#Topsy fictional other

[genericmain]

Anyways guys gals and nonbinary pals.. The Topsy brain rot be real, and while this all stemmed from a pocket love thing, this particular character feels more fleshed out and "real" than H did so I don't know what that means or how it'll affect things going forward but...

Topsy!

Infodump under the cut. I couldn't help myself.

Also, as always, -> not proship friendly, sorry.

Also she is non-sharing jic idk how common it is for people to be like ah yes this oc f/o is mine too.

She picked her name herself, and refuses to tell anyone her dead name - after all she had it legally changed. Anyone who's attempted to find the info, gets buried in a mountain of paperwork so large it's almost comical. She's non-verbal majority of the time as she is selectively mute, Ie she only really talks to me, and while the general look of her mime make up doesn't change (nor does it come off) she can have varying styles of makeup! This is the one she had on while I was doing this project, but she has a more stereotypical mime makeup, and more avant garde ones as well, which I may get around to creating designs of, but most likely I'll leave it up to your imagination as it's kind of a lot. Personality wise, she's shy, anxious (to the point it's probably a disorder, She has a tendency to pick at the skin around her nails), compassionate, kind, and passionate about what she loves. She can be sassy, a bit hot headed, and short tempered, but that's due to the same passion she applies to creative projects. She doesn't know how "good" it is, but she does paint, and draw - the only thing she's never done is a self potrait. She doesn't like mirrors, to the point that I think she'd remove or crack the mirror in the bathroom in headspace if she didn't have her own. We've made a deal to cover it with a towel if she ever needs to use the main bathroom instead. (For anyone asking why headspace has mirrors and the like, because it's sometimes easier to look in a mirror than to outwardly identify who's here sadly. As for bathrooms... Call it normalcy. Our headspace is a house, mainly.) She usually dresses casually, rather than fancy, and she does incorporate color, the clothing options available just don't suit her style. Her favorite ice cream is cookie dough, and she's a big fan of finger foods but doesn't love pizza. She likes cats, but hasn't had the chance to really own a cat or interact with them much, and has a lot of intrusive/anxious thoughts about accidentally picking cats up wrong, or hurting them, so she mostly just admires them on social media rn. She likes all kinds of colors, but I think her favorite might be dusty blue? She has a lot of stuff in that color, so if it's not, I'd like to replace it eventually. She does own the traditional stripey outfit of a mime, but she prefers to wear a light pink and white striped turtle neck, with either a cute light pink skirt, or some black ripped faux jeans. While she has other options, those seem to be the things she wears most often, depending on how appropriate it is to do so. She also has an off the shoulder cowl neck hybrid in a similar style, which she pairs with a black tank top underneath. She's fairly fashion forward, just focusing on mixing mime fashion + a little bit of clowncore with pastel goth/punk goth aesthetic. She seems to enjoy reading, but will put down a book anytime someone sees her (including me) and tends to blush at "being caught reading" I don't know much about her home life, but I know that in addition to the scarring from picking her nail skin, she has these deep scars (healed) on her hands, and various other deep scars on her body. With strangers, she's self conscious about them, but with me, she's admitted she's proud of surviving, and views them as proof of that, rather than something to be ashamed of. (Not SH scars - jic it needs saying.) She's a confident, sassy, powerful woman when we're together, but she can quickly become shaky and unsure of herself depending on the circumstances, so watching her flourish has been a joy. Despite *literally* being created recently, She definitely feels like a wife and not a girlfriend, in the sense of, I feel like we've been married for years, and together even longer. So I'll be calling her my Mime wife from here on out! Not to be confused with IRL wife!

I don't think she's human despite her appearence suggesting that, given the permanent, shifting, mime makeup but tbh? Slay. We love a non-human character here.

I'll probably add more as time goes on but yeah, Meet my mime wife! I love her! If you'd told me a year ago I've have a clown adjacent character as a F/O I would've asked if this was a bad joke (I'm afraid of clowns) but here we are, and she's not the least bit scary, which is good.

[pursuitseternal]

Can I get “Do your worst” for Ascended Astarion x f!tav please? Bonus points if you can get some bdsm in there 🥵

“Do your worst…”

Also now published as: “Choke Me” update for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask fill

CW: BDSM, collar and leash, breath play, choking, spanking, Elven erogenous zones

It started after dinner, you decided to spend your evening in the library tonight, a roaring fire in the grate and books pressed to your faces. Lounging on top of one another on the couch, you stroke his soft silver curls as he rests his head in your lap.

You can feel his warmth through your thin silk skirt, his fingers tracing the seams of your skirt. His book rests in his hands, propped up on his belly, his back resting between the length of your extended legs.

If you close your eyes and ignore the fact your heart barely beats and your skin is corpse cold, it’s almost as if you’re back in the camp on those long, star-kissed nights. Just you… and your Rogue, curled by the fire in the comfort of his tent.

Every soft ambient sound is identical, the crackle of the fire, the whisper of pages as they turn, the soft wash of breath as he sighs and settles tighter against you.

For that moment, you forget that he is your Sire, the Vampire Ascendant.

You swallow, your throat pulsing against his latest gift, a tight fitting necklace that hugs every sinew of your neck. Black velvet ribbon and shining mithral chains. Costly. Precious. And dear.

Just like you, Astarion had said as he closed it around your neck, adjusting that encrusted ring between the chains just so…

Your fingers fidget with those chains now, the sharp, small metallic sounds making Astarion’s pointy ears twitch. “Enjoying your newest gift, little love?” he purrs, eyes still scanning the page of his book.

But somehow you can feel every tendon and sinew in his body coiling, readying to pounce.

“It’s elegant,” you reply, slipping a finger beneath the heavy chains. “But it is a bit tight.”

“Just tight enough to remind you,” he trails off, eyes flashing their crimson gaze towards you, upside down, before turning back to his page.

“Remind me of what?” you ask, almost absentmindedly, your eyes focused on the next few lines of your novel. You raise its soft little cover up in one hand, the plot thickens the more you read… and you can sense a nice smut scene about to unfold on your pages…

You didn’t hear his low voice through the cover…. Until he clears his throat with a noise, almost a snarl. An unamused one.

“Oh, my darling, please don’t tell me you’re ignoring me for some… fictional romance,” his voice whines in silken tones to shroud his suspicion.

Your heart leaps into your throat as he snaps his book shut. Pale fingers curl over the top of your novel as Astarion pulls it, revealing your now blushing face. White hot shame at being caught colors even your undead complexion.

You look down at him, his face upside down as he lies nestled in your skirts. From this angle, his smile is uncanny, that sly fang-glinting smirk that instantly makes you wet. And by the way his nostrils flare, he can scent it already.

It only makes that insufferable grin twist all the more rakish.

Deft fingers pry your smutty novel from your eager hands, setting it on the expanse of his belly. “I said…” he begins, that tone already low and threatening in the best possible way, “your necklace… your collar is to remind you to whom you belong, my treasure.” He frowns, pouting, at least you think he does, it’s disorienting to look at him topsy turvy on your lap. “Tch, not off to a great or convincing start, little love.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your book… only to have his fingers snap shut around your wrist. He keeps you there, hand suspended in one grip. His other hand reaches slowly to stroke the sensitive flesh of your neck, teasing and dipping beneath the soft ribbon and hard links of your necklace.

Your collar, he called it.

“Ah, ah,” he mocks in that chiding tone. “You haven’t earned your little escapism back yet. You might not ever,” he warns. “You think I’m happy letting your mind dwell on some dashing hero that lives on a page?” He pouts his thick lips before he licks them. “Are my words not enough for you?”

You blush, staring at him teasing at you from the middle of your silken skirts.

“Your blush betrays you, little love,” he purrs. “Seems you need reminding that what you have with me will satisfy you better than any man in your mind.”

“I don’t know,” you can’t help but tease back, “I have a very vivid imagina—”

That last word is swallowed as his fingers find the ring in your necklace and pull.

Hells… that tight little necklace locks around your throat, a steely caress of velvet and precious metal that makes your slow undead pulse pound in your ears. You gasp for air you don’t need, panic setting in regardless.

Astarion gives that low, wicked, rolling chuckle. “Should we test my imagination, darling?” he croons, pulling your collar just a smidge tighter as he sits up. He towers over you, pinning your thighs beneath his legs as he straddles you. “All that reading… I hope you can keep up with what I have planned for you in reality,” he taunts, tugging on your collar on the last word.

Your stomach blazes with need, hot desire running through your veins at breakneck speed. Even though you technically don’t need to breathe, your eyes are wide with the thrill of being controlled, your lungs burn at the foreign sensation of being stifled so thoroughly.

He pulls you by your collar, stopping only once your nose presses against his. That paper bound novel of yours in his hand, he waves it next to your head, pinching its offending existence between his fingers. “Perhaps we can repurpose this as a part of your reminder?”

“Hmm,” you feel bold, invincible, now that you have settled into the dull ache of pain and let it inspire you, making your hungry nerves crave more. “Do your worst…”

“Oh you know me, my treasure,” he growls, lips pressed into your ear, fangs scoring on your neck, “I only give you my very best.”

His rumbling laugh, low in his belly, inundates your senses. Yanking you by your collar, you gulp and gag at the force. Eyes shut from the pain, you slowly realize he’s laid you out over the couch’s arm. Vauguely something metallic clicks behind your head, and it’s only after he pulls you taut, bending you back by your collar do you realize he’s attached something to that ring.

A leash, a simple chain of matching shining bright metal he’s still fishing entirely out of his pocket. The links jingle merrily, your only warning before he pulls it tight. “My pretty consort,” he purrs, “I don’t like to see worry cast so on your face. Fear not,” his warm touch lifts your skirts up to bare your ass, “you are mine.”

The metal tugs your head to the side as he bends down, reverencing your ass cheeks with a few blunt-toothed kisses. Nothing to break the skin. Just enough to make you sigh some strangled moans.

Warm, dexterous digits slide their way beneath the gusset of your underwear to tease out that slick he’s been smelling. “Mmmm,” he purrs, “I hope this is all for me and not from that filthy smut you’ve been indulging in without me.” You hear it, that wet slick of his fingers crooking inside you, aiming for that spot that makes your thighs tremble instantly.

“Now, pet,” he sniggers at the moniker, easing your leash to give it a waggle. Just for effect. “Let’s repurpose this novel of yours. After all, if you can find enjoyment in its pages, perhaps I can too…” He tests the weight of it in his grip, the other hand pulling you by your leash and collar to make you strain upwards just slightly. “You asked for my worst, but you are only worthy of my best, darling…”

Smack. Your body jolts, pain-pleasure racing up your spine as the book connects with your rear. A little moaned grunt slips from your lips.

“What was that, my dear? Good enough for you?” he purrs, rubbing the reddening mark on your backside.

You hang your head, laughing breathlessly. “If I said no…” you leave the question unfinished.

He gives a little growl of disapproval, arm swinging back to land your little novel square on the other cheek. Harder this time, you yelp as your body lurches forward.

A smooth tug on your leash guides your face next to his, your lithe back bending as he whispers in your ear. The wash of his warm breath tickles. “Now, little love, good enough at last? Or does the man on these pages still hold sway?”

Leaning against his mouth you sigh, “It’s very good, but I think I’m missing something. My void is aching to be filled… I feel desperate with wanton need… pulsing, throbbing, leaking…”

“Hells below, my dear, is this the kind of drivel you’re consuming?” He chides you as he tosses the book down on the couch. “Well, if you’re wanton hole needs serving, I’d be a cad not to comply. No fictional man will get the better of me,” he chuckles.

You hear it, feel it. His free hand easing his trousers open enough for his cock to spring free. Your hands brace on the arm of the couch, your clothing too tight. You curse that silk on your torso, the bodice that pinches your breasts and irritates your skin.

Only your legs and ass are bare, free for his touch and his tongue. Warm breath washes over your cunt first, and you know he’s pulling out all his tricks to impress you, to distract you from your smutty little novel. Fingers tease at your clit, his skilled tongue lapping in and out of your channel, while you let out a string of colorful curses and florid language.

His laughter vibrates into your cunt, wetness dripping down your thigh. Spit… slick… you can’t tell any longer what’s seeping as his tongue fucks in and out, in perfect rhythm with his fingers as they circle your bud.

Heat coils in your belly, flooding your muscles with ungodly fire and need. Close, so close, you pant as just the right teasing pressure grazes your clit….

…until it all disappears. You scream in frustration. Your hips buck and grind into nothing

Hirrrk… you gag and groan at once as he pulls you by that jingling leash until you land, splayed on your back. Satisfied as you catch your breath he grins at you. You are a mess across the couch. A small mercy, he lets go of your leash and tosses those metal links to rest beside you. “Be a good pet,” he purrs, “and spread those legs for me again….” He cages you in, a wicked smile and arching brows as he hovers over you. “Unless you’d rather enjoy your… fictional pleasures?”

His finger slips inside your necklace, easing the chain apart as he settles comfortably between your thighs. Finally you can swallow and take a deep gulp of air. The relief on your face makes him leer, capturing your softly smiling lips in a kiss. He’s tender and slow, the warm tip of his tongue tracing your lips. As you part them, you taste the tang of your own slick. A hum escapes your throat, and you match the daring darts of this tongue with your own. Your hunger for him eagerly rises, hands pulling on the soft velvet of his breeches, gripping the backs of his thighs to bring him closer.

To guide his cock where you are aching for him.

“You haven’t even asked me once what I was reading about,” you rasp, taunting him with a mischievous tone. “You didn’t even notice its main hero is an elf…”

Those silver brows twist, canting in all their rakish glory. “Is that so?” he purrs, grinding the long shaft of his cock up and down your seam. “Was my little love being a quick study? Care to share your…”

Your fingers brush the shells of his ears, both at once. His cock twitches so hard between you, you can feel the precum leaking onto your belly.

“Hells,” he groans. But you’re not done. One hand at the back of his head, you turn him quickly, taking that soft flesh of his earlobe and sucking it loudly between your smirking lips.

The whimper from his mouth is divine, the shudders that race down his spine ripple in time with the jerks of his cock again.

Quickly, you slot him inside you, eliciting the loudest snarl from him you have ever heard. His hips move quickly, snapping into you, already so close to his release. “Godsdammit, darling,” he hisses even as you keep your lips tracing the shell of his ear. “I’m the one who should be…”

You suckle the soft curve of his ear again, nibbling your way to the tip. The faintest brush of your tongue on his precious, pointy ear has him shuddering and slamming into you with erratic abandon. “I… can’t…” he pants, breathing through his fangs clenched tightly. With one last curse on his own choking breath, he thrusts home, warm cum spurting deep inside you as he convulses and crushes you, the throbbing of his cock in your walls enough to throw you into your own orgasmic oblivion.

Pleasure tears through you, blistering hot as every muscle goes taut. Shaking, panting, you grip around his head, careful not to bite his ear in your fangs.

With one final graze of your teeth on his fleshy earlobe, you relax. You feel him shiver and swallow one last exhausted whimper as he lays all his weight on you.

A few breaths, and all is again as it once was—a warm, post-coital embrace. Wet. Hot. And wordlessly brimming with love.

Something prods at your hip beneath you, and fetching it, you realize it’s your novel. Reaching around his mussy curls, you find your page, fully aware that he’s still hard and seated deep inside you.

He makes no complaint now as you pick up right where you left off. Only his breathing grows steady, his head nuzzling into your neck as his fingers trace the fine metal of your collar. He mumbles something into the hollow of your throat. “What was that?” you reply, as if this was the most mundane evening in existence.

His voice is slurred, worn out from the intensity of his pleasure, and it makes you grin as he rasps, “You certainly did your worst, my darling, and I loved it…”

[sloshed-cinema]

Heavenly Creatures (1994)

If his film BrainDead showed that Peter Jackson is the Kiwi Sam Raimi, Heavenly Creatures demonstrates that he can take that kinetic freneticism in his camera language and channel it into a powerful aspect of the way a story is told. Especially when Juliet Hulme and Pauline Parker are together, the world is topsy-turvy. The camera rockets around in running POV shots or snaps in on facial features, distorting them beyond recognition. Clay figurines spring to life, and the girls are transported to an otherworldly paradise of the Fourth World. Ordinarily, this would not be at all conventional for a crime drama. But when looking at the Parker-Hulme murder case through the eyes of its perpetrators, this is the only way to convey it. The world is a fantasy for Juliet and Pauline, full of operatic highs and lows. Nothing feels better when the two are united, the film leaping joyfully into bravura camera moves to convey just how ecstatic this partnership is (how in the fuck they pulled off that sandcastle shot is beyond me). Even when they aren’t involved in a scene, their version of events colors the depiction: when Juliet’s father Henry visits the Parkers to suggest she needs psychiatric help, snap-zooms and Frankenstein claps of lightning are plentiful, and the suggestion that she may be a L-E-S-B-I-A-N is a full-on comedy reveal. Parental figures, often the object of ire for these two girls who see them as opponents seeking to separate them, pop into frame like monsters in a jump scare. But while darkly comic throughout, Jackson peppers the film with extracts from Pauline’s diary. Often the sentiments or events she describes are quietly juxtaposed with the reality of the matter. Her eventual love for Henry Hulme because she thinks he has her best interests in mind is contrasted by his apparent thinly veiled dislike for her. A diary can be a record of events and an insight into someone’s perception of them, but it isn’t objective reality.

More nuanced too than BrainDead or other early works is Jackson’s delicately layered sense of tone and emotional sensibilities. A woman died at the end of all of these escalating events, after all. That is no laughing matter. Honora Parker is handled completely straight, and through all of her frustration with and love for her daughter, it’s clear that this was a woman put into a very difficult situation. Her genuine, fraught grief at being pushed away by Pauline is wrenching. When the “Happy Day” of the planned murder comes, Jackson begins to toy with the audience, checking in on clocks and watches at any opportunity, creating a sense of dread and anticipation. But unlike most crime thrillers, you genuinely don’t want this to happen. But happen it must, like something written in a book. The fixation with Juliet and Pauline’s fictional kingdom throughout is another arm of tragedy often played more straight, if accompanied by gaudier trappings. This fixation on their fantasy kingdom, calling one another by character names, building out elaborate lore and interlinking it with their lives, quickly moves from playground imagination to something altogether more troubling. Whether this is a coping mechanism or the outcome of repression, it carries darker implications. Pauline’s brief encounter with a disgusting exploitative border at her home is never portrayed as anything other than predatory, rendered all the more tragic as the teenager tries to process that through the lens of her character’s fictional lover. Early in the film, Juliet is seen in a princess dress, suggesting an innocence and play to her. But when she appears in similar attire upon her reunion with Pauline, it’s utterly wrenching, no matter how happy the two may be to see one another again.

THE RULES

PICK ONE

Select either JULIET or PAULINE and sip when someone says their name.

SIP

Running POV shot.

Mario Lanza is name-dropped.

Location-establishing text.

Clay figures appear in a scene.

BIG DRINK

The Fourth World or the Bahamas are mentioned.

Lord of the Rings style circling helicopter shot.

The film changes to black and white footage.

[friend-of-giants]

Fic Writer Interview

I've been tagged by @boethiahspillowbook and @elfinismsarts to do this fic writers questionnaire! Tagging @wildhexe @katastronoot @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @thana-topsy and anyone else who wants to do this.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

3

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

104,195

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well I only have 3, so…

Dragon Dance, my smut collection (big surprise that this is #1)

2. Into Ash

3. Ascent from the Ashes 

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to!  I do get overwhelmed if I get more than one at a time and I’m also a humongous procrastinator, so I do have a stack of comments I need to reply to at the moment.  I’ll get to em eventually :p

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Uhm.  Uhhhhh.  Hard to say considering I’ve only written the three fics, but Ascent has an angsty ending in store.  But that’s FAR down the road, I’m hardly a quarter of the way thru it. 

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

My smut oneshots LOL.  For real though, Into Ash has a fairly happy ending.  

7. Do you write crossovers?

No and I have zero interest in doing so. 

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, just my oc/Teldryn filth lmao

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Can I be biased and say Telwren?  I’m going to. 

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? 

I started a oneshot about my dragonborn’s eventual death and the events following shortly after, but I haven’t touched it in ages and likely never will again.  

15. What are your writing strengths?

Setting descriptions, I guess?  

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think I fall short on pacing, though I’ve been told otherwise.  Fight scenes are also a huge struggle for me, as well as portraying extreme emotions. 

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I only know English, so any other languages in dialogue would be a word here and there, such as Dovahzul or a few Dunmeris words that I’ve used in my fic.  If I decide a character is going to do some speaking in a different language, I would simply mention it in the dialogue tags and just write the dialogue in English, as to avoid having to translate.  Especially for fictional languages where we don’t have a reliable translation tool. 

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Skyrim lol I’m new to this 

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Honestly I think after I’m finished with my Skyrim fic, I won’t do any more fandom writing but will venture off to original stories.  If I HAD to choose another fandom to write for, it would probably be like, a oneshot for Pokemon or something

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Ascent from the Ashes is my pride and joy and I’m still working on it :)

[rad-rat-with-a-tophat]

my personal opinions on what Teenage Rockstar Splendor's debut album would consist of

for those folks who do not know what Teenage Rockstar Splendor is, it is @theabyssgazesalsointoyou band au for the Popular Kids of the musical Be More Chill (brooke, chloe, rich, and jake)

tagging @lovely-blue-galaxy and @lohstandfound because thet think this is cool

quick notes, Jake does vocals, guitar, and piano (as well as other instruments, rich kid stuff). rich is drums, brooke is bass, and chloe is guitar and vocals. (everyone occiasonally sings but mostly jake and chloe)

this is basically a list of songs that i think they would have in an album of theirs. these are listed in no particular order.

let's start off with a duet, between chloe and jake, that's right there's gonna be multiple songs about them. so this one would be called Wrong Sort Of Love (sorta cliche but it's fictional band of four teenagers and also i'm a teenager, it's gonna be cliche) It's a very ballad-y song, probably one of the slowest on the album. It's mainly a piano song and all the instrumentals are pretty minor since they main focus is one chloe and jake's voices as they talk about their topsy-turvy mess of a relationship.

'sorry i fucked your boyfriend' this one is very pop punk-y like think Paramore. It's sung by rich though. no piano, it's mostly percussion.

Drive To Pinkberry. You know (or don't know) when someone likes someone and they;re doing something slightly boring but the person with the crush is just staring at them and are no thought heads empty only person i utterly adore. yeah it's that. It's sung by brooke and it uses acoustic guitars to create a softer feel.

sk8ter girl. That's right, a sapphic version of Avril Lavigne's Sk8ter Boi. Featuring minute changes like "she was a punk, he did lacrosse" This one is not directly related to any bmc ships but there could be an au where it could be a pinkberry song. It's sung by Chloe.

Drowning In A Pool (Of Love, I Think?) This is sung by Jake, this one is a bit more pop-y than the others, it does have a bit of talking in the beginning and other places throughout the song (think voice calls in midwest emo songs) it also has the band members singing/chanting the word drowning repeatadly (like an echo, put in pop-punk way) with a little clap combination as they sing it.

golden child. this is sung by jake, very heavy in percussion, the drums only increase as the song goes on. it's starts off in an apologetic way, mostly guitar and piano, but then the music cuts and jake says something along the lines of '"or i would be sorry if you were there" and BAM drums kick in, guitar ramps up and piano is GONE, pull on sing shouting at this point. the lyrics act as a confession at a beginning, jake apologizing to his parents and other adults for not being the perfect child, after the drums come in, it begins to become a cry of rebellion a "i became my own person despite you leaving me, it's a good thing that i've never actually been the golden child"

this is all i have for now!! i probably missed some details!!!

[rruhlreviews]

Book Review - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is about the answer to life, the universe, and everything—yet it’s also about nothing. The earth isn’t saved at the end; in fact, no one really makes an effort to save it. There is no immediately discernible plot structure. More or less, it’s around 190 pages of describing this unique setting and its inhabitants, which is something I’ve always heard contemporary speculative fiction writers warned against: “do you have a plot or do you just have a worldbuilding bible?” The goal of every character is summarized by the cover of the Hitchhiker’s Guide: DON’T PANIC. No character has particularly strong motivation to do anything but survive and explore. So why has The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy endured as a blockbuster? The book is quotable, clever, and at its core is satirical yet heartfelt, which makes it still relevant over forty-two years later.

Without Adams’ writing style, The Hitchhiker’s Guide would not have worked. It’s witty, romping, and never loses the reader despite using complicated conlang terms and having a somewhat meandering plot. Each word, even word repetitions and one-word questions, is chosen with purpose. Beautiful prose describing binary star sunrises is juxtaposed against alien poetry so bad it kills you. Omniscient point of view made it feel like my brain was being bounced through hyperspace at times, yet all the seemingly unrelated paragraphs and guide entries came together at the end. Deus ex Machina can be a sloppy literary device in other cases, but it is quite literally the entire plot of The Hitchhiker's Guide, with the characters being improbably saved again and again. Suspense was generated not through fear for the characters’ survival—at one point, the reader is even told that no one will be hurt except “a bowl of petunias and an innocent sperm whale” (109). Suspense comes from having zero clue what’s going to be on the next page. It's delightful. This chaotic structure is proof that any high concept can be pulled off by a skilled author. The concept isn’t a man who isn’t seeking to save his world, find himself, defeat the President of the Galaxy, or even find love with the one other earthling left. It’s about a man who really just wants a good cup of tea—seeking normalcy in a topsy-turvy world of uncontrollable forces.  

Science fiction and social commentary have been inherently linked since Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein questioned where the limits of science should be. I would argue science fiction is also closely intertwined with horror. Bradbury and Serling in the mid 20th century explored radiation fears, technology, and the Red Scare, amongst other things. 21st century sci-fi like Murderbot and Ready Player One criticize unfettered capitalism. Here, in The Hitchhiker’s Guide from 1979, we have a galaxy of civilizations who have achieved escape velocity but have not escaped bureaucracy. The undercurrent of the narrative is a fear that we and our stubbornness and politics will be our own undoing. The entire earth is destroyed within the first few pages of the book—but the reader feels safe in knowing this is more of a comedy than horror, because of the absurdity of the Vogon fleet using the exact same language as the council destroying Arthur’s house. The incompetent politician was chosen specifically for his incompetence. The scene towards the end with the “progressive cops” was hilarious in that painful way of knowing it’s just as relevant in 2024 as it was then. What if the earth was created as part of a computer program? The beings who created the program would still be scrambling to cobble together an embellished story that sounded good for the news and made them lots of money. “If there’s any real truth, it’s that the entire multidimensional infinity of the Universe is almost certainly being run by a bunch of maniacs.” (179) This observation is not a cold comfort. The theme is not the vast uncaringness of the void. Acknowledging this madness we all live in is what makes the story sincere and heartfelt. Despite the tone, never once does it stop taking itself seriously, or stop being hopeful. Who would bear the whips and scorns of time? Someone who knows where their towel is.

I saw the movie almost ten years ago, after which I purchased a copy of the book but never got around to reading it. I was delighted to pick it up and enter this interstellar world which is so different, yet not different at all from the problems and idiosyncrasies of Earthlings. As below, so above. None of the characters are larger than life or even have strong goals, but that's the idea of the book: no one is important in a vast and improbable galaxy, and so everyone is important. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is timeless. As long as there is civilization, it will be plagued by the absurdities that populate the book.

As this review comes to an end, I can think of no better closing line. “So long and thanks for all the fish.”

Version referenced:

Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. 1979. Del Rey, 2009.

[kaysfanficcorner]

Out of This World Chapter 8:

Island in the Suns

Author’s Note: The bitch is back! My life’s been a little topsy turvy as of late so this chapter took me way longer to finish than originally anticipated. My schedule is about to change, but worry not as I fully intend to ride this story out until the ending I have planned out. Also, I may start doing little one shots set in this universe. So keep an eye out for those! As I said before, this story is going to be spicy from chapter 7 forward so be prepared!

Mando’a phrases:

Ad’ika - little one Aliit - Family Jate Ca - Goodnight Jate Vaar’tur - Good morning Yooba solus mesh’la, ner cyare - You are beautiful, my beloved

Summary: The relationship between the Mandalorian and the Earthling blossoms as they make their way to Tatooine in search of the mysterious Mandalorian last seen in Mos Pelgo. Once on the infamous desert planet, the plot thickens.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader/oc

Warnings: Cursing, FLUFF! SMUT! 🌶️ If you are under the age of 18, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration:

Island in the Sun - Not really an inspiration aside from the chapter title, but this song just makes me think of Tatooine

Aerials - Mentioned in the chapter thanks to a conversation with @missbabyjay

AO3

Art at the end of the chapter by my love, Justin Wood

*****

Din Djarin is seated alone in the pilot’s seat of the Razor Crest, setting a course for a nearby star port to refuel again as he gazes upon on the vast star field before him. Because of your presence aboard his ship and the childlike wonder with which you still treat life in space after all these months, Din has gained a newfound appreciation for the beauty this galaxy has to offer. Every so often, Din now takes a moment to stop and admire his surroundings rather than go about his business without paying it much mind. Among all of things you’ve brought to his life and the ways you’ve changed him for the better, that is surely one of his favorites.

Gor Koresh had practically been on the other side of the galaxy from Tatooine, so the planet of sand and sun is still nearly two weeks away, even with the speed of hyperspace aiding in the Razor Crest’s travels. It’s been six days since the fight in Koresh’s arena, and since he’d consummated his romantic connection to you. In those six days, the parameters of the relationship have changed dramatically. 

There’s no longer any need to pretend that this isn’t a real thing anymore. Neither of you is concerned with timid behavior or caution in the way you address one another as both companions and lovers. Din feels proud to have you openly be by his side in that way, and you seem to be over the moon with the fact. The kid also seems to be on board with this, acting happier than usual around the two adults in charge of his care. You take the concept of belonging to one another very passionately, which Din admires a great deal. Loyalty is the most attractive attribute to a Mandalorian such as him. 

As your daily training continues on, Din is aware that the reverence you display for his lessons has increased exponentially. He hasn’t caught you daydreaming about something in the middle of an explanation once, which is something he used to catch you doing all the time. It never really used to bother him before, but the increased displays of character mean a lot to him. Because of this you’re also improving, and that in it of itself fills Din with so much pride for you. Keeping up while lightly sparring with him is something you hadn’t been able to do up to this point, and now you seem to hold your own against him quite well. Din still has much to teach you, but your progress is undeniable.

Seeing how seriously you take the act of learning about his culture, Din has decided to take equal steps in learning about yours. He’s been asking you to teach him more things about Earth, and he’s taken to using your personal device more often.

You dote on him even more now, treating him with the utmost affection as you constantly offer to do little things for him. Usually he declines your offers, all except for one. You like to bring him a mid day caf without being prompted almost daily, and he’s come to look forward to the ritual of it. Sitting in the pilot seat at the correct time (even if he has nothing ship related to do), hearing the cockpit door swish open, feeling your hand rest upon his shoulder, the cup of caf coming into view as you lower it in front of him, and finally, the kiss you place upon his beskar covered head. It’s the same each day, and you always whisper something sweet about him before you continue on with whatever it is you’re up to. Nothing makes him feel more loved. He’s been on his own for most of his life, and not a single person has ever wanted to take care of him in the way that you do. 

Then there’s the matter of sex. 

Din physically cannot get enough of you, just as you cannot seem to get enough of him. The two of you have stayed up well past the child each night, spending a few hours together up in the cockpit enjoying each others bodies. As soon as the child is tucked away in the cot, Din is practically tearing the clothes from your body and the helmet from his head, ready to feel your walls clench around him and taste you on his lips once more. As the days go on he starts to slowly learn what makes you tick, and vice versa. Getting to know your sexuality quite intimately is something Din has begun to treasure. Aside from Xi’an, which was only a few times, this is the most he’s ever had sex with one person. The most he’s ever gotten to know another’s body so intimately, and vice versa. 

On the second night, you’d been the one to put the child to bed and Din had used the opportunity to strip down to just his helmet. The way you reacted to his naked form waiting in the pilot seat, legs spread with your blindfold already in his hands, is a reaction he’ll cherish for many years to come. 

On the third, it had been you who stripped down to nothing and waited in the pilot seat with your legs spread. One hand playing idly with one of your nipples while the other slid two fingers into your slick entrance, you’d made desperate little noises and begged him to take care of you. Hyperspace whirling behind you, it had truly been a sight to behold.

The theme of the fourth night had been exploration, when you’d grabbed his hand and brought it to your throat before begging him to choke you a little bit. Din was amazed by the reaction it caused in you, eyes rolling back in your head as your muscles clamped around him in mini bursts of intense pleasure. He’d been a little worried at first, but you seemed to adore the feeling of your air supply being partially cut off as he thrust into you at full force. The strangled noises you made had been indication enough, let alone how much you’d soaked him. Your entire body convulsed and twitched until he could tell you’d had enough and gently pulled his hand away. Then in a moment wanting to fulfill his own sexual fantasies, he’d grabbed the cuffs from his utility belt and asked for your permission to use them on you. With a gorgeously deviant smile playing at your lips, you’d agreed to this and Din could tell that he’d uncovered a similar dark desire within you.

The fifth night had been more loving and soft than the rough neediness of the night before. Both participants seemed to be in the mood to treat each other’s bodies with delicacy, gently bringing pleasure through the act of admiring one another. Dirty talk on that night sounded more like showers of doting compliments rather than lewd remarks and lustful demands. You’d declared to him in basic that you loved him so sincerely while at the peak of an orgasm, that Din know’s he’d been blushing. Heat in his cheeks and fluttering in his belly were unmistakable.

After you’ve had more than enough of each other, the two of you will retreat down to what Din now considers to be your shared bed. Cramped as it may be, there is no “taking turns” in the cot anymore. The two of you have slept in it together every night. The kid almost always makes his way down from his hammock to snuggle with the two of you. As much as it still scares him to admit it, the three of you truly do feel like a family. 

The only real problem with this current schedule, is that neither adult has been getting enough sleep. You in particular do not seem to be handling the lack of rest well, having looked so worn out during caf this morning that Din feels as if perhaps tonight a break will be in order. It would probably do the both of you better to just get a good night of sleep.

Din suddenly hears the familiar little sound of his foundling saying something that sounds like  “patu” from behind him, and he swivels the pilot’s seat fully expecting to see you standing there with the child in your arms. His gaze is pointed upwards, so when he doesn’t see you at all he tilts his head down to see that the child is standing in the center of the cockpit all alone. 

“Hey ad’ika, you okay? Did you climb up here all by yourself?”

The kid looks both unsettled and unwell, which raises the alarms in Din’s head. A small green hand reaches back to point to the door he just came in from and he makes another little “patu” sound. 

“Show me what’s wrong, buddy,” Din says as he rises from the chair, scooping the kid up in his arms.

Making his way down to the deck below the cockpit, Din can hear the unmistakable sound of your voice as it groans in pain. Tucked in his arm, the kid looks up at Din with worry in his dark eyes as he points again. This time he points to the fresher. 

Din’s eyes flick to that direction, where he finds you laying on the floor beside the toilet. Your eyes are open and you’re holding your stomach as you curl up on your side, face scrunched in discomfort.

Din puts the kid on a crate and comes to kneel beside you. “Cyar’ika? What’s wrong?”

“Sick,” you grumble out, face contorting as if struck by a sharp pain.

“Sick how?” 

“Fever, and I just threw up breakfast.”

“Shit,” Din curses, ripping a glove off and moving to place his hand on your damp forehead. Your skin is on fire. “When did this start?”

Struggling, you prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. “When we woke up. My head was pounding and something didn’t feel right.” 

“Sounds like a stomach flu of some variety,” Din says matter of factly. You look at him with a shocked expression before laughing, and under the helmet his brow raises in surprise. “Why’s that funny?”

“I just figured you’d have a cooler name for it here. Ugh,” you stop to groan again, clutching at your belly, “I feel like ass.” 

“I’m sure you do.” Din chuckles a little when you glare at him, “What? I’m just acknowledging your pain.” 

“Make it go away,” you plead miserably. 

He feels truly bad for you, brushing the hair from your eyes as he cups your cheek. “I can give you bacta pills, but I’m worried you won’t be able to keep them down.”

“Yeah I don’t know if I can keep anything down right now.” 

Just as you say this, the kid makes a pained little noise from where Din left him, and the Mandalorian turns his head just in time to watch the kid vomit a sickly orange color all over the floor. He looks up at Din with weary eyes, wobbling until he falls back on his little bottom. Then he starts to cry.  

“Shit,” Din curses again, “If both of you have this it’s probably contagious.” 

“Go comfort him,” you say, “I’ll be okay for a moment.”

So Din moves over to the wailing green child, scooping him up to cradle him over the beskar chest plate. “Shh,” he soothes, “I’m here buddy. I know it hurts, but I’m here and I’ll take good care of you.” 

The child then looks up into Din’s hidden eyes and lets out a little sob before clinging to his foster father’s shoulder as hard as he possibly can. A fatherly feeling of warmth washes over Din Djarin, and his overwhelmed heart encapsulates this child so completely that his brown eyes fill with tears behind the beskar. Seeing his foundling like this, sickly and in pain, is heart wrenching.

And so Din makes quick work of making up what is essentially a sick room on the first floor of the ship. He gets a small bucket and sets it up for the kid to throw up in, then he sets up a comfortable little space for the two of you to lay together on the floor. Not wanting to risk either of you getting sick in the cot, he figures that the floor is probably the best option for now.

Once the two of you are as comfortable as you can be, he gets each of you water and insists that once the liquid can be kept down for a half hour he’ll give out doses of bacta pills. After treatment is given, the symptoms will be gone in two hours and the illness itself should completely go away within a twelve hour period.

At first you can’t even keep a sip of water down for longer than two minutes, rushing for the fresher as soon as the bile in your throat rises once again. Din rubs small circles into your back as you dry heave and cry. The kid can’t keep it down either, so Din spends a good part of his day rushing back and forth between the two of you as you each take turns vomiting up the minuscule contents of your respective stomachs.

The vomiting eventually starts to slow down to a halt, so he’s got you both laying down with cold compresses on each of your foreheads. The kid shivers so violently in the throws of his fever that Din decides to stick him in the shower under cold water for a few minutes. Poor little guy seems to be getting the worst of whatever this sickness is, possibly due to the difference in species or his young age. Afterwards Din has him wrapped up in a towel, cradling the child lovingly as he hums a Mandalorian chant. 

“Quit fussing over me,” you say as you later throw back the bacta pills, chasing them with a generous sip of water, “I’m an adult, Din. I’ll be fine after these kick in and I go to sleep. Take care of our sweet little boy. I appreciate you so much, but he needs you more than I do right now.’ 

Soon enough you’re passed out in the cot, and Din is left alone with the sick little child in his arms. Redressed, full of bacta, and wrapped up in the blanket, the kid is also finally starting to fall asleep. 

“I’m so glad that you came into my life, ad’ika,” Din finds himself whispering to the sleepy child, “You’ve changed me for the better, kid. No matter what happens, I want you to know how important you are to me.”

The child seems to understand this, smiling up at him as his huge eyes slip closed. A little hand reaches out, so Din lets him hold onto his bare index finger until he falls asleep. Once the kid is out cold, Din gently places him next to you inside the cot. Sitting on the ground just outside of the open sleeping chamber, Din finally feels his shoulders begin to relax. Jupiter appears out of nowhere then, jumping into his lap to rub her neck along the beskar on Din’s chest as she purrs. Scooping her up, Din takes comfort in the vibrations of her purring while she lets him hold her and stroke at her head.

And then Din feels it. Chills all over his body, and waves of nausea low in his belly. The back of his throat starts to heat up, mouth watering. In record time Din is closing himself in the fresher, tearing the helmet from his head as he curses, “dank farrik,” before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

*****

A few days later, once everyone is no longer sick aboard the Space RV, you find yourself examining your naked form in the fresher after taking a quick shower. Training with Din had been particularly vigorous today, and the need for hot water on your skin was completely necessary. You felt great going from what was essentially a hard workout session to a what was about to be a relaxing shower, but you when you caught a glimpse of your reflection while undressing, something in you shifted. You can’t get it out of your head enough to enjoy the heat and the steam, so once you’re out and clean you wipe down the fogged up mirror for another glimpse at yourself. 

Moving towards the mirror above the sink, you frown at your body’s reflection. Swiveling to examine your thighs and ass, your gaze starts shifting up to your stomach, and then to your breasts. You stop there for a moment and feel them, wondering why in the hell a man like Din Djarin finds them so attractive. Why he finds any part of you attractive. 

Leaning forward, you take a good look at your face. Poking here and here, pushing your cheeks up before dragging them back down under your palms. Smiling, frowning, sighing. Then your hands move to the still purple hair atop your head, a little longer now that many weeks have past since you’d gotten it cut. You’d wanted to change your look drastically, almost as if in some way to erase the version of you from before. Now you’re used to the alteration, but a part of you worries that the dramatic shift in appearance had been a mistake. Do you actually look as good as you thought you did or had that been in your head?

It’s not lost on you that your period is only about a day or two around the corner. Your breasts are sore, you’d felt as much just a moment ago, and your body feels incredibly bloated. Weighed down, even. The sudden change in mood after a good day is also a major indication.

“Ugh, just get over it and move on. You’ll feel better once you start to bleed,” you say to yourself quietly. This isn’t the first time that a long bout of confidence has been rivaled by the hormones of your monthly cycle, and you know that listening to your own advice is the best bet. Reaching for your change of clothes, you find that they are not hanging on the hook that you usually use. Looking around the room, its quite obvious that you’d forgotten to bring anything to change into with you to the fresher. 

“Fucking seriously?” You mutter, irritated as you begin to wrap up in a towel. As the moments tick on you are growing increasingly annoyed by your own presence. 

The fresher door slides open when you hit the little control pad to the right harder than you mean to, hissing as you shake your hand and poke your head out of the passageway. Coast clear, you rush over to where you keep your clothes in a compartment by the cot and start rummaging around for something comfortable to wear. 

“What are you doing?” 

The Mandalorian’s voice is suddenly behind you and you jump, nearly dropping the towel all together. The last thing you want is him to see you naked while you feel so uncomfortable. 

“I forgot my clothes,” you say awkwardly, not turning around to face him just yet. You even pretend to pick through the small amount of clothing you own for an extra few moments after finding what you want to wear. 

“Are you okay, Cyar’ika?” Din moves in closer to you, so you finally turn to face him.

Standing there looking as he always does in his beskar armor, which is handsome as hell, you feel even less confident. “I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding his gaze. Even though you can’t see it, you know it’s fixed upon you.

“Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes,” he says confidently, looking you over. 

Feeling him look you up and down makes your skin want to crawl right off of your skeleton. “I’m fine,” you repeat, firmly this time. 

Din then says your name in a vulnerable tone, “I don’t think you are. Have I transgressed in some way?” 

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then please let me help.” 

“I’ll just go get dressed.” You try to push past him and he stops you with an arm out. He’s careful not to touch you, at least that’s how it comes across. 

Din’s voice shifts octaves as he speaks to you very tenderly. There is no firmness to the tone, only gentle support from your partner. “We do not pull away from one another, remember? We talk about it.” 

Damn him for quoting you back to yourself, because once he says that you realize that he’s completely right. If you expect him not to shut you out then you owe him the same courtesy. With a great sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again as you tell him, “I don’t feel very attractive right now.” 

“Huh?” Din says, clearly confused. 

“I feel gross and unattractive,” you say, using additional language to further your statement along.

“But you are neither of those things,” he replies matter of factly, tilting his head. 

“Ugh,” you groan as this back and forth becomes tedious, “I didn’t say I was. I said I feel like I am.”

Din’s silence worries you for the prolonged moment that it exists, and then he surprises you with the commanding tone he occasionally uses during sex, “Take the towel off.” 

“What? Why? Where’s the kid?”

“Sleeping upstairs,” Din answers quickly, “Let it drop, and let me remind you that you are ner mesh’la.” 

“I’m not in the mood for that,” you say firmly.

“This is not about sex. This is about worship,” Din matches your firmness.

After a moment of hesitation, the towel drops from your person. Being in the main living space of the Razor Crest like this feels alien. It feels even stranger when Din slides the gloves from his hands and moves to stand in front of you. His fingertips gently rest upon the curves where your shoulders end and your arms begin. Instinctively, a hand starts to reach up for him and he shakes his head.

“Hands down. Chin up. Eyes on me.” Din adjusts you to stand a little straighter, better posture in your neck as you look at him. A finger comes to rest under your chin as you position your eyes to look directly into the black visor. In your mind you’re trying to imagine the brown eyes on the other side of the beskar barrier, locking onto them.

The pads of his fingertips being to gently sweep over your skin, touching all over as he makes his way around your upper half. It feels so good and you’re barely being touched. Lids trying to slip closed as little sparks of pleasure find you, a shudder runs through your body. Through every sensation, you keep your eyes locked on him.

Din leans in slightly, brushing beskar against your forehead. “Tell me something you don’t like about yourself, and I will tell you why I love it.”

And so you do. You run over the entire list of things you’ve had a problem with since your teen years. Superficial little things that don’t truly matter or take away from your natural beauty, but things you wish you could change nonetheless. Din responds to each of these small grievances by ghosting his hands over the area, describing what about it he finds so endearing. 

By the end of this worshiping of your form, Din is again standing at full height with his hands on your shoulders. His left hand slides down your right arm, taking your hand and moving it towards his tented groin.

Before you can say anything, the Mandalorian quells any worries of his intentions, “I do not wish to do anything, but I want you to feel what you do to me. Feel how much my body yearns to be connected to yours. Yooba solus mesh’la, ner cyare.” 

His hardness beneath your hand causes none of the heat to rise in your core or wanting in your mind. It serves it’s intended purpose, to solidify everything that Din just said to you. Every compliment, every kind remark. All for you and all real. Tangible. So many emotions flood your system after such an experience, and you feel even more spent than you would if you’d had sex with him after all. Leaning most of your weight onto him, it feels like you may collapse if he were to move away from you. Cramps are starting to swell down in your belly, waves of pain and physical exhaustion rolling through you.

“Thank you, ner burc’ya. Have I told you that you’re my favorite person?” 

“Not in those exact words,” Din sounds so playful, and your heart swells for him.

“Oh,” tittering, you turn your head so that your mouth is positioned right under the edge of his helmet, “Well, you’re my favorite person, Din Djarin.”

“Mm,” Din’s hum greets your ears, sounding almost like it does when you’re blindfolded because of how close you are to the lip of beskar. 

Then a small little panic attack tries to break through the sense of calm Din just helped you achieve, body quivering. “I really need my best friend right now. What you just did helped, but I’m still not okay.” 

With his metal clad forehead pressed to your bare one, Din offers little shushing noises of comfort, “I’m here. I’ve got you. Get dressed, let me go get the kid, and I will hold you in our bed.” 

*****

The following week it finally occurs to you why things with Din are so different to you. You’re mulling this over during the morning caf routine, mixing the bitter but sweet hot beverage as you think about how it feels like things between the two of you are moving incredibly fast.  Din’s treating you as if you’ve been together for a significant amount of time. Like a spouse, one might say. Oddly enough, you conclude that you’re also very okay with it. 

That’s when it hits you. It’s because on Earth you would have had to jump through all of the awkward, uncomfortable hoops of dating before a relationship would have ever progressed this far. Months worth of time, if not more, would have been spent trying to figure out if the two of you were even a good match for each other. Putting on airs to impress one another, fumbling through weird social situations, fitting time in for each other between careers and personal lives. 

Here, in the galaxy, dating doesn’t seem like a concept that makes any sense. Not with a nomadic Mandalorian, at least. Just saying in your head sounds fucking silly. If you had never come to live on his ship, care for his foundling, and ultimately become his close friend, Din probably would have never considered you in that way. You’ve known him for nearly half a year at this point, lived with him for nearly half a year. Aside from the hunts he would leave you behind for, almost every single day in that six month period has been spent in the presence of one another. With him, this must be a very significant thing. Din Djarin seems very much the type that would not jump into something frivolous. He only feels comfortable being like this with you because there is real trust and love involved. 

You’ve never experienced anything even close to this in your life. Not a single time. Any boyfriend back on Earth had either been an aloof dick, or a sex hungry moron. You’ve never taken the time to truly become friends with someone prior to dating them. 

So yeah, things have been hot and heavy with your Mandalorian while somehow also being the most meaningful emotional connection you’ve likely ever had or ever will have. The kind you used to pine for when you’d stay up all night reading romance stories only to just bum yourself out the next day. With Din it’s like you’re getting to have your cake and eat it too. 

“Din, caf’s ready!” You call up to the cockpit. When he doesn't answer you frown and call for him again. He still doesn’t answer, so you make your way up the ladder, forsaking the steaming cups of caf down in the galley. 

When you reach the top and make your way into the cockpit, the sight before your eyes stops you in your tracks. 

Din’s flying the ship with the kid in his lap, and he’s bobbing his silver head as he lightly sings to himself. What gets you, is that you can see the white chords of your headphones sticking out from under the base of his helmet and that you know exactly what song he’s singing to himself. When you step further into the room, you see that the kid is holding the iPad in his little green claws. Din doesn’t notice your presence at all, in fact he starts to sing even louder as it would seem that he’s getting into it. 

Clearly, he’s been stealing your iPad and listening to your music. For how long, you couldn’t even guess. Long enough to for him to learn the words to one of your favorite nü metal songs, as he’s been singing it correctly this whole time. The biggest grin stretches across your features, heart melting as you hear your Mandalorian’s beautiful baritone singing the chorus of Aerials by System of a Down. 

Not wanting to disturb him, you listen for a moment before you turn to go back downstairs. But then the kid notices you, making little noises of excitement as he waves his right hand at you. 

Din sees this, and stops singing to turn around and look at you. He pulls on one of the chords attached to his ears, and you watch as the little white bud falls out from under the helmet to limply lay across his beskar chest plate. 

“Hi,” you greet them, moving in to close the distance between you and your two favorite boys.

“Hi,” Din replies, reaching a gloved hand out to graze over your hip before leaning his head on the same area and wrapping his arm around your thighs. 

Turning your attention to the child, you reach a hand down to stroke his head. “Hey Green Bean. You want breakfast, buddy?” 

The kid nods his head and reaches up for you, so you scoop him up in your arms. Din chuckles and sits back up straight. “If he ever says no to food, we should be worried.”

“True. So… looks like you’ve developed a taste for Earth music,” chuckling, you grin down at Din.

“Some of it is very pleasant to the ear,” he agrees, gesturing to the iPad in his lap. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty.”

You shake your head, telling him, “Exchanging cultural information with each other is never something I will mind. You’re welcome to use that thing whenever you want to. If I’m learning all about the life of a Mandalorian, it’s only fitting that you learn about the life of an Earthling. Use up all the battery and it’s your responsibility to charge it, though.” 

Din chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

*****

It isn’t until your group arrives that you truly realize how unbearably hot Tatooine is going to be. With twin suns (a concept you had yet to consider until Din had explained it to you) heating it’s vast desert surface, the planet is sure to be stifling during the day. Risk of not only sunburn but severe skin damage is an issue, and the planet is supposed to be chilly at night, so wearing shorts and a tank top isn’t really an option. You’re forced to wear the thick clothes you normally need out in space, and you know that you’re going to be drenched in sweat within the first hour. How Din can manage these conditions covered in armor you will never know. 

“I have to warn you,” Din says as the hatch begins to open, “Peli is a trusted friend, but she is a little… eccentric.”

“I can get down with eccentric,” You reply, laughing at Din when you realize he’s confused by your phrasing. You don’t bother to explain, grinning up at your cosmic companion.

He simply shakes his head and begins making his way down the ramp. You can hear a woman’s voice speaking to a group of small droids, and when you exit the ship you are greeted with the sight of a short little lady who looks to be in her late fifties or early sixties. She’s got a wild mane of dark curly hair, either no eyebrows or ones that are very faint, and she’s wearing a dark red jumpsuit much like the ones mechanics wear back on Earth.

“May as well let them have at it. The Crest needs a good once over,” Din says as he reaches the bottom of the ramp, turning back to take a look at the ship’s outer hull. 

“Oh,” the woman says with her arms splayed out as she looks over the small group of intelligent robots, “so he likes droids now. You heard him! Give it a once over!” 

As you make your way down the ramp, smiling as you watch Din avoid the little droids running by him, Peli finally stops to realize that Mando did not travel to Tatooine alone. She looks you up and down, and then back to Din with her non-existent brows raised. 

“Who’s that?” The engineer asks skeptically, jabbing a thumb in your direction.

“This is my companion,” Din replies. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest upon hearing him say that. You hadn’t expected him to announce you in such a way, which indicates to you that he truly views this woman as a trusted friend. He tells Peli your name, and you nod to the woman as he does so. 

“Nice to meet you, Peli,” you say politely. 

“Yeah yeah, likewise,” she waves at you almost dismissively before squinting at the Mandalorian, “Since when do you have a companion? You never came off as the romantic type, Mando. I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos-” 

In what you assume is an effort to save himself from having to explain further, Din pulls his satchel out in front of him to reveal the green child nestled inside of it to Peli. She cheers with her hands in the air and the kid makes happy little noises upon recognizing her. Din holds the satchel out to her and she begins peeling the kid from the bag, practically forgetting that you exist.

“Oh thank the force! This little thing has had me worried sick! Come here you little womp rat.” Peli holds him out in front of her as the green baby makes little noises up at her. “Huh! Looks like it remembers me. How much do you want for it? Just kidding, but not really. You know if this thing ever divides or buds, I will gladly pay for the offspring.”

Your eyebrows raise as you look over to Din, who shrugs at you in a silent response. He wasn’t kidding when he called her eccentric. Just then a loud clanking noise comes from the Razor Crest behind you, and Peli turns to yell at her droids.

“HEY! Oh jeez. Watch what you’re doing up there! He barely trusts your kind. You want to give all droids a bad name? Thank you!” 

Din interjects then, “I’m here on business. I need your help.”

Peli nods, “Ah, well then business you shall have. Care for me to watch this wrinkled critter while you seek out adventure?” 

“I’ve been quested to bring this one back to it’s kind,” he explains.

The Tatooine resident rocks the child a little as she replies, “Oh wow. I can’t help you there. I’ve never seen any like it. And trust me, I’ve seen all shapes and sizes in this town.”  

Din explains why your group is there, and why finding another Mandalorian is necessary to navigate through the various hidden coverts in order to chart a path. She argues that he’s the only Mando that’s been on Tatooine for years, and he asks her about Mos Pelgo. 

An old beat up droid named R5 wheels out to display a map of Tatooine, and Peli explains to Din why Mos Pelgo, an old mining settlement, isn’t on any of the maps while pointing out its general vicinity. She then points out that the Space RV is basically going to stick out like a sore thumb, so Din asks if she still has her speeder bike. 

Obliging, Peli gets the bike out for your group to borrow. You’re both surprised and not surprised that it’s basically a motorcycle that hovers off the ground. While Din is preparing it or travel, the odd little woman takes the opportunity to approach you as you’re surveying the odd little desert workshop.

“So how in the hell does a pretty girl like you end up as Mando’s companion? What does that even mean for a guy like him?” 

Looking at her, you smile a little, “It’s a long story. The short version of it is that I needed transport and he needed help with the child so we exchanged services. The rest of it, the companionship, just kind of fell into place on it’s own. No one was searching for it when we met.”

“Ah, as it usually does with those things,” Peli nods, chuckling a little as she throws you a knowing glance. You briefly wonder how many dalliances this woman has had in her day. “I just would have never pegged him as the sort to get involved with another. You seem very sweet, and he’s always been so… grumpy.” 

“He’s still a huge grump,” you laugh, glancing over in his direction to see him working so diligently to make sure that the bike is drivable and that there are enough provisions packed to last a few days. Watching his armored body move around with precision is mesmerizing. The way he tilts his head, squatting down to adjust something at the back end of the bike. Each movement is worth admiring. Eventually, though, you stop ogling him and tun back to Peli, “but sometimes I get to see a side of him that he doesn't show to anyone else in the galaxy.” 

“And you don’t care that he’ll never take that beskar helmet off in front of you?”

“Nope,” you reply honestly, blushing as your mind wanders to the night before when he’d made you cum twice in one sitting as you laid there with your blindfold on. You plan to take his almost nightly tasting of you to the grave at this point, knowing full well that Din upholds his privacy just as much as his creed. 

“Must be the real thing, then. I’ve only known him for a short while, but I’m glad to see that he’s got someone who cares about him,” Peli says sincerely, “Everyone deserves that.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” you reply, noticing that Din seems to be ready to go. “And I hope that you find or have already found that for yourself. You’re a nice woman, I’m glad that I got to meet you today.” 

“Likewise,” Peli agrees with a nod, handing the child over to you. She hasn’t let go of him since Din let her take him and that was nearly an hour ago. You appreciate the fact that she seems to genuinely love your little green bean so much. The kid is popular, you’ll give him that.

Walking up to Din, you see that he’s secured the satchel onto the back of the speeder. Handing the child over, you watch as Din puts the child down in the leather bag before climbing onto the back end of the speeder’s long seat. On Earth you would have never climbed onto the back of a motorcycle willingly. Even with a driver you trust, those things always felt like glorified death traps. But here on a planet called Tatooine? With Din? Climbing onto the back of the speeder feels like a no brainer. Like going off with Din Djarin on an adventure is the easiest decision in the world.

*****

Finding Mos Pelgo ends up taking a lot longer than you thought it would. It feels like you’re clinging to Din on that speeder bike for the better part of the long day. He stops a few times so that everyone can get a bathroom break, and you find out that being a woman and peeing in the middle of a hot desert is not fun. Staying hydrated is key in a place like this, but that also means frequent needs to relieve full bladders.

Eventually the three of you stumble upon a small group of locals that Din informs you are called Tusken Raiders. These people are clad head to toe in lightly colored fabric and wear interesting looking face coverings.

“Let me do the talking,” Din says as you detach from his back and climb off the bike. 

“I was planning on it,” you reply, amused with your cosmic companion. Picking the baby up, you hold him to your hip and offer him a sip of water. The child slurps it up happily, seeming mostly unbothered by the heat.

You, on the other hand, come from a colder region of Earth where the winters are filled with snow and sub-zero temperatures and the summers are gorgeously mild. Being cold is your least favorite feeling in the world, but the heat on Tatooine is borderline too much for you with the amount of clothing you have on. It seems as if nightfall will be approaching soon, but even still it’s hot as hell on this planet. Luckily the eye protection Peli let you borrow is helping with how bright everything is, but damn if two suns isn’t one too many. 

The Tusken Raiders begin speaking to Din in a language that you can only describe as throaty high pitched noises and gurgles, with what appears to be some kind of sign language thrown into the mix. When Din starts speaking the language back to them, you nearly choke on your own sip of water. It doesn’t even sound like his voice, the noises coming from his modulator are so foreign to you. But, in an attempt to be polite you try not to react in a way that would come off as if you are being judgmental. 

Din gestures back to you and the kid as he speaks, and the Tuskens all turn their heads to look at you. Feeling as if you should do something, you come to stand beside your Mandalorian and smile at them with a bow of the head. 

“I do not speak your language, but it’s nice to meet all of you,” you offer, just in case one of them knows basic. The kid seems to also get the picture, waving at all of them.

One seems to understand you, also bowing their head politely. Din nods at you in approval, so apparently your decision to say that was the right one. As the conversation continues, eventually they offer your group a spot at the small campfire and some of the food they are preparing once the twin suns begin to set. 

All they seem to be cooking is some kind of indistinguishable meat, and as much as it pains you to have to do so, you very politely eat a portion of it. Then you are offered a strange, unpleasant smelling fruit from which you are expected to drink it’s juice. With a grimace, you slurp the nasty liquid down. It’s not as bad as it smells, but it’s definitely not something you would ever seek out to taste again. Once finished, you offer them a kind smile and a nod, and all of the Tuskens seem to be pleased with your appreciation of their culture. 

One even leans over to Din, elbowing him slightly as he says something in his native tongue. Din laughs in response, head turning to face you as he speaks back in Tusken. 

“What was that about?” You ask later, as the three of you try to get comfortable by the fire. Days may be hot as hell on Tatooine but, true to deserts back on Earth, the night is very chilly. 

The Tuskens have mostly gone off to sleep in their tents or curled up in the warmth of a bantha. Apparently this small group is in the midst of travel themselves, being on their way to join the rest of their tribe at their village. Luckily they are well aware of Mos Pelgo, and have pointed Din in the right direction. By first light the three of you will be back on the speeder bike in search of this rogue Mandalorian once again. 

“Hm?” Din asks after a moment.

“When the Tusken made you laugh and you looked right at me.” 

“Oh,” Din turns is head towards you, “He said that it was too bad that you’re my woman because you would make a fine wife.” 

“I would make an excellent wife,” you agree with a smirk, playing it cool as your heart skips a beat. You’ve always wanted to be a wife, to be tethered to another for the rest of your life. Having a husband is the most romantic thing you can think of, so just hearing Din even say the word wife makes you feel all giddy regardless of the fact that you’re no where near ready to consider something like that with him. It’s no more than a nice thought in this early stage of the relationship. “Why did that make you laugh, though?” 

“Well he also said it looks like you know your way around a bedchamber. He meant it as a compliment. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just laughed.”

“What?!” You whisper yell, smacking the part of his arm that is not covered in indestructible metal. The kid is sound asleep between you, so you’re careful not to wake him. “Why is that funny?”

Din’s reply is very matter of fact even as he chuckles, “It’s not funny, it’s just true.” 

“Hm,” your eyes narrow playfully, “We’ll see who’s laughing when we get back to our bedchamber, Chrome Dome.”

*****

The following morning Din wakes up just as the twin suns are beginning to rise, the planet’s surface already feeling a good ten or fifteen degrees warmer than it had when he’d drifted off to sleep. You’re still snoring in his arms, and the kid is curled up next to your face. Sleeping on a blanket in the sand hadn’t been exactly comfortable, but Din is pleased that his aliit managed to find rest. 

Cramped as it may be, he misses the comfort of the cot on the Razor Crest. Sleeping with you pressed against him is his newly preferred way disengage from consciousness each night. Holding you in his arms as his tired brain replays all of the lewd sexual acts that had just been committed up in the cockpit, or listening to the sweet nothings you whisper to him as you fall asleep.

When he told you that the Tusken had made the comment about you being a good candidate for a wife, Din hadn’t been entirely honest with you. He hadn’t really laughed just because the Tusken made the reference to sex. Din had laughed because of the wife statement. The exact same thought has been on his mind for the last few days, and he told the Tusken as much knowing that you could not understand. 

Having a riduur was never something Din ever concerned himself with prior to meeting you. Perhaps once or twice as a young man the thought of finding a wife one day had been appealing, but that had been many cycles ago. Once he hit his mid thirties and had pretty much come to terms with his perpetual solitude, the idea of a spouse just seemed especially childish and incredibly far off from his lifestyle. It wasn’t until the Armorer brought it up during their brief meeting on Nevarro that he’d even thought about it where you are concerned. Things hadn’t progressed enough with you for it to be in consideration yet.

Din Djarin never expected a family, an aliit, to fall into his lap the way that this one has. Now that he’s had a glimpse of what life is like with you by his side, the word wife has been floating around in his mind more and more frequently. He doesn’t plan to address this any time soon, but the simple fact remains that the idea of marriage is suddenly more feasible for Din than it had been six months ago. 

Din just lays there for a moment, watching you. Watching your chest rise and fall. Watching the curve of your lips tugging upward. Watching your eyes move behind your lids as you dream. He imagines introducing you to others as his wife, to the Mandalorians of his covert as his riduur. He imagines bestowing you with a betrothal weapon and asking for you to join his clan permanently. He imagines your voice as you take the vow to be his for the rest of your lives. Clan Mudhorn could become a clan of three, and truthfully the thought of it causes Din’s chest to swell as his stomach does a somersault in his belly. 

Part of him already considers you to be a part of his clan, but he knows that you also deserve the right to choose what path you would like your life to take. Eventually, if things continue in this direction and when the time seems right, Din plans to ask you this significant question. Until that time comes, however, he will enjoy the courtship between you and the sensations of peace that it stirs within him. It may not always feel like this, so enjoying it while it lasts seems like the only logical thing to do. 

Your breathing pattern changes a little then, face contorting into one of dismay. Lips parting, a little noise escapes you that sounds both pained and fearful. A nightmare seems to have found your subconscious. This doesn’t occur nightly, but Din has awakened to you in the throws of a nightmare twice now. Apparently this happens to you from time to time, and most of the nightmares you have tend to be hyper-realistic representations of past traumatic events in your life. He’s learned that there is only one good way to help you wake up from it and avoid a panic.

“S’not my fault,” you mumble, body beginning to twitch around. 

Din places a gloved hand to you face, “Shh, Cyar’ika. It’s only a dream. You are here with me and our foundling on Tatooine. We camped with Tusken Raiders last night. You are safe.”  

Voice hoarse, your eyes blink a few times at him and a hand finds his wrist. “Din?”

“I’m here. Nightmare?”

“Yes,” your breathing starts to return to a normal rhythm as you clutch him, “about my parents this time.”

“It was only a dream. Whatever happened is in the past,” Din soothes. This worked the last time, and it seems to be doing the trick as your body’s tension lessens.

Just then the kid wakes up, blinking up at his adults as a tiny yawn escapes him. Holding the small green child even tighter to your chest, Din can see a few tears rolling down your cheeks as you squeeze him.

“I’ll never treat you the way they treated me,” you whisper to him, “As long as you’re with me, all you’re ever going to feel is love and understanding, my little green bean. I love you so much, buddy.”

*****

Another long, hot ride on the speeder bike later and a tiny little town finally comes into view. With maybe a dozen buildings on the one short strip, this has got to be the tiniest town you’ve ever seen in your life. It looks like something out of an old black and white western and as if your observation isn’t already spot on, you find yourself following Din what into what is clearly a saloon. 

Inside, an alien behind the bar who sort of reminds you of the creature from Jeepers Creepers, asks if he can help your traveling party. 

“I’m looking for a Mandalorian,” Din says, hands on the bar as he leans forward. 

“We don’t get many visitors in these parts. Can you describe him?” 

You try not to chuckle as Din sounds vaguely annoyed. “Someone who looks like me.”

The man seems to understand. “Oh, you mean the Marshall?

“Your Marshall wears Mandalorian armor?” 

“See for yourself,” the bartender gestures towards the door of the saloon, and both you and Din turn your heads to see a skinny figure approaching the establishment wearing what is most definitely Mandalorian armor. 

It’s beat up to hell, and you’re shocked to see that this armor is decorated with various colors of paint. The idea of Mandalorians personalizing their equipment never occurred to you until now, and when you look over Din’s own sleek design you realize that it is an intentional choice. You’d assumed they all look shiny like Din. The silver fits him so well, and it occurs to you how much it actually fits his personality.

“What brings you here, strangers?” The Marshall asks, a certain twang in his voice only furthering along the old western comparison. 

“I’ve been searching for you for many parsecs,” Din explains. 

“Well, now you found me.” The Marshall walks up to the bar and orders a bottle of blue liquor and three cups, taking them over to a nearby table as he offers you and Din a drink. Then, to your complete surprise, the Marshall takes his helmet off and places it on the table. He’s a handsome enough middle aged man, with neatly combed gray hair and a beard.

Din stops dead in his tracks as the man speaks. “I’ve never met a real Mandalorian. Heard stories,” the stranger pours the drinks, smirking up at the two of you, “I know you’re good at killin’, and probably none too happy seeing me wearing this hardware. So, I figure, only one of us is walkin’ outta here. But then I see the little guy and the fine lady standing behind you, and I think maybe I pegged you wrong.” 

“Who are you?” Din asks, voice on edge.

“I’m Cobb Vanth, Marshall of Mos Pelgo.” He tips his drink to Din before taking a sip. 

“Where did you get the armor?”

“Bought it off some Jawas.” 

Din’s tone is even but firm, “Hand it over.” 

“Look pal, I’m sure you call the shots where you come from but round here I’m the one who 

tells folks what to do.” 

“Take it off, or I will.” Din takes a threatening step forward.

Vanth points to where the kid is standing by a ceramic pot on the floor. “We gonna do this in front of the kid?” 

Din nods his head, and the way he says the next few words makes something in your core shift, “He’s seen worse.” 

God, he’s so fucking sexy when he’s in Mando mode. But, you’d rather not see a bloodbath today so you step forward as Cobb begins to stand. “Perhaps there is a way you boys can solve this peacefully, though.”

Just as Din turns to look at you as if to say, “Really?”, the ground begins to shake violently as if in the throws of an earthquake. 

Everyone runs out of the saloon just in time to see the sand moving like a great creature is moving around beneath the surface. It reminds you of movies like Tremors and Dune, and to your horror a huge creature is exactly what it turns out to be. The sand peaks move towards the bantha tied to a post just outside of town, and suddenly a great mouth opens up to swallow the poor thing whole. Between your ankles, the kid makes a scared little noise and hides his eyes against your leg. 

After that, Cobb Vanth explains that his town is in need of help with the creature and that perhaps they can come to an arrangement about the armor. If Din helps him kill it, he’ll give Din his armor. Ever true to his Mandalorian creed, Din takes Vanth up on the proposal so the beskar can be back in its rightful place among his people.

As the boys discuss why Din can’t just fly over with the Razor Crest and blow the thing to shit, you look down at the green baby in your arms and feel the tiniest bit of relief that Vanth is not a real Mandalorian. This means that instead of being one step closer to giving up the kid, your makeshift family is now taking an unexpected detour which is will only serve to prolong your time together. 

Back on the speeder bike, now your group is traveling with the Marshall through the desert as he rides along on his own odd looking bike. His looks like its made of the parts of multiple vehicles, thrown together by some crazy mechanic. You’re willing to bet that it might be Peli’s handiwork, despite knowing only a little bit about her.

During the ride, he regales you and Din with the story of how he got the armor and how he came to be the Marshall of Mos Pelgo. You grow a little bit of a soft spot for the man as he talks lovingly of his home town and the people in it for which he cares a great deal. You’ve never had a sense of community in that way, and it makes sense to you why Cobb is so desperate to keep it in tact. 

Eventually the group comes to a sharp angled rocky outcropping in the sand, Cobb leading everyone into the thin valley between the steep peaks. After about a half a mile, a loud noise can be heard and both speeders skid to a halt, the men both hopping off of their bikes to ready a weapon. Din grabs his rifle and pulls you down to crouch beside him on the ground. Raising your own blaster in the same direction, you try to ready yourself for a fight. The kid hides down in Din’s brown satchel. 

The noises get louder, and suddenly a dog-like reptilian creature approaches from the other side of a rock. Din’s rifle lowers a little, even as two others appear. He puts the weapon down all together, and Cobb looks at him in shock as Din begins approaching the animals. 

A little smile finds your lips as he begins speaking Tusken to the creatures which you learned the night before are called massiffs. As Din slowly moves towards them saying who knows what, the massiffs’ moods seem to change completely. So you watch as your mandalorian kneels down to pet one and scratch at it’s scaly neck as if the thing were a friendly golden retriever. 

Then the Tuskens appear, a different group then the ones you met the night before but likely from the same tribe. Din speaks to them a little, and Cobb leans over to speak to you.

Clearly he’s shocked by how civil the exchange between the Mandalorian and the Tuskens is. “Your fella’s quite the diplomat, ain’t he?” 

“He’s just a good man,” you say honestly, shrugging as you feel the weight of your words in your chest. It’s the truest statement you could have made, resonating with you that he’s the best man you’ve had in your life besides your grandfather. “He’s a bounty hunter and a Mandalorian warrior, but at the end of the day he's just as good at helping people as he is at killing them.”

Vanth nods, seeming to be alright with this answer. “How’d you end up by his side, if you don’t mind me askin’?” 

You chuckle, grabbing the kid from the satchel to hold him on your hip. “This little green bean, actually. I joined the Mandalorian to provide extra care for the child.”

“He’s a cute little fella, that’s for sure,” Vanth says, reaching out to wiggle a finger in front of the kid’s nose. “For what it’s worth, odd of a mix as it is, the three of ya make sense in a strange sort of way.”

Heart swelling, you nod at him in appreciation as you grin, “Thank’s, Marshall.” 

“You can call me Cobb, Ma’am.”

*****

After Cobb successfully makes a dick out of himself around the blazing campfire of the Tusken village and Din has to put out the metaphorical flames of the situation with the real ones of his flamethrower, the sand people inform Din that they have set up a small tent for you. But only for you. 

“What? Why just me?” You ask, confused. A shiver runs through you as the night becomes increasingly colder, the thought of being enclosed in a tent sounding pretty great right about now. 

Din explains, “The Tuskens are showing hospitality. They appreciate women in their culture, and since you have treated them with such respect both last night and today, they have prepared a tent so that you do not have to sleep in the conditions of the desert. Because we are not married, I cannot join you nor can the kid. We’ll sleep by the fire with Cobb, but if you decline this offer they will be greatly offended.” 

“Oh,” you say, eyebrows jolting upwards, “well I guess I can’t say no then. Too bad you guys can’t snuggle with me.”

“Soon enough, Cyare,” Din says quietly, knocking his head gently into yours.

And so you later find yourself trying to get comfortable in the small tent, feeling odd being in the surroundings of a completely foreign culture. Although the Tuskens are a nomadic people and never stay in the same place for very long, they’ve managed to make the interior of their non-permanent homes quite cozy. A few tapestries are hung up, and the ground level bed is far more comfortable than you expect it to be. The thick animal skin that makes up the sturdy tent walls does a good job of keeping the thing closed off from the outside. Once you douse the lights, everything in the tent is pitch black. 

Eventually you’re able to drift off to sleep for a while, until you suddenly awaken to a palm covering your mouth. Body going into survival mode, you start to thrash around and yell behind your attacker’s palm. That is, until you hear who it is.

“Shh, Cyar’ika. It’s me,” Din’s modulated voice is speaking to you in the darkness. You can barely see a thing, unable to find him until your hands land on his armor plated chest. His bare hand slowly lifts from your lips, allowing you to speak again.

“What are you doing in here?!” You whisper-yell, shoving at the beskar above your hands. “If the Tuskens catch you, won’t they be pissed?” 

“The Tuskens aren’t going to catch me,” he whispers back confidently, “I’ll be back in front of the fire before anyone gets up.” 

“What about the kid?” 

“He’s sleeping right by Cobb. I wouldn’t have left him alone.” 

The hand that had been covering your mouth is now snaking down past your stomach, below the fabric of your underwear. You’d taken your heavy pants off in order to sleep comfortably, having no access to the light stretchy pants you have back on the ship.

“You’re a maniac,” you giggle, back arching as his index finger slips between your delicate  folds. A shiver runs through you and you have to force back the little moan that wants to escape from the confines of your throat. 

“Perhaps,” Din agrees with a low chuckle.

Your hands find the helmet and come to rest at the back of his neck. “So what’s the plan here, Chrome Dome?” 

“The plan is I fuck you a little bit, and then I go back to the fire as if nothing happened at all,” he says matter of factly. 

“You really do love using that word now, don’t you?”

“Only when it’s appropriate.” 

In the same instant that the last syllable leaves his lips, the finger teasing you slips inside of your already moistening slit. It’s all you can do to not make loud, lewd noises as it enters you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss as quietly as you can, “is it bad that the prospect of being caught is a turn on?”

Din chuckles, “Why do you think I’m in here right now?” 

“Mm,” you hum, “So Din Djarin is kinkier than we thought.” 

“Enough talking,” Din says in that commanding tone that makes you weak in the knees. Then his finger vanishes, and your underwear is being yanked from your legs. He brings his hand up to your lips, and you eagerly pull the finger that had been inside you into your mouth as you lap up your own wetness.

When the finger disappears again, the unmistakeable sound of Din’s own trousers being unfastened comes next, followed by the feeling of his hands spreading your legs apart. He’s fully clothed, and you realize that until now he’s yet to fuck you in full armor. Even though you can’t really see anything, the concept sends a jolt of elation through you. You love a man in uniform. 

When he’s positioned at your entrance, you have to brace yourself a little. The handful of times you’ve had sex with him, he hasn’t been able to enter you without a loud noise of pleasure erupting from your wanting mouth. He seems to also be aware of this, as his palm once again comes to cover your parted lips. 

“Try not to be loud,” he whispers, and in that instance he’s slowly pushing into you. 

Whimpering from behind his hand, you grasp at his upper arms and squeeze as hard as you can to stop yourself from crying out. 

“That’s it, Cyar’ika,” Din breathes, modulator hissing right above your face, “be a good girl and take it quietly.” Suddenly the beskar helmet is pressed to your right ear as he quietly adds, “although I do love the slutty little noises you make for me. When we’re back home on our ship, you can scream my name as loud as you need to.” 

His voice is almost doing more to you than his body is, core heating up at his words. He knows how much you love dirty talk during sex, or rather, he’s been learning how much you love it.  Each time the two of you are together like this, you both manage to learn so much about one another. Your Mandalorian seems to love it too, reacting in the most lovely ways when you whisper depraved things to him in the throws of passion. You’ve never been more vocal during sex than you are with Din Djarin. It’s almost as if he’s been able to unlock a part of you that was hidden away, desperately waiting to be released. 

Din works himself in and out for a few moments, your legs coming to wrap around his waist. Soon he’s sweeping both of his hands under your upper back, and then in one fell swoop he’s scooping you up into the air while simultaneously sitting back on his ass. Your bodies never cease being linked, and now you’re the one on top as your Mandalorian lays himself down beneath you. Eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the tent, you can faintly see the silver glimmer of the beskar below you. 

With your hands braced against the cool metal, you slowly begin gyrating. At this angle he’s pushed so deep inside you that you feel almost pegged there, but eventually you work up enough momentum to really ride him. Somehow, this is the first time you’ve been on top with him. You’d nearly forgotten how quickly tiring it is on your thighs, but hearing Din’s soft little whimpers and moans makes it all the more worth it. 

You go until your hamstrings cannot take it much longer, collapsing forward onto the Mandalorian’s chest. Panting heavily, you rest your head on his shoulder. His arms circle you, one hand cradling your head while the other pins your shoulders down. Sharp little thrusts find you then, Din’s hips jerking upwards to crash into you. Eventually he slows down to a stop, fingers running through your hair as he begins to soothe you. 

“I’m going to let you get back to sleep,” he says.

“Already?” You pout, “What about finishing?” 

“I told you, I only wanted to fuck you a little bit. Do you need to finish?” 

“Honestly, no. This was perfect. Besides, I’m fucking tired and we have a giant sand lizard to kill tomorrow.” 

“Precisely. We can resume this at a later time.” 

Din pulls out as you peel yourself off of him, feeling around for your underwear.  He notices that they’re bunched up right beside his head, so he holds them out as he looks you over.

“Let me put these back where I found them,” he chuckles quietly, sitting up while simultaneously pushing you down onto your back. He finds the right legs for each hole, easing the soft fabric slowly up your legs. When he reaches your upper thighs he chuckles, “Lift up, Love.” 

So you lift your ass, noticing that its the first time he’s ever called you “love” in basic as he moves your underwear the rest of the way on. Then he comes to hover over you, and you smile contently up at him.

“What, Chrome Dome?” 

“Close your eyes,” he says.

You comply, feeling his hand come to cover your closed lids. A small hiss can be heard, and then his lips are capturing yours in a short lived but heated kiss. 

When he pulls apart, your voice is breathy, “I wasn't even going to ask you to do that.”

“That was for me,” Din says, modulated once again as he removes his hand. “Sleep well, Cyar’ika.” 

You pull his hand back down to your face, kissing his palm. It feels like sleep will reclaim you at any moment, so you curl up in the blankets and close your eyes. “Goodnight, Din.”

“Jate ca,” he says your name, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Just as you hear him moving for the exit of the tent, a sleepy little smile crosses your features and you hear yourself say, “love you… so much.”

The tent is silent for a short moment, before you hear Din lowly reply, “I love you,” in basic rather than Mando’a. For some reason this makes you blush, as if hearing him say it both in his native tongue and yours makes it seem more like you're on even footing with each other.

Then he’s gone, and you’re alone once again. Feeling as if all of that had been a lovely dream, your mind drifts back to unconsciousness.

*****

At first light the Tusken Raider camp is up and about, and you find yourself exiting the darkness of your tent to already blinding sunlight assaulting your eyes. Din and the kid are waiting patiently for you just outside of the tent, and your face forms into the happiest of grins when you see them. Din hands the kid over as you approach, the small green child reaching eagerly for his foster mom.  

“Good Morning, my little love bug,” you say happily, rubbing the tip of your nose onto his. The kid giggles and grabs your face in response. “And good morning to my favorite Mandalorian,” you say as you turn your head to Din with a knowing grace. Under different circumstances, in the sanctity of the Razor Crest, you would have kissed his helmet where his lips ought to be. 

“Jate vaar’tur,” Din responds with a tilt of the head.

Cobb looks between all of you with a raised brow before sarcastically saying, “Well good morning to you guys too.” 

You like to think that Din just rolled his eyes behind the beskar, hearing him sigh. You chuckle as you wave over to the Marshall of Mos Pelgo. “Morning, Cobb.”

A few Tuskens come to speak to Din, and after a short breakfast of nutrition packs, everyone seems ready to get the show on the road. 

A speeder bike ride later, your group is back in Mos Pelgo with the sand people following behind on bantha back. Cobb calls a town meeting, to which all residents show up at the bar where you’d first met this Tatooine gunslinger. 

He explains the situation to his people, filling them in up to the point where he tells them that the sand people are the ones who are going to help kill the krayt dragon. At this, the people of Mos Pelgo become slightly uproarious and once again Din is forced to step in to help Cobb keep the peace. 

An agreement is finally settled upon, and the two factions of Tatooine locals are forced to team up. Things are heated and uncomfortable, but eventually everyone is able to work together for the most part. Din explains the plan to everyone, and after another long journey across the sand you find yourself back at the mouth of the dragon’s cave.

It feels like it takes well over an hour for the plan to be set up. Burying the explosives, setting up the huge crossbow-like structures, getting everyone into position, making sure everyone knows their role. Din, Cobb, the kid, and yourself are situated further back and off to the side to observe everything. Cob’s got the detonator and you can tell he’s anxious to press the damn thing and get this over with. 

And so the plan begins. The krayt dragon comes when the Tusken Raiders call for it. Shooting it with the large arrows seems to only just piss the thing off, and Cobb nearly pushes the button too soon. You’re horrified when the dragon opens it’s great mouth and a disgusting stream of what looks like bile is vomited all over some of the poor people down there. Whatever it is, it must be acidic because from what you can see it appears to melt their skin and clothing. 

“Almost,” Din is saying as he watches it slither forward through his miniature telescope, “Almost… Now!”

Cobb presses the detonator, and the explosives hit dead on. The ground quakes beneath your feet and you can feel the heat of the explosions even from this vantage point. Only, they don’t seem to do the kind of damage that Din was hoping for. Angry, the krayt dragon retreats into the ground, only to reappear at the top on the small mountain it’s cave resides under. It once again sprays the acidic bile all over the people below, and this is when Din and Cobb decide to get involved. 

Din turns to you and grabs your shoulders, “You stay here and keep the kid safe. I will return.” 

“You fucking better,” you squeeze him once.

The rest of it almost goes by in a blur. Din and Cobb fly down to fight the thing off for a while, until Cobb uses the rocket on his jet pack to get it’s attention and your stomach drops as it begins slithering towards them. Then you see Din hit the jet pack on Cobb’s back, sending him flying into the air until he lands hard just a few yards away from you. Din struggles with the bantha’s ropes and you turn your attention to the man splayed out in the sand before you.

“What the fuck is he doing?” You call out to Cobb, who shakes his head at you.

“I don’t know, I think your fella is crazier than skinny hutt!” Cobb calls back, and the both of you turn your attention back to the scene down below just in time to see the krayt dragon consume both the bantha covered in extra explosives and Din Djarin before diving back down into the sand.

The kid makes a squeak of fear beside you, and you start sprinting forward as your stomach drops down to your feet. “Mando! DIN!” 

It feels like the moment lasts forever, everyone just watching in stunned horror. For you, you just watched your partner get swallowed up by a giant sand lizard. For the people below you, they just watched their one hope at saving their land get eaten alive. 

And then the ground begins to shake, your booted feet vibrating beneath you. Rumbling can be heard before the sand suddenly breaks free and the dragon re-emerges. It’s great mouth opens wide, and you finally release the breath you’d been holding in when Din’s form comes flying out of the opening. 

He hits the detonator, and you watch in awe as the krayt dragon explodes from the inside out before your very eyes. Grabbing the child, you take off in Din’s direction, running right past Cobb at full speed. 

“Mando!” You shout, barreling right into him. He’s covered in some sort of nasty green slime from the krayt dragon’s belly, and in this moment you could care fucking less as you cling to him. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

“I told you I would return,” Din says simply, looking you and the child over. The kid coos up at him, so Din’s beskar covered head tilts down as he nods. “I’m okay, buddy.”

The kid nods in return, and you’re just glad that your little family is still in one piece. 

The Tuskens make quick work of harvesting the dragon’s meat, even giving a generously huge hunk to Din as a thank you. You look down at the bloody red meat and gag a little. It looks so gross.

Noticing this, Din chuckles in your direction. “I know you don’t love to eat meat, but this will come in handy. I’ll make us a krayt dragon stew when we return home to the Crest.”

Sarcastically, you pat your stomach and say, “yummy,” with the final syllable drawn out to sound more like, “yum-eeee.” Din laughs even harder, and the sound of it fills you with so much joy.  

Cobb comes to say his goodbyes and return the beskar armor to Din as agreed upon, and you sincerely hope that your paths cross with the Marshal again in the future. Stubbornness and hot headedness aside, the man has a good heart and he’s a good leader to his people.

*****

Soon enough Din is slowing the speeder bike down as Peli’s hanger comes into view, and you sigh with relief against his back. The prospect of being home sounds so lovely to your exhausted, overheated body. After going on what you easily consider to be your first true adventure, you’re ready to curl up in the cot with your Mandalorian pressed against you and your foster child in your arms as the three of you drift off into much needed sleep.

Din is still filthy from being inside the belly of the krayt dragon, and frankly he stinks to high heaven of the large sand creature, but you lay your head on his back regardless while he’s bringing the bike into a full stop just inside the hanger.

Peli is there to greet you with her small gaggle of droids.

“The Razor Crest is all tuned up for ya, Mando. My associate and I even upgraded a few of your more outdated parts, free of charge if you let me hold that womp rat for a while before you leave. In fact, you should stay for supper and leave in the morning! I’ll cook up some of that meat you have there and babysit him to let you two have some proper rest.” 

You climb from the bike, knowing full well that the green goop from Din’s clothing is now all over the front of you. You pluck the kid from Din’s satchel and give him a once over before handing the baby over to the eccentric little engineer. 

“Your associate?” Din asks skeptically, coming to stand next to you. “I thought all under your employ are droid.” 

“Oh did I not mention that before? I have another human working with me now. A business partner of sorts. That’s right, your old Peli here found herself a fella. Sorry you missed your chance, Mando.” Peli sends a wink your way, clearly joking. Then she bounces the kid in her arms while looking down at him. “And to think, I could have been your mama.” 

You can’t help but laugh a little and elbow Din in the side as you play along, “You didn’t tell me I had competition here on Tatooine, Mando.” 

To which, Din just sighs heavily and shakes his silver head.

Peli’s curly hair bounces as she laughs at the Mandalorian before going on, “Best engineer I’ve ever met, almost as good as me. He was off at the Tosche Station picking up power converters for me when you landed last week.” Peli turns to the Razor Crest and puts a hand to her mouth, “RICHARD! Come out here and meet the little green creature I told you about.” 

You’re completely taken aback when you hear the familiar name, feeling an odd pang of sadness. It’s not often that you meet people in the galaxy with a name that reminds you of Earth, but it’s also not entirely uncommon either. This one just happens to coincidentally remind you of someone you loved dearly. 

Then you see a man in his late sixties or early seventies emerge from the other side of the Razor Crest, wiping his oily hands on a rag. He’s got a prominent gray mustache and beard covering the lower half of  his wrinkled face and he’s wearing an engineer jumpsuit suit similar to Peli’s. He lifts the dark safety goggles to rest in his unruly gray hair as he approaches and when his face becomes completely clear to you, you nearly faint on the spot. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” the man says, stunned in his tracks as he looks directly at you. 

You must be having some sort of mirage experience from being in the heat of the binary suns for too long. This can’t possibly be real. 

“Mando, is that guy really standing there or am I hallucinating?” You whisper to your beskar clad best friend with wide eyes.

“He’s really standing there. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think that’s my fucking grandfather.” 

*****

Next Chapter

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Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

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

*****

[mareenavee]

Writerly (And Artistic) Thumbprint Challenge!

I was tagged by the lovely @hannahcbrown to try this out!

Rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. what are five (or more!) narrative elements, themes, topics or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

I'm gonna tag a few fine feathered folks for this, and let them circulate it out to the rest of the mutuals and see what we can come up with :3

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @friend-of-giants, @oblivions-dawn, @thana-topsy, @saltymaplesyrup, @thequeenofthewinter, @rhiannon1199, @tallmatcha, @airiat, @the-storytellers-seer, @orfeoarte -- and more. If you are not tagged, please, do absolutely consider yourself tagged and tag me back. And always tag the mutuals even if they've already been tagged. Pile on the tags so we can all see the cool stuff we each come up with. (:

Under the cut for some observations.

I have written a lot over the years and most of it is not fic, but here is what I can observe from original, fic, poetry and nonfiction. These are in no particular order, though I saved the best for last.

Identity I like to write about what makes a person themselves. A lot of my early spoken word poetry talked about body image and how to exist in a world like ours as a person who is not considered thin. Some of my favorite nonfiction pieces discussed what it was like to be a college student working retail and being recognized as other-than-a-retail-worker in public and how identity shifts between roles. In my fic, I explore a few things like what makes a hero a hero? Who are you when change/fate/destiny upends everything you've ever known? How do you become the person you're supposed to be?

Strength Especially in a lot of my fic, posted or otherwise, I think this crops up perhaps almost as much as identity. What does it mean to be strong? What sort of events do we weather and get to the other side of it? For who are we strong? Is being strong the same as being brave? What kinds of strength do we need in our daily lives and how does it affect our decisions? In the fic, we see a lot of the strength to overcome adversity by nature of the quest. But we also see, which dives into another point, the strength to forgive, the strength to confront ourselves for our behavior, and the strength to move forward, even when it hurts.

Friendship Ah, the power of friendship :> But no, even in a lot of my fic WIP ideas and fragments, there's a lot to be said of relationships within fiction that show different kinds of love and support than what is expected of a certain pairing or tag. There are a ton of different expressions of love, and I think one of the most underutilized is strong, solid friendships. This also incorporates found family or portraying a group of people who have decided against all odds that they will go out of their way for one another regardless of circumstances. When I write good friendships, I do it because it reminds me irl that we are worthy of this kind of support and we are capable of giving this kind of support, and not everything has to be as one-dimensional as popular media can sometimes show. Fic is the perfect place to explore it because it's decoupled from marketing, generally, and we don't have to worry too much about what sells (: So I lean into it where and when I can.

Mistakes This one is kind of rather broad. I could have listed specific kinds of mistakes but then we'd be here forever LOL but suffice to say I do write flawed characters that don't always know the next right thing. In my poetry, I talked about the mistakes I've made and observed in my time. I have given some of the mistakes I've made and observed to my characters in original and especially in World. Part of this category though is asking the question of how do these mistakes affect others? What does it take to forgive? Can they be forgiven, and why or why not? Is the character flaw so deep that there is no redemption for them? Are there certain kinds of mistakes that change who a person is completely? What is the cost of forgiveness? There's a lot to play with in this category without even having to get down to specifics. :>

Hope This is my favorite thing to write into any of my work ever. Perhaps because real life can be so very difficult and can seem so very bleak sometimes. Combined with everything above, I absolutely write hope into things, even if my stories seem rather bleak at the outset. For World, all of my POV characters have bits and pieces of tragedies that I have had to endure in my life and it's extremely cathartic to see them get through their drama, hardship, grief, self-inflicted chaos, and other things. Because it reminds me that there is hope yet for this place, if there is hope in their world. It is a form of healing for me to put them in situations they can get out of. So hope. The most important theme, I think, for my writing. (:

[ladytanithia]

Art WIP Wednesday (10/25)

Edit: knew I was forgetting something yesterday. I was posting from work because it was slow for a while, and forgot to tag my friends!

@dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @sunny-d-anomaly @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Xelthra - 5th of 7 portraits I'm doing for a friend, whose characters are based on Bionicle. Xelthra and the other 6 are god-like beings called Amrithei, who are usually formless but can manifest physically as they see fit. Sometimes they wear full-face masks, but for the purpose of the portraits, he's asked me to do half-masks to show the faces under the masks.

These characters are featured in his fiction, Cloud Vivarium, on AO3, under his pseud FathomWhisper.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43034070/chapters/108135735

[flownintothesun]

            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── a plot, a ploy, a starter for @dutyworn .

       𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓... 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — not that she’s entirely too familiar with the concept of gravity, for all the good that does her. Because wherever she is, gravity matters, and so does a sudden lack thereof that leaves her weightless and bumping into the ceiling. She can’t even compare it to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland — because unlike most little girls, she’d never had a copy when she was young. Dominik has never really left her without — there are other books, and music, and paints and canvasses — though oftentimes Dominik takes them when she’s done, and they disappear to wherever he disappears to when he’s not with her, and she’s on her own again.

     Except now, the controlled doors are open and Dominik’s not on the other side of them and there is a siren and bright red flashing lights illuminating the frame of the studio-like space she’s spent nearly all of her life in. Something tells her that’s not supposed to be happening — because for one thing, it never has in all of her twenty-four years of existence. Yes, she may very well fancy herself Alice, topsy-turvy and in a strange new world — were she to have ever made the fictional acquaintance of the lass. It’s definitely an experience — being jammed up on the ceiling with odds and ends of varying size and shape. Her hair is flyaway, and so is her dress, which she bunches into one hand, pulling tight around her for modesty’s sake as she swims along the ceiling with one hand toward something called ‘freedom’ that she can’t fathom — either because it’s too good to be true, or because it’s a concept she could never understand.

       She barely remembers life before Dominik. She’d only been four years old, after all. Even the things she believes to be true are most likely not. The only keepsake she has from a time before is a necklace with a flower woven into a heart shape — according to a botany book that she’s read cover to cover — it’s called a thistle. She can quote the entry back to herself for how many times she’s looked it over.

     Thistle. A weedy species of Cirsium, Carduus, Echinops, Sonchus, and other plant genera of the family Asteraceae. The word thistle most often refers to prickly leaved species of Carduus and Cirsium, which have dense heads of small, usually pink or purple flowers. Plants of the genus Carduus, sometimes called plumeless thistles, have spiny stems and flower heads without ray flowers. Canadian thistle (Cirsium arvense) is a troublesome weed in agricultural areas of North America, and more than 10 species of sow thistle (Sonchus) are widespread throughout Europe. Some species of globe thistle (Echinops) are cultivated as ornamentals. The thistle is the national emblem of Scotland.

     So few of the words mean anything to her. She sees things on television, she hears them sung about in song, and reads about them in her books — but they are things meant for someone else, never for her. What is Scotland? Was it once a home to her?

     Breaching the door frame makes her heart flutter and pound, or maybe that’s the weightlessness — everything rushing to her head all at once. She finds herself at the end of a long, rounded hallway. To her right is a wall with a few doors scattered about, and to her left is the vast enormity of everything — space, as far as the eye can see along a wall almost completely made up of windows. “Woah!” she gasps, and tries to step back, which of course doesn’t do her a lick of good. Her heart’s ratcheting now, in full-blown panic. Where on Earth is she? Or rather....where...not on Earth...is she?

[genericmain]

Listen,,, I'm bad with names.

But she's selectively mute, and extremely quiet when she does talk. She'll only talk if it's just us, because she's worried & self conscious of her voice, even though talking causes a great deal of anxiety, for whatever reason that doesn't seem to happen with me, and she told me as much herself. Sometimes she's touch averse, but I'm not, so when that happens, we do hand holding instead of cuddles, and I sit close by on my bean bag while she lounges on the couch. I don't think she's entirely human? The mime makeup doesn't come off. But I really don't mind. She's sassy, and fiery, but also sweet and gentle. Her hands though gloved most of the time, are rough and have some scarring on them. I don't think that's a negative though. I don't know her real hair color, I just know she either dyes ir or wears hyper realistic wigs, and doesn't seem to like her hair being touched so I don't do it. I kind of imagine her as a wife, instead of a girlfriend, but idk if it's weird to just materialize as wife not gf? So take that as you will. She's a comfort character and a F/O - So you know. That's neat. She's warm, and I think I'll pick a warm name for her - because she reminds me of sunlight, and that's the cutesy nickname I picked out for her. She was allergic to cats as a kid, but grew out of it, and wants us to adopt a big fluffy cat. She likes all animals, but big dogs can startle her due to an incident as a child that she doesn't really talk about. She won't tell me how she became a mime, either? But that's fine. I love her anyways. She's scarred, and rough around the edges, silent, and sweet, complex and wholly mine. ♡

Editing to add, She's now been named Topsy. She didn't like any of the other suggestions.

-> Not proship friendly, sorry.

[subukunojess]

Sackboy: A Big Adventure Dreamers AU Notes

Hey folks! Time once again for “Jess is hyperfixating on an underrated piece of media and decides to make an AU about it for fanfiction”! I already got a fanfic in mind for Bad Things Happen Bingo, but I decided to possibly make a series? I’ll just brainstorm some notes here and let it soak. I don’t know the lore of Little Big Planet or how the Sackfolk play into the Imagisphere but I got something:

There are some sacklings that are created by the Dreamers called Dreamlings. It’s basically a sack person but inside them is dream energy and they are inspired by their creator’s hopes, interests, fears, etc. 

Dreamlings are a little uncommon but they are accepted as friends in the village of Loom. 

When Vex appears in Loom, there were three Dreamlings around Sackboy at the time and two of them follow Sackboy into the rocket ship. One of them flies into the dark corners of the village and gets left behind, injured. 

Vex finds the injured Dreamling while the Dreamling despite being in pain shows bravery, claiming that fear can be good and Vex doesn’t need to build the Topsy Turver. Instead of killing the Dreamling, Vex make a bet with her by sewing her back up with thread made from Uproar, challenging her to use the Uproar for good. Then he sends her to where the rocket ship lands in the Soaring Summit. 

Ultimately, it’s a 4 Player CO-OP AU with Sackboy and 3 Dreamlings becoming Knitted Knights who plan to stop Vex with their guide Scarlet. 

While Sackboy is the main protagonist, each of the Dreamlings takes a world as their theme and takes the lead. 

Amber (She/Her) is an adventurous Dreamling who likes to explore and observe nature. Loud and Proud. She teases, but she loves her friends so much. She gets a major role in the Colossal Canopy surviving the jungle and meeting different creatures. Her color is green, she has button eyes, and she has this Little Red Riding Hood motif going for her. 

Psyche aka Psy (They/Them) is the logical one of the group. They wear glasses and love to read. They keep to themselves, but the journey lets them open up a little. In the Kingdom of Crablantis, they develop an interest in finding treasure and studying marine life. Their color is purple and due to their inspiration, they have butterfly wings. They also have golden feline eyes. 

And then there’s Faith (She/Her) who is kind of like a self-insert inspired OC. Faith is originally the creative one of the group who loves to write and dream about far-off places. In the beginning, she looked like a normal Sackling with an orange picnic blanket pattern skin. When Vex came to kidnap and enslave the Sacklings, she ended up injured, and Vex (with a hidden agenda) sews her back up. When the game starts, her bottom half and legs have glowing green stitching on them and one of her eyes is blue while the other is green to represent dreams and nightmares. Due to the Dreamer energy and Uproar, Faith can transform and grow into different forms when she has strong emotions. She uses her size and powers to lift her friends to high places, sneak past enemies, and fight. But as the group progresses, she begins to change drastically. Her world is the Interstellar Junction because I wanted parallels between Faith and N.A.O.M.I. when Vex goes into their lives. But I could definitely see Faith getting interested in science fiction. 

When the climax happens, Faith corrupts into a giant monster similar to Vex, joining him at the Center of Craftworld. In the final world, there would be a boss fight with Sackboy, Amber, and Psy fighting Faith to get her back and stop Vex. 

Overall, it’s just four friends on their quest to become Knitted Knights. 

If anyone has thoughts, ideas, or questions, please let me know! 

[dwellerinroots]

What is it about birds that you enjoy :)

Thank you, my friend; this is such a good question..? Since I'm going to talk a bit, those uninterested in the sum total of the birdposting tag can roll their eyes and avoid this one, ahaha. Conversation about how great flora, fauna, and especially birds are under the cut!

First, some mood music.

Topsy already knows some of my predilections, here, but unless people peek at my tags, I suppose it'd be easy to say 'oh, this fellow just casually likes birds.' And in a way, that's true; I like pretty much all creatures, real or fictional. I tend to like natural things more then I like people, which I don't think is entirely uncommon among writers, nor does it excuse behaving cruelly to other people (something that is easily forgotten). But first and foremost, I've got a bit of a connection to them. My parents raised me on a steady diet of fiction, classical religion and mythology, and folk tales. A lot of these were 'world' tales, which meant whatever they thought was cool at the time, because my parents were hippies and I love them for that! But just as much was from our culture, which means bird. Lots and lots of bird. Slavic culture has tonnes of mythological bird-ery in it, just as much as mushrooms. I could make the statement that it's more about birds then bears or anything else people want to associate with it, but I think many people would - disagree with that, ahaha. A famous writer (who a lot of people do not care for and I understand that) went by the pen-name Sirin. Who's Sirin? Good question.

But there's tonnes of cool mysterious bird entities over yonder; Alkonost, Gamayun, sometimes even Maiden Midday is depicted as a bird or bird-like. Naturally, some bird or another on fire is important, too. We just - really like birds. But why, though, and why me? Well... I think it's pretty obvious from how I talk and some of my stories that I've travelled a lot and lived a lot of places. One of the few constants is that I've watched the travel of wings, and wondered at that freedom; moving often feels fatalistic, especially when you're young. I don't really have a place or people I consider 'home.' Not an unusual feeling, but... Actually, since I can be as personal as I want this far down, I often disassociate a bit from feeling human. Part of that is the usual stuff a lot of us go through, but part of it is unique to me. I can't tell you how many times, in how many places, I spent watching distant forms lazily drift overhead, wishing I could do nature sketches, but quite content to simply exist, with no greater goal in mind. One of the places I miss most, though, that I think of most as 'home' if I could choose where 'home' is are the moorlands of a certain island nation, rich with heather. I could paint those landscapes from my mind's eye, if you asked me to, also if I could paint. Bahahaha! Brings us nicely to the next point which is that I stumbled unto a very unlikely piece of media and fell in love with a hawk. That's just how these things go; if I cry a lot about a very big bird lady, that's why. Finally, a good friend whom I only occasionally interact with is the second-or-third-best-bird in my life, he's the best*. But these are all personal; the backstory, as you will. In general, outside of my personal reasons - the fact that I like them for how unencumbered they are, their habits, what they mean to me - I like birds a lot because they're pretty! From the most colourful sparkling dainty lads to the tones of feathers that are almost steel. The wingspans of birds unfurling is kind of magical; I don't know if it's some primal sprout mindset that thinks birds == dinosaurs == very cool, or simply that I find the textile sense of wingspan unfolding Reall Cool, but again, I wish I could do scientific sketches or similar. I love how hygienic they are, by and large, and how incredibly goofy most birds are when they've ascertained you are not there to interfere in any way and are just watching. Because all animals are goofballs, but birds are goofy in their own unique way. The many differences in how birds treat each other, how weird and alien some nests look (for nestbuilders), what birds choose to steal everything not nailed down, and which ones are very picky. I just think they're neat! And there are lots of animals I love; I love bees, social insects, asocial solitary pollinators... I love cats and dogs, obviously, I love domesticated animals and weird wild critters, danger noodles and - really I just love nature in general, as mentioned above. But if I was going to choose one (1) kind of animal to watch for, it'd be birds. They're heartening, beautiful, and a bit melancholic.

Thanks for reading this far; here are some magpies being silly. Hopefully this was at least a little interesting to read, and see you around..!

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: Deadstream (2022)

Deadstream (2022)

Not rated

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/10/review-deadstream-2022.html>

Score: 4 out of 5

Deadstream is a movie I'd heard a lot about when it first came out, but never got around to watching until now. A found footage horror/comedy in which the main hook is that the protagonist is livestreaming everything for his fans, this film is largely a one-man show for Joseph Winter, who co-wrote and co-directed it with his wife Vanessa Winter. It is an often hilarious spoof of the culture surrounding YouTubers and livestreamers paired with a genuinely scary supernatural horror movie, one where the two sides come together to create the feel of a topsy-turvy Scooby-Doo episode, with ghostly frights and impressive creature effects paired with self-awareness and a moral parable out of The Twilight Zone. I did have a few nagging questions about some things, but other than that, this is perfect spooky season viewing for somebody who wants a movie that's actually scary but still fairly lighthearted.

Our protagonist Shawn Ruddy is an internet personality known for livestreams on a fictional site called LivVid in which he, a guy who's "afraid of everything," pulls dangerous and often illegal stunts with the stated purpose of overcoming his fears. In truth, however, it's all for the clicks and views, as evidenced when one stunt he pulled ended with a homeless man winding up in the hospital, forcing him to record an insincere apology video in order to salvage his career and reputation. Six months later, he's making his triumphant comeback to streaming with what he calls his most dangerous stunt yet: spending the night in Death Manor, a house in rural Utah where several people have died and which is reputed to be haunted. Sure enough, the place has ghosts up to the rafters, and naturally, they don't want him around. Unfortunately, as a self-imposed challenge to make sure he wouldn't back out and lose sponsors, he locked the door to the house and threw away the key, meaning that he's trapped in there for the night even though his life is now in clear danger.

The basic concept is ingenious, and a very modern twist on found footage for the age of livestreaming. The film is not subtle in its parodies of people like PewDiePie (who Shawn mentions by name) and MrBeast, aggressively mercenary and often unethical entertainers whose only qualms come from the possible legal or social consequences of their actions, not any sense of right and wrong. Everything we see of Shawn in the first act paints him as a deeply phony person who doesn't take the situation he's in seriously, but is pretending he does for the people watching. He aggressively watches his language (and bleeps it out when he does curse) to avoid saying any bad words that might get his videos demonetized, but he also built his career on doing things that should not make him a role model for children, the product of hyper-literal online moderation systems that fixate on dirty but otherwise harmless language and sexuality while letting genuinely toxic behavior slide. Whenever he grabs some of the energy drink that's sponsoring his show, he always knows to make sure the logo on the label is facing the camera so his viewers can see that he's enjoying a healthy, energizing can of Awaken Thunder. Once the actual ghosts come out, of course, this demeanor starts to crack as genuine fear enters his voice, culminating in a breakdown where he realizes what a terrible person he's been. It's still very much a comedy too, of course. Even during his big breakdown, Shawn still brings up, without any prompting, a racially-charged stunt he did in the past that he was criticized for in order to insist that he's not racist. Watching this, I got the sense that Joseph and Vanessa Winter have Thoughts about the crop of influencers who have risen up on sites like YouTube and Twitch, with Shawn serving as a symbol of everything that people find rotten about those sites and their personalities. Joseph's performance walks a fine line, making him enough of a jackass that I wanted to see him suffer but still lending him enough humanity that I wanted him to survive. Shawn is not exactly a likable guy, but he's not a one-dimensional caricature, and making him come across as an ignorant doofus instead of actively malicious oddly enough makes the satire sting harder. There is an actual person beneath the character he plays online, but the line between the real man and the character has been blurred by the pressures of online fame pushing him to go further and further in pursuit of the constant high.

Beyond Shawn, most of the living human characters we see are the people watching his stream, some of whom record videos in order to give him advice and let him know the house's history and that of the various ghosts within it, a fun use of the livestreaming conceit to let us know that Shawn's nightmare is being broadcasted to the world and that people are reacting to it with both horror and gallows humor. The only person Shawn actually meets face-to-face is Chrissy, a fan of his who followed him to the house and knows a lot more about what's actually happening than she lets on. I don't want to spoil anything except to say that I was able to figure out pretty quickly what her actual deal was, but I can say that Melanie Stone (who worked with the Winters again that same year on V/H/S/99 in one of that film's best segments) made Chrissy an exceptionally memorable character. From the moment we meet her, we see that she's kind of unhinged and clearly has a hidden agenda, one that Shawn is right to be suspicious of. She was an excellent companion for Shawn, her weirdness treading the line between hilarious and creepy and often managing to be both at the same time. Whenever Stone was on screen, I knew I was in for something good.

Finally, there are the scares. This was filmed in a house that's reputed to be haunted in real life, and the Winters exploited that to the fullest, making heavy use of its dark, dingy environments to make it feel like a place where Shawn would be in danger exploring even if there weren't any ghosts around. As for the ghosts themselves, all of them are realized with creative practical effects work that gives us a hint as to the awful ways in which they died. Mildred, the house's first occupant, gets the most screen time out of them and the most ways to torment Shawn. An heiress and failed poet in life who killed herself after her lover (who also published her poems) died, she turns out to have a number of uncanny similarities to Shawn, the both of them having pursued fame in their respective times to the point that Shawn even compares her to himself as an old-timey version of an influencer. She has a creepy look that the film makes the most of as she stalks and taunts Shawn, serving as a highly entertaining antagonist with a flair for the dramatic. The other ghosts, ranging from a young boy with his deformed conjoined twin growing out of him to a bloated woman to a 1950s cop to a man covered in moss, were all imposing presences with appearances that called to mind zombies more than ghosts. This did raise a few questions with how they were presented as corporeal presences in the house who Shawn is seemingly able to fight with normal weapons, even though Mildred is shown to require a special ritual to defeat her for good. That said, the vagueness felt like the point here, like Shawn had no idea what to do either and was just winging it as he fought to survive.

The Bottom Line

Deadstream was a lightweight but incredibly fun horror/comedy whose premise is golden in its simplicity, and which largely fulfills it thanks to a pair of great performances, cool ghosts, and its sense of humor. This is excellent spooky season viewing, and between this and their work on V/H/S/99, I'm excited to see whatever movie the Winters are working on next.

[normally0]

Echoes of Migration: From Penal Colonies to Teleportation Fantasies

In the year 2024, amidst the hustle and bustle of modern society, where technology seemed to offer solutions to every problem, there emerged an unexpected twist in the story of migration. As if plucked straight from the pages of a science fiction novel, the concept of teleportation teased the imaginations of the masses, offering a fantastical solution to the age-old dilemma of relocation. However, while the allure of teleportation captivated the minds of many, the complexities of its implementation remained a formidable obstacle.

Meanwhile, in the quaint courtrooms of the Old Bailey, where the echoes of history danced with the present, the legacy of past migration policies lingered like a spectre. Tales of penal transportation to distant colonies, once deemed a solution to societal woes, now seemed like antiquated relics of a bygone era. The ghosts of convicts sent off to far-off lands haunted the corridors of justice, whispering tales of hardship and injustice.

But amidst the seriousness of legal proceedings, there lingered a subtle undercurrent of humour—a wry acknowledgement of the absurdity of it all. For how could one not chuckle at the notion of criminals being shipped off to the other side of the world, only to find themselves in a land where even the native flora and fauna seemed determined to thwart their endeavours?

And now, in a bizarre turn of events, whispers began to circulate of a new destination for Britain's unwanted souls—Rwanda. The very mention of this once war-torn nation invoked a mixture of confusion and amusement among the populace. Rwanda, with its tumultuous history and distant locale, seemed like an unlikely choice for relocation. Yet, in the topsy-turvy world of geopolitics, stranger things had certainly happened.

As discussions unfolded about the mechanics of teleportation, with comparisons drawn to the fanciful technology of Star Trek, the irony was not lost on the observers. Here they were, debating the feasibility of beaming individuals across vast distances in the blink of an eye, while still grappling with the simplest of societal challenges.

And so, against this backdrop of historical echoes and technological marvels, the British legal system stumbled forward, grappling with the complexities of a world in flux. As they navigated the intricacies of contemporary migration policies, they couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps, a touch of teleportation magic might just offer a solution to their perennial woes. After all, in a world where "Beam me up, Scotty" remained the stuff of legend, anything seemed possible—even the most improbable of migrations.

[ipsomaniac]

Reading/listening to The Brothers Karamazov and man. weird fucking book. It has some great bits, mostly Fyodor Pavlovitch being quite frankly a legend and Smerdyakov being a cunty little atheist and the lengthy bizarro theological debates. Pro and Contra is awesome of course. But all the antics with Mitya and Grushenka running around being hysterical, and the 3,000 rubles that seems to be perpetually disappearing and popping up again: I just do not care a smidgen about all this unfortunately. Somehow I'm quite fond of these silly kids while also being totally uninvested in their story.

It's an interesting reading experience though because I am drawn to elements and characters that I'd never expect, and uninterested in things I'd expect to be interested in. E.g. I basically don't give a shit about the core plot of the money/Grushenka disputes between Mitya and Fyodor and the patricide and so on. And yet I have quite a lot of patience - not unlimited, the book where he relates his life story before he dies gets pretty tiresome towards the end - but a fair amount of patience for Zosima and his gnomic saintliness. Likewise I quite enjoy following Alyosha around even though by all measures he is infuriatingly virtuous and perfect. I think I actually prefer the parts where the main plot is suspended so that all the narrator's energy can be put into the weird creatively-framed theological debates which seem to be the real concern of the book, and I get bored when the plot resumes. I'm not done with the book yet so this is not a final judgement, but so far my impression is that Dostoyevsky achieves an unusual triumph by writing a story so bizarre that it actually makes you, the reader, interested in religious goodness - not forced, as it were, by the moralistic structure of the story but because goodness is actually, intellectually, more interesting than the other tomfoolery going on. That's a striking thing for me to find because in general, narrative is pretty hard to wield to that purpose, especially in a modern literary context. Morally flawed characters with a hole at their centre tend to be more interesting than genuinely good and virtuous characters. In fiction, Satan is always a more compelling character than God. By all rights, Zosima and Alyosha should have me snoring and I should be fascinated by Mitya and Grushenka... but this topsy turvy book has me totally bored by the troubled youths and compelled by the saints. Provisional verdict: it has some utterly outstanding bits about religion, has some extremely boring plot bits, is generally very pointy and Russian and odd. And this is very uncool to say but if I were arbitrarily to compare it with the last book I read, I definitely prefer Middlemarch overall.