me down before I kill your partner?” 

The blood was pounding in Din’s ears, his chest tight. This man had you, he wanted to hurt you, to kill you. He couldn’t let him, he’d die before he let him. 

“If you want to leave here alive,” Din said, his voice a forced calm. “You’ll release her.” 

Gall’s large hand went around your throat and you met Din’s eyes, gave him an almost imperceptible shake of your head. He tried to swallow the terror in him, the drive to rip you away from him all but overwhelming. 

“Gall,” you managed, your arms lowering slowly until they were pointed down at the floor. “You don’t want to do this.” 

“I think I do,” he said. 

“Last chance,” you said, fidgeting with a hand. Din knew what you were doing, he’d seen it on Bakura. It still made him nervous. Gall’s hand tightened on your throat and you flicked the knife open, bringing it down into the man’s leg. He lurched, the blaster moving away from your head and his hand letting you go as he went to the wound on his thigh. 

You quickly ducked behind him and Din shot him, sending him to the ground, dead. You looked at the body for a moment, your knife in your hand, before looking up at Din. He shrugged. 

“He chose cold.” 

***

The bounty handoff was surprisingly simple, given that it wasn’t who you’d been initially hired to capture. But the official who hired you was thankful for results, including Oska’s assurance that the problematic product was coming out of circulation. 

“If there’s any more trouble, use these coordinates to start having someone hunt down Oska,” you said, handing her back her data pad. She frowned. 

“Are you getting out of the game?” She asked. 

“Something like that,” you shrugged. “Moving on to another world for a while. Hopefully you won’t need the information.” 

“Well, I appreciate your help,” she smiled. “Good luck, wherever you end up.” 

You were getting ready to leave the room you’d rented out once a week for six months - an oddly nostalgic sort of goodbye - when someone appeared in the doorway. 

He was small, mousey, young - younger than you. He looked scared. 

“Can I help you?” You asked. You shouldn’t have asked, you were leaving, you weren’t taking anymore jobs. But he seemed vulnerable. You wanted to help. 

“I have…” he swallowed, edging into the room with a holographic com link in his hands. “I have someone who is looking for a bounty hunter. He asked me to bring this here, to meet with you.” 

“Sorry,” you shrugged, something suddenly feeling off about him. Your stomach twisted. There was no way this man was a threat to you. You doubted he’d even be a threat to Grogu - even if the kid wasn’t a Jedi. But something about him was a threat. He wasn’t safe. “Not taking on any more jobs right now…” 

“Please,” the man pleaded, his eyes the size of dinner plates. You frowned. “Please, at least… at least talk with him, I’m begging you…” 

You looked at him for a moment. He wasn’t lying. He was fucking terrified. You stood up straighter, your fingers pressing into the table in front of you to try to put the tension in you somewhere. 

“Fine,” you said. “But I make no promises on taking the job. Just that I’ll hear him out.” 

“Thank you,” he looked like he was about to cry he was so relieved. “Thank you so much…” 

He set the com link down on the table in front of you and activated it. 

Standing in front of you, glowing and terrible, was Moff Gideon. 

“Hello, Handmaid.” 

[celinamarniss]

Ao3 is down so I'm posting the first chapter of A Smuggler's Guide to Joining the Rebellion (the sequel to Things You Find on Tatooine) here as a birthday present for @virusq Happy Birthday!

It was the sharp tone in Mara’s voice that Han registered long before he recognised the words as they carried down the starboard corridor. “Chewbacca,” Mara hissed, “you’re not listening to me—” 

It was the sort of tone that brought Han to an abrupt stop before his brain had realized what his body was doing. Chewie’s reply was too low to make out, but his answer was terse and unhappy. 

Oh no no no no. Han was not getting in the middle of some lover’s spat. Swiveling on his heel, He slunk back down the corridor as quietly as he could manage. 

“I know you’re there, Han,” Mara’s voice rang down the corridor. 

Han frowned, foot half-raised. He was sure he’d been quiet. Why had he tried so hard to be quiet? This was his ship, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to creep around on his ship.

“Yeah?” he called back. “What of it? A man should be able to walk around his own ship whenever he pleases!” To prove his point, he let his feet fall heavily on the grated floor, even though he was still retreating backwards down the corridor. 

“If the both of you are done bickering, we’re coming up on Riggett Station. If anyone on the crew wants to help dock the ship today.” A sullen silence answered him and followed him into the cockpit. 

Moments later, Chewie lumbered down the corridor. “Teenagers,” he muttered under his breath as he joined Han. Mara trailed behind him like a little black cloud. 

She got like that sometimes. Han didn’t understand it, Chewie couldn’t predict it. Without warning, she would fall into a sulk and shut herself off in her room with only her small arsenal of weaponry to keep her company. Eventually she’d come out again, usually to eat, and when she did she acted like nothing had happened. Han didn’t know if this was normal, since he wasn’t entirely sure how teenaged girls were meant to behave. The girls he’d known when he’d been a teenager had, like himself, been fighting too hard to stay alive on the streets of Corellia to mope in a cupboard. 

Mara tucked herself in the seat behind Chewie and turned to the navigator’s console without speaking. Chewie grumbled something Han didn’t catch as he settled into the co-pilot’s couch. 

“What was that?” Han asked absently as he reached for the lever that would take them out of hyperspace. 

But he never did find out what Chewie was going to say, because at that moment, realspace solidified around them with an abrupt jolt that rocked the entire ship. Was the alluvial dampener malfunctioning again? Han had a moment to wonder before the proximity alarm began to shriek. 

“Shit.” 

An Imperial patrol ship hovered like a viper wasp in the starboard viewport, gleaming silver against the star-pricked void. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Han silenced the alarm. “That shouldn’t be there!” 

They knew the patrol schedule for this sector—at least, they’d known last month’s schedule—and no one was due in this particular space lane for a few days. 

“They’re hailing us,” Mara said tightly. 

The Falcon’s comm dropped the first seconds of the call, almost as if in spite. “—erial patrol, freighter, please identify yourself.”  

Han jabbed at comm with enough force to drive it into the control panel. “This is the freighter Millenium Falcon, sending our transponder ID now.” 

“Stand by, Millenium Falcon.” 

“They’re going to board and search the ship,” Chewie rumbled. 

They were fucked if the Imps did a full search of the ship. The fifty barrels of high-grade Kessel spice sitting in their hold wasn’t sort of haul you couldn’t hide under a floor panel. They didn’t have time to move the barrels to a more secure hiding place and if a boarding party had a strong enough scanner, it wouldn’t matter where they hid it. 

“Prepare for approach,” the comm droned. 

“Uh, that’s not necessary, officer,” Han said, knowing, even as the words left his mouth, exactly how unconvincing he sounded. “As you can see from our ID, we’re just an independent freighter headed to pick up some work on the station.” 

“Millenium Falcon, hold and prepare for boarding and inspection.” 

There was a finality to the click that ended the transmission that couldn’t be denied. The nose of the cruiser slowly rotated until it pointed in their direction like a blunted arrow. 

“Dump ‘em,” Han barked. “We’re still out of range of their scanners. We’re far enough into the system—we dump the cargo and it’ll just look like orbiting debris.” 

“Will that work?” Mara asked. 

“It’s worked before,” Han said grimly. He and Chewie had never tried it before—not exactly—but it was a common enough tactic that lots of smugglers employed. “But we have to do it now. Dump everything. Mara—” 

But she was already gone. Han cursed under his breath and scrambled after her. When he caught up to her in the cargo bay, she had already donned her gloves and was releasing the locking clamps on the rack of barrels. 

“Just shove ‘em into the elevator and we’ll dump them out of the loading—careful! What are you doing!—Don't scrape them along the floor! They’ll be able to tell there was cargo in here.” 

“On this floor?” Mara waved a hand wildly. “Oh, they’ll definitely be able to tell what scratches on this floor are from illegal cargo.” 

Han heaved a barrel into the freight elevator. “I’ll be able to tell, and if I can tell—” 

A large furry hand reached around from behind him and hoisted two barrels out of the way. “Quit arguing,” Chewie rumbled. 

“We’re not—” Han and Mara snapped at the same time. 

“Just a difference of opinion,” Han said as he helped Mara tip a barrel on its side and roll into the lift. “Mara’s opinion is wrong and mine is right.” 

Han kicked the final barrel onto the freight elevator where it banged against the other with an ear-piercing clang. He spared a millisecond to worry about the goods before remembering that they were about to space the whole lot. 

“Alright, back off.” They retreated to the entryway of the hold as Han activated the elevator release. 

The elevator disappeared into the floor as it lowered the barrels out of sight. They listened to the clunk and hiss of the airlock sealing the cargo off from the rest of the ship, and then—nothing. It was all gone, thousands of credits dumped into space. 

Back in the cockpit, they watched the shadow of the patrol ship slide across the Falcon’s viewport. 

“Everyone gets boarded,” Han said into the silence. “It’s fine. It’s going to be fine, everything’s going to be fine. They’ll smell that something’s off, but if they can’t find it, they can’t pin it on us.” 

The Falcon shuddered as it was caught in the grip of the tractor beam and they all flinched at the vibration, followed by the deep mechanical grinding of the airlock slotting into place. 

Han could feel Mara and Chewie’s eyes on him. “I’ll go show ‘em around,” he said. 

He had a bad feeling about this. 

“I’ll do it,” Mara said, darting out of the cabin again. 

“Mara—” 

“She can do it,” Chewie said. 

“She’d better,” Han muttered, pushing out of his seat. “All our asses are on the line if she doesn’t.” 

By the time he reached the airlock, five stormtroopers were assembling in the cramped corridor headed by an Imperial officer that looked exactly like every other Imperial officer that Han had ever met. There was something about that uniform that seemed to drain any sort of personality out of a person. 

Mara stood between him and the Imperials, her hands loose at her sides, as unarmed as Mara ever was. “Officer! Welcome to the Millennium Falcon!” 

Han had never heard her use that tone of voice before. It was innocuous and sweet, too-bright. Chirpy. 

It clearly wasn’t the sort of reception the officer had been expecting, either, and it was just enough to throw him off. He closed his mouth around an unspoken command and stared down at her for a moment before he was able to reassess the situation he had walked into. Mara met his gaze with the straightforward earnestness of a concerned citizen with nothing to hide. Han almost believed her himself. Good girl, he thought. 

“We’re here to search this freighter for any contraband or unregistered cargo,” the Imperial officer said stiffly. 

“Of course, officer,” Mara replied, bright and eager. “We’re on our way to Glavis to pick up a job, so we’re running light right now. Do you have all the equipment you need to scan the cargo hold?” 

“A visual inspection is all that’s required at this juncture. Is that your captain?” The officer said, craning his head around in Han’s direction. The expression on the Imperial’s face froze as Chewie lumbered into the view. 

“Yeah, I’m him,” Han said. He gestured at Chewie. “Our first mate. And muscle.” 

“Is it under control?” the officer muttered, more to Mara than Han. 

“Chewbacca’s very reliable!” she said, before Han had a chance to mouth off. “You don’t have to worry about anything! Would you like to view the hold now?” 

The officer made a show of looking Han and Chewie up and down once more before he nodded. “Keep an eye on them,”  he said to one of the troopers. 

“Sure, we’ll just wait in the lounge until you’re done,” Han said, backing down the curve of the corridor. The trooper hefted his blaster and marched in the same direction. 

“Our cargo hold is right this way!” Mara chirped. “If you’ll follow me, sir…” 

A single stormtrooper remained to guard the exit as the other three marched after Mara and the officer toward the cargo bay. The stormtrooper assigned to watch Han and Chewie stood at attention in the entryway to the lounge, and while it was impossible to tell where he was looking, not with those helmets, Han could feel his eyes on them. 

Kriffing Imps. 

Chewie put his hands on the table, relaxed and visible, as though he were just resting them on the edge of the holoboard. After a moment, Han did the same, though he itched to drop his hand and rest it on the handle of his blaster. 

Every moment that passed, those barrels were spiraling further and further away from the space lanes, 

They’d never be able to retrieve them. 

After about two minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. The stormtrooper hefted his blaster as he got to his feet, and Han jerked his hands up in a display of compliance. 

Insolent compliance. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. 

“Keep within bounds,” the Trooper barked. 

Han let his hands drop a few inches as he paced over to one end of the lounge, turning on his heel at the edge of the room and looping back again. And again. 

If Mara wasn’t able to convince them that the Falcon was a perfectly harmless cargo hauler, then the Imperials would arrest them and likely throw them into some sort of hellish Imperial prison. Han didn’t want to think about the sort of sentence that Chewie or Mara would face. 

Or—the Imperials might just shoot them. 

Or this was just routine harassment, and if they didn’t see any evidence of smuggling, they’d accept a bribe—not that they had much of anything to bribe with—and be on their way. 

Han made another circuit of the lounge. He could hear Mara’s chatter drifting down the hall before he saw her. The sound of a door sliding open, and then another, told Han they were doing a search of the Falcon, but only a perfunctory one. He craned his head out of the lounge, obeying the letter of the law by not lifting a foot to step into the corridor. He could hear the impatient shift of the stormtrooper behind him, but the Imp didn’t call him on it. 

Han tensed as Mara paused in front of the door to her personal arsenal. She stood in front of the former supply closet, radiating innocence and chattering on, and not one of the stormtroopers moved to open the door. It was almost as if they couldn’t see it. 

Han squinted at the troopers as they continued on down the hallway until they reached the airlock. He could hear the click and of their comms, and then the trooper on guard duty in the lounge shouldered past him to rejoin his squad. 

The inspection was over. 

If they’d had an Imperial flag onboard, Mara would have waved them off. “Thank you, officer! We appreciate your service!” she called as the airlock rolled back into place. 

They waited in the cockpit for a long, tense half an hour before the comm pinged. 

“Millennium Falcon, you may go on your way,” a bored voice droned over the comm. Above them, the patrol ship slowly glided back into the space lane and hovered there, clearly waiting to track the Falcon’s route as it headed toward Glavis. There was no way they could go back and collect the spice they’d dumped without giving themselves away. Han could barely feel his fingers as he steered the Falcon away from a fortune in spice. 

“Jabba knows exactly how many barrels we were delivering to Glavis,” Chewbacca said. 

“Yeah.” A cold stone settled in Han’s stomach. 

They were fucked. 

[loiladadiani]

Photos: 1. Prince Waldemar of Greece; 2. Marie de Orleans, wife of Prince Waldemar; 3. Marie Bonaparte, wife of Prince George of Greece and Denmark; 4. Prince George of Greece and Denmark; 5. Prince and Princess George of Greece and Denmark and their children Prince Peter of Greece and Denmark and Princess Eugenie of Greece and Denmark; 6. Prince and Princess Waldemar of Greece with their children: Prince Aage Count of Rosenborg, Prince Axel of Denmark, Prince Erik Count of Rosenborg, Prince Vigo Count of Rosenborg, Princess Margrethe of Denmark. 7 and 8: Prince Waldemar of Greece and Prince George of Greece and Denmark; 9: Sitting: Marie Bonaparte, Prince Waldemar, Prince George, and Marie de Orleans surrounded by some of their children; 10. Prince Waldemar and Prince George

Sometimes, the love story is where you least imagine it...

Prince Waldemar of Denmark (1858 -1939) and Prince George of Greece and Denmark (1869 - 1957)

Prince Waldemar of Denmark was the youngest son of King Christian IX and Queen Louise of Hesse-Kessel. Waldemar entered the naval college as a young man in 1879. He was passionate about the navy and had a lifelong naval career; he was Vice Admiral and Admiral of the Danish Fleet. He married Princess Marie of Orleans, a granddaughter of King Louis Phillipe of France; they had four sons and one daughter and remained married until Marie's untimely death. Marie was a very intelligent and unconventional woman, and her life needs to be told at greater length.

Prince George of Greece and Denmark was the second child of George I of Greece and his wife, Grand Duchess Olga Konstantinovna (the Queen of the Hellenes); Prince Waldemar was George I's youngest brother. Therefore, Waldemar was George of Greece and Denmark's uncle. When George I and his wife decided to enroll their son in the Naval college, they took George to live with Waldemar, an admiral in the Danish fleet. George developed a great attachment for his uncle, which continued until Waldemar's death. (Prince George of Greece and Denmark was the cousin who went on Tsarevich Nicholas' European tour and ran to his rescue when Nicholas was attacked in the streets of Japan.)

George of Greece and Denmark married Marie Bonaparte, a very unconventional, wealthy woman who at one point was a disciple of Sigmund Freud and who became a psychotherapist. They had two children and remained married until George's death. She is another woman who deserves a book to herself.

When George married, Waldemar came along on his honeymoon. George would often return to his uncle’s palace for visits. At the end of these visits, George would weep while Waldemar would grow ill, both dreading the pending separation from each other. To their own credit, both French Maries respected the oddly close relationship between uncle and nephew.

Waldemar and George flawlessly fulfilled their military and dynastic duties to their countries. Their wives learned to cope with the unusual situation. They were always well-loved by their extensive families and included in all activities of their many European royal relatives.

George of Greece died at eighty-eight, surviving Waldemar by 18 years. When Waldemar died he had been devastated and found great comfort in his wife; the couple's last years together were their best. George was buried at the Greek Royal burial grounds at Tatoi. He requested to be buried with his wedding ring, a lock of hair from Valdemar, a photo of Valdemar, and earth from Valdemar’s palace. His widow honored this request.(gcl)

Were Valdemar and George more than just nephew and uncle? Perhaps. Were they involved in a strong and loving relationship? Undoubtedly.

Sources:

Lea. (2021, October 29). An odd royal relationship. Medium. https://worldroyals.medium.com/an-odd-royal-relationship-6a405ca16320#:~:text=George%20felt%20abandoned%20by%20his,in%20love%20with%20his%20uncle.&text=When%20George%20reached%20adulthood%2C%20he,%2C%20Catholic%20princess%2C%20Marie%20Bonaparte.

[grapenehifics]

Ok I’m rewatching Solo and I genuinely really like it! I don’t get where all the negativity comes from. Was it really just around recasting Han (the right call for a prequel?!) or is there other stuff I’m missing ?

I love everything about this movie. It opened in Dickensian England and just kept getting better. Alden's floofy 1970s hair. "That's a rock, and you just made a clicking sound with your mouth." Qi'ra was great. Lando was great. Dryden Vos was really great. Maul showed up!! Continuing his Clone Wars arc! "You think we could have done this maybe one at a time?" The droid revolution. The music was killing it during that whole Kessel Run scene in particular. "This is a trick I learned from my pal Needles, the best street racer in all Corellia. Until he crashed. And died. Doing this." "Not if you round down, buddy!"

I have very high standards for Han Solo, as a character. I have been obsessed with Han Solo for the past 30 years. I cannot quantify exactly what makes Han 'right' or 'wrong' but, like porn, I'll know it when I see it, and I've started and abandoned Star Wars books just because Han felt wrong. This whole movie, Han felt right to me. I saw the 7pm opening night and liked it so much I stayed for the 10pm.

It's FUN. After Empire (my one true love), it's my favorite Star Wars movie. I could watch it a thousand times and not get tired of it. Back when we were discussing comfort movies - this one's mine. RotS and Rogue One are good but too damn sad. Solo is about one guy and his best friend having a nice time, and that's all I needed it to be.

[bungitonthen]

17/6/24

tomorrow night - atomic rooster

taken all the good things - stray

out demons out - edgar broughton band

for mad men only - may blitz

back street luv - curved air

(bob stanley & pete wiggs present incident at a free festival)

china's eternal - the tights

good from the bad - skunks

private plane - thomas leer

a c c - robert rental

united - throbbing gristle

do the mussolini (headkick) - cabaret voltaire

(business unusual: the other record collection)

valdez in the country - lee ritenour

guitar player - b b king

django - joe pass

two more for the blues - barney kessel & herb ellis

(guitar player: an album of contemporary styles by modern masters)

pigs (three different ones) ... sheep ... pigs on the wing (part 2) - pink floyd (animals: 2016 remaster)

[ivycovehq]

( nic ) woah! was that BREHA ORGANA walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from STAR WARS. they’re 50 and live in GLEN OAK HEIGHTS but watch out because they can be STUBBORN + SARCASTIC but are actually COMPASSIONATE + CARING. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of RAISING A PRINCESS, LONG FLOWING DRESSES, THE SMELL OF FLOWERS when imagining them. / simone kessell, she/her

welcome to ivy cove, nic! we can't wait to meet breha organa. please make sure you read through the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours

[ledenews]

Dunbar Recreation Center Remembers the Life of Coretta Scott King

MLK Day presentation honors wife of slain civil rights leader in her own words Following the annual Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. March on Jan. 15, 2024, the Dunbar Recreation Center, located at 300 Kessel Street in Weirton, will present An Interview with Coretta Scott King during its noon luncheon. Performed in the style of Reader's Theatre, An Interview with Coretta Scott King shines the spotlight on the woman responsible for continuing her husband's legacy following his assassination on April 4, 1968. Using Mrs. King's own words, the audience will have a unique opportunity to learn about Dr. King's spouse and partner, whose passion for social justice and reform was as fierce and focused as her famous husband's. Starring Rosie McAllister as Coretta Scott King and Bethany Fernbaugh as the Interviewer, this half-hour production is co-sponsored by the Dunbar Recreation Center and the Ohio Valley Cloak & Dagger Company. “The Dunbar Recreation Center is looking forward to honoring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on Jan. 15, 2024, at 11 a.m.,” Earlean Jones, president of the Dunbar Recreation Center, said. “Starting with a walk from Christ the King Church to the Dunbar Center and concluding with a luncheon and presentation at the Center, this day is just a small part of the legacy Dr. King left behind and shows togetherness among all people.” The performance will take place at 12 p.m., following the MLK Walk on Weir Avenue at 11 a.m. An Interview with Coretta Scott King is free and open to the public, but donations to the Center are greatly appreciated. Read the full article

[xerks44]

Sunny Side of the Street - Marie Bryant

ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET

MARIE BRYANT WITH LESTER YOUNG AND BARNEY KESSEL

1944

This performance of “On The Sunny Side of the Street” – composed by Jimmy McHugh, with lyrics by Dorothy Fields – was put together in the way most musical sequences were in Hollywood at the time. The was music recorded beforehand and then played back on set for the musicians to perform to. One could call it an early music video.

Notice that, although white guitarist Barney Kessel’s audio is present on this track, an empty chair sits rather prominently in the frame through most of the performance. This was a form of subtle protest of the studio’s kowtowing to a racist ’40s public, which would have taken exception to a commercial work portraying a diverse group of performers.