#and now i have to come out as trans to a complete stranger (which should make it easier but i've never done it in person)

[gatheringbones]

[“I told my mother I thought I might be trans in a lengthy and overly apologetic email, which she didn’t quite know how to respond to. From her perspective, my transition had popped up out of nowhere, with no prior warning signs. She was convinced I had been brainwashed into transitioning, and agreed to meet my counsellor for a joint meeting with me, primarily to meet the person she felt had brainwashed her child into transitioning.

My mother describes her first meeting with me presenting as Laura as very difficult for her, due in no small part to her inability to see me as anything but her very traditionally masculine son in a dress. For a while she knew but did not talk to my father, which she found very difficult. She told me years later that she went through a period of mourning, feeling like her child had died, and that she was left with a stranger she did not know. It put a lot of strain on her, and on our relationship as parent and child.

Why the assumption I was brainwashed? Because of autism infantilisation.

Before we talk more about my journey coming out as transgender, we have to rewind a little bit to something else that went on at around the same point in my life: my diagnosis of Asperger’s. By the time my mother attended that appointment and met me as Laura for the first time, I had already been diagnosed with Asperger’s, which was part of the reason she was so worried about me. She was not aware of any statistical link between autism and gender dysphoria, and in her eyes I was a vulnerable young person with an autism spectrum condition who was being manipulated into transition because I was easily swayed, or lacking in ability to assess my feelings on the matter properly for myself. This is depressingly common: an adult’s assumption that having an autism spectrum condition means you’re incapable of proper self-understanding, or that you’re susceptible to being manipulated into believing things about yourself that you did not previously. You’re not trusted as being of sound mind to make choices about your own life, out of fear you’ve been manipulated.

Speaking to my mother years later, now she has somewhat settled down and got used to me going by Laura and female pronouns, she told me that her biggest fear, and the primary reason she agreed to attend that first joint session together, was that, as a youth with Asperger’s, my therapist was influencing me into believing that I was trans. She feared it was some kind of brainwashing that my gullible mind could not resist the allure of, rather than believing my own account of what I was experiencing.

I also faced this same issue with doctors when trying to access medical support through the NHS. I would have general practitioners, mental health doctors and gender specialists alike raise an eyebrow when I acknowledged my Asperger’s diagnosis, and then proceed to take plenty of extra time asking me lengthy questions about how my autism symptoms manifested, to ensure I was of sound enough mind to make permanent choices about my body. Apart from the obvious infantilisation of people with conditions like Asperger’s on display there, I always just explained it as being like the decision to get a tattoo. I am an adult, over the age of 18, who has been deemed sober and mentally sound, and as such I have every right to permanently inject colours into my skin that may never go away. Why should I not be trusted to take slow-acting meds that are somewhat easier to reverse? Still, the fact I had to fight to be believed that I was mentally sound enough to make that choice says a lot about misunderstandings about autism spectrum conditions, but highlights that to assert that transition is unique in the permanent nature of its change to the body is completely inaccurate.”]

laura kate dale, from uncomfortable labels: my life as a gay autistic trans woman

[talisidekick]

Thanks for being so compassionate! As someone who's had to defend himself from assault pre transition and assault and attempted trafficking during transition which has contributed to some agoraphobia centered on thoughts like "damn, wasn't safe off T not safe on it", it's been rlly scary seeing ppl shrug off how transmascs are endangered in real life in service of discrediting transandro discourse. Cool seeing who's really real I guess????? anyways hope you're well and warm. Srry about my run on sentence lmao

There is absolutely nothing to apologize for. We only get to see one side publically, and that's pretty much just trans women issues. Media likes to cover just us. I rarely see news stories about just trans men. We don't see the stories about trans men getting stalked or followed around in stores by total strangers, getting attacked in public, rarely a mention if a trans man gets killed. It's happening but you don't see it. You don't see a flood of forum posts about the constant dismissal of, unique brand of hatred around, or the types of dangers faced by trans men.

My introduction to questioning my gender was actually FROM transandrophobia. The reason for this is I've had more of a curvy figure since ... well forever, even though my body was producing T on it's own. I got A LOT of compliments on it by pretty much all my friends (which were mostly girls, and yes that probably should have been a sign but I'm a bit thick sometimes, okay?) because I was "unconventionally sexy" because of it. I'm now remembering I do have a shirtless picture somewhere from before I was on HRT ... I'll work up the nerve to show that at some point to prove that point. Anywho, because of this, a random ass stranger had been following me as I went to grab a few things from a walmart after my shift. It was weird as fuck. Uncomfortably close, constantly looking at me but not what they were pretending to, and I kind of knew this dick was waiting until there was no one in the aisle before pulling something. I'd been mugged before at 14 and 15 so at 24 I was kind of like "I'm not getting stabbed in a damn Walmart" and just made sure to be quick. I got out of the store and met up with some old work friends and just let them know someone was following me and I wanted to wait them out. Props to my friends at the time, they bullseyed the dude (to be fair he wasn't being stealthy) and called him out. And he yelled back "You'll never be a real man" to me. My friends laughed at him because as far as we all knew, I was cis. But this would happen two more times in the same week. A lady would tell me I shouldn't be doing "this" to myself with a full body gesture, and that god "loves" me; and a college colleague flat out dismissed my concerns on something because "only a real man would need to worry about that". It got me wondering if this was a new fad, to hate on someones manliness, and upon looking that up I learned about what exactly transgender meant, the experiences of trans men and women (just a bit on women, my concern was on trans men at the time), and thought it was kind of cool there were people who'd know two sides to the gender spectrum. But it must SUCK to have to go through the bullshit I did and actually be affected by it. Like, no one has any right to tell another man they're less of one.

This whole situation would actually come back to help me 2 years later in finding myself. I'd only really looked up trans men and curiosity mid covid lock down would lead me to look up non-binary and then trans women. However, transandrophobia is how I, a trans woman, got her start. So it boils my blood when I see people talk about T being toxic or trans men having it easier. It shows a complete lack of understanding and a lack of acceptance and willingness to empathize. Trans men and trans mascs have different issues, that doesn't make them lesser, and while those issues may not affect me, it doesn't make it less of my problem to help deal with where I can. I know certain issues I'll have no experience on, no idea how to help, but that doesn't mean I can't still offer to be support. Everyone should be doing the same, and shame on those who aren't.

You deserve equal treatment and support in your fight for it, not dismissal. Those that dismiss the issues of trans men aren't allies, they're transphobes. And fuck transphobes.

[myfandomscollide]

An Examination of Richard Mendelson

For @obscuravoid as part of the Jonah Magnus Fic/Art Exchange 2024

The institute’s halls were filled with stifled murmurs. The rustle of paper and scratching of pen, muted conversation filled the air with quiet contemplation.

A man strode through the vestibule and into the foyer, arriving at the near desk. He stood there, looking down at the worker entrenched in folders and lists as they filed paperwork. “Eh, hem.” The figure drew his hand to a fist and coughed, emphasizing his importance. The receptionist glanced up from their work, glaring at the newcomer. “Who are you?”

“Angus Stacey.” The man boasted. “I have an appointment with the Director of this institution.” He produced an envelope sealed with the institute’s sigil. 

“Right…” The receptionist responded in feigned interest, hiding his own annoyance. “He’s currently engaged in a meeting right now. You may wait for him should you desire.” The receptionist pointed across the hallway to a couple of chairs adjacent to a large carved door fixed with the relief of an owl. “He should be done soon.”

Angus nodded at the man, then crossed the room to sit in the indicated chair. He settled comfortably into the seat, while he looked around the room admiring the architecture. He marveled at the construction of the walls and the vaulting of the ceiling, his vision trailed up to the paintings on the wall.

The first was an impressionistic painting hung imposingly on the wall with its heavy, dark varnished frame. It depicted an older man with tired, sunken eyes peering down through spectacles on his nose. He was dressed in a green suit, with brocaded accents. The brass plaque was etched in calligraphic script, ‘Founder, Jonah Magnus’.

The other painting was of the modernist style, framed in a simplistic metal, etched with a geometric art deco style. The figure was a younger lithe man with a wry smile. He wore a three piece suit with a double breasted vest, maroon with red pinstripes. The accompanying plaque, ‘Director, Richard Mendelson’.

Looking at the two paintings slightly unnerved Angus as he continued to wait. He idly scratched his chin as he observed the receptionist completing their work. In the corner of the room a grandfather clock ticked punctually away at the passage of time.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Click , went the handle belonging to the door next to him, snapping Angus of his concentration. His head jolted to see the source of the noise.

“And that’s how Mr. Fairchild finally made his investment in my future…” An old man with white hair and a cane stepped out of the office along with a familiar faced man. 

“Fascinating as ever, Simon.” Richard said with a smile, which belied indifference. “You should really call the next time you're in town.”

“You know, I might.” The stranger, Simon, grinned. He looked across the room at the clock then to the side down at Angus. “Oh dear, the time flies… I do hope you haven’t been waiting too long for mister Mendelson here.”

While standing up from the chair Angus looked between the two men and shook his head.

Simon smiled widely, “Splendid, I do hope you have a brilliant day.” He held out a hand amiably which Angus accepted. 

Angus's voice lilted in confusion, “Thank you.” He found that Simon’s hand was slightly chilly, as if a breeze scurried up his forearm.

“Simon…” Richard pointed, annoyed.

“Alright, alright I’ll be off.” Simon conceded, donning a top hat. He turned to Angus and winked. The tap of his cane against the floor echoed as he left through the doors.

“Come on in,” Richard beckoned, ushering Angus into his office.

The office was lit warmly with an orange glow from the few lamps in the corners in addition to the one illuminated on the central desk.

Richard sat in the leather chair and motioned for Angus to take the opposite one.

“Now I trust the missive informed you enough for the nature of the work that we do here.” Richard steepled his hands as he rested them on his desk.

“Of course, the transcription of oral testimony for collection and preservation is paramount for safeguarding the availability of information through time.” Angus replied.

“Correct, though it's customary that I must ask… what are you afraid of?” Richard leaned closer.

“I beg your pardon?” Angus cocked his head to a tilt, a chill rushed up his spine. “Why should that matter?”

“Because the subject matter we collect are of sensitive matters.” The corner of Richard’s lip drew up imperceptibly.

The back of Angus’s throat dried up, he stifled a cough. “Sensitive how?”

“Do you not know what it is we hold here?” Richard tilted his head quizzically.

Shaking his head, Angus spoke, “Folk stories, old maids tales..”

“Not quite.”

“Then what?” Angus demanded.

“Mr. Stacey…” Richard began.

----

For a drawn out moment Angus recalled sitting in his professor’s office, a quizzical look on his senior’s face.

“Mr. Stacy, surely you were informed about the selected presentation?” Spoke the professor.

“I believed it to be the one regarding the transcription process…” the pitch of his voice rose with a tinge of nervousness.

“Believed or knew?” The professor’s eyebrows raised as he cocked his head in interest.

“W-well… Tobias and the others told me…” Angus stammered.

“Let it not be the words of others that dictate what your studies should ought to be.” His old eyes narrowed, while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, professor.” Angus bowed, crestfallen.

“You’re a bright lad, see that you don’t lose focus.” He tapped his temple.

“Yes, sir.”

“Unfortunately I must remove marks for the incorrect assignment, Mr. Stacey.”

----

“Mr. Stacey? ” Angus heard gently in the recesses of his mind as his attention snapped back to the present.

“Mr. Stacey…” Richard’s eyes focused as he repeated. “Are you quite alright?”

“Eh, hem. Yes sir.” Angus repeated hastily, composing himself amidst the conclusion of his daze. He struggled to recall what Richard had been asking him about, failing that, he opted to nod agreeably; a weak smile crossed his face.

“I trust that you have the requisite experience for the tasks I’ve outlined.” The corner of Richard’s lip twitched upward in a slight smirk.

Tiny rivulets of moisture pooled down the back of his suit. Angus nodded again with more vigour.

“Good.” Richard grinned. “Then I shall return to my earlier query, what are you afraid of?”

----

Echoing from another recess of his mind. An earlier memory floated up from childhood. A candle lit dormitory with several boys reclining in their bunks.

“Go on, Angus, tell us what you're afraid of…” Tobias’s eyes lit up with keen interest, wrapping his bed covers around himself like a nest. “We’ve all shared ours…” Tobias’s grin twisted stretched a bit too far across his chin, as he leaned closer.

Hackles pricked up his spine, Angus leant away reflexively. ‘Why must he always stare at me like that?', the question resonated through his thoughts. Angus glanced off to the side of Tobias’s face, to avert his returning eye contact. He struggled to confront his peer’s question. ‘I can’t really tell him the truth… Can I? No.’

“Well… I…” the youth swallowed down his nerves as he spoke up. Finally meeting Tobias’s penetrating gaze he exhaled heavily and weakly supplied, “… clowns.”

“Oh really, what makes them so scary?”

“I don’t like their make up… can’t trust them because they’re hiding themselves.”

“Well, well, well.” Tobias smirked. “Fascinating that is.” The memory faded back into the corner of his mind.

----

“Well…” Angus hesitated, “it’s clowns.” 

Angus momentarily thought he saw Richard shift in his chair, leaning imperceptibly forward.

“What a rather strange thing to be afraid of.” Richard remarked and waived his hand dismissively, “but it’s not out of the ordinary.” Richard pressed his lips together in a small curt smile. “A rather pragmatic choice .” Richard stressed the final word, laden with weight, but Angus detected unexpected approval in Richard’s tone which unnerved him even more.

“Thank you?” Angus replied unsure if it was Richard’s desired response.

Richard coughed as he covered up a snort. “I do believe that brings our interview to a close.” Richard spoke, extending his hand out.

Angus, with trepidation, placed his hand in Richard’s and the pair shook.

“You’ll be informed if you’ve been selected for the position.” Richard replied with a broader smile.

Angus stood nervously and was ushered to the door by Richard. Richard’s hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Be seeing you.”

Angus stepped out the office door, crumpled invitation in hand. Parchment soaked in moisture.

I wanted to draw something, and have a fic to go with it!

[thekingofthenameless]

i saw your DILFFFFFF merlin (i believe that was his name yes? long dreads, dark skin, absolute dilf?) and i want to know everything now literally everything. specifically a compilation of all your favourite quotes from him pls and thank you :)))

Thanks for the question @thecomfywriter! :D

My current description of him (in a nutshell). Black trans aroace icon. Would probably look good in anything and has endless drip in his regular outfit. A highly empathetic, dignified, mellow, and smart person who struggles with schizophrenia, psychosis (as a result of his schizophrenia), anxiety, C-PTSD, and misophonia, but is still kind because he doesn’t want others to suffer what he’s been through. Secretly the God of Magic walking among mortals. Raised a literal dragon.

He’s so cool and pretty <3

Telling you everything would take a while, and might also contain a more than few spoilers (and I'm also hosting a Q&A currently which would ruin the purpose lol), but here's my Ao3! I have nine chapters of oneshots at the moment, and more to come. :D And of course, you're free to participate in the Q&A!

Here are a few of my favorite Merlin quotes from my published oneshots (in the chronological order they take place, not in the chronological order I wrote them lol). I probably have more, both from the published writing, and from unpublished writing I actually like sitting around, but... I'll be honest; I can't be bothered to look for it at the moment lol.

“Sorry,” his savior answered, not sounding sorry at all.

“Charlemagne?” Ganieda repeated incredulously. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather have me name him Scorch?” Merlin shot back.

“Maybe I should have introduced you to them,” Merlin idly mused while using the potion. “But I for all I know, Ganieda would have found that even stranger… she’s my younger sister, by the way. Two years younger, in fact, even if she is an adult and married, because for some reason, I age extremely slowly. Every five years is one year of aging. I wonder if you age slowly too?” Merlin wondered, and how did Merlin keep guessing and end up being right? Maybe it was luck, and if so, then maybe things would be better than they ever were with [Charlie's] parents. He'd be lucky enough to stay, he'd be lucky enough to grow up... Merlin kept talking, obviously not knowing his thoughts. “The woman you hadn’t met is Vivian, and she and Ganieda are married. Or you’d probably say they’re mates, now that I think about it. Either way, it’s completely disgusting, as I said. Everyone keeps saying ‘Oh, you’ll be next, Merlin, and you won’t find it disgusting when you find that special someone!’ No, fuck that.” The sudden outburst of language made him want to burst out laughing, but all he could manage was a little rumble. “Seriously, I don’t understand it! ‘You’ll understand when you’re older, Merlin,’- I’m sixty-five, so I’m not sure when I’ll understand. But who knows? Maybe now that I have you, they’ll stop teasing me about it. I can hope, at least.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re all right,” he whispers even though the dragon shows no signs of waking.

“Um- yes,” Merlin replies after a moment of them all just staring at each other. Then he turns back to the dragon, murmuring, “Shh. Are you hurt?”

“I know. I know. It’s all right,” Merlin replies, pressing relieved kisses into the parts of his head not covered in blood. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“[Charlie’s] not a pet,” Merlin snaps immediately, eyes shining brightly even behind his glasses, and the sudden change in mood is enough to put her hands up in surrender.

Taglist: @gaylightisminetocommand, @the-arson-author-gamer, @honeyxmonkey, @danhengsbestie

[soft-for-them]

I don't know a thing about love - Daryl Dixon x plus size non-binary reader

Summary: A Daryl x plus size non-binary reader based off the song 'I don't know a thing about love' by the White Buffalo.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: This is both a non-binary reader and a plus size reader, so cis people this isn't for you. The reader has been left vague because this is a short fic and not all plus size non-binary people are afab (really, it's real problem with authors, non-binary people aren't women!) This is coming from your very own non-binary/queer op. 👍

Everyone knows that you and Daryl Dixon are partners but everyone also knows that your relationship, or lack thereof, is complicated.

It’s clear you love each other, Rick or Carl could tell you (with various amounts of excitement) about the first time the two of you met, how Daryl’s eye widened, how you smiled like you had be given the sun and moon.

From the very start of joining Rick’s group you had it hard. Having to explain to people that you’re non-binary and not a man or woman was hard, both for yourself because you were coming out again to complete strangers and for them for most of the group aren’t queer.

Carl got it straight away, he happily used your preferred pronouns and asked you many questions most of which weren’t about being trans but where about random this like comic books and how your survived.

Rick, Carol, Glenn and Maggie learnt quickly too whilst the rest took their time getting used to someone so different to their heteronormative life.

Maybe it was because living people are hard to come by, maybe it’s because most of the bigots of the group had met their grizzly end but somehow you feel safer with Rick’s little rag tag group of survivors then the people you house shared with before the apocalypse arose.

Then there’s Daryl.

Now don’t get me wrong, the first few weeks of you joining Rick’s crew he didn’t talk to you, he just stared at you. He was raised by bigoted people and he was trying to be better, before the end of times even began he was trying to be better. He wasn’t racist or homophobic like his dad or brother nor did he go out his way to antagonise anyone (for he isn’t Merle after all) but still he was learning.

He was drawn to you, it made him panic just a bit but he has long realised that he isn’t so straight, that he identifies with both Bisexual, Pansexual and Queer, that he didn’t need a label for one he loves you and two who fucking cares.

But still it took a long time to come to terms with, thankfully you were there with him to help.

He remembers one day when you still were new and everyone was still stuck in the prison out the blue he asked about your jacket, an oversized black denim jacket sparsely covered in handmade patches.

You told him about the small amount of patches that you had; a non-binary flag on the breast pocket, an anti-Nazi patch on your arm, two ridged band patches that really should have been ironed on instead of sew on dotted around, tin badges decorating the collar like a jewelled necklace.

Over the years the jacket has evolved like he has, both have become more outward and full of love.

Daryl still cracks a smile at the back patch adorning your jacket made out of an old t-shirt of Carl’s that depicted a superhero dog.

You and Daryl talk, sleep close, sneak kisses when people aren’t looking, go hunting together, laugh at each other’s silly jokes. You’re out going and talkative whilst he stands back quiet and stoic his eyes always filled with love for you. You share clothes like it’s nothing, he loves holding you close at night the feeling of your plush body against his better than any bed or pillow, he knows you in and out, as do you for him.

But somehow still the two of you have never breached the subject of how much you love each other, you’ve neither had the conversation trying to figure out what to call one another.

Well not until today.

Sitting idly on the front porch of a nice enough house in Alexandria you work away under the watchful eye of your lover.

It was no surprise that you and Daryl were put together in the same home, neither is it a surprise that you both sit so close as the sky starts to turn orange, the sun slowly setting and the moon rising into the sky.

Knees touching, you carefully try to stick on a new patch onto your jacket next to one of many pride flags you’ve acclimated over the years.

Daryl leans over watching you quietly sew wonky stitches, his face almost pressed to the side of your round cheek.

“You know what Daryl?” you whisper, eyes flickering up to look up at him.

He just hums out a yes.

“When I first met you I didn’t know anything about love, I don’t think I fully know a thing about love now but with you I- I well-“ you face goes warm, your fingers stop sewing as he looks up at you with sparkling eyes, “-I think I’m learning because of you.”

He just stares at you for a moment, shock and what you assume is love morphing his face into a sweet smile.

That moment disappears as he leans down and kisses you, his chapped lips gentle on yours, your hands dropping your handiwork on your lap to hold his face in place.

You pull away first but still hold onto him with pin pricked hands, eye still connected staring like a fool at him, happiness flooding through your bodies.

“For years I was told I’d never find love because of who I am-“ you begin again still in a whisper, the thoughts of the long dead people who said such cruel things being pushed away by the many memories of your and Daryl.

You push a piece of his long brown hair back from his face, you smile growing big and proud.

“- but I had been looking for love below and above despite all the dead roaming around and then there you were.”

He lets out a small chuckle, one that isn’t filled with malice like old lovers did but one filled with a joy you’ve only seen for yourself.

“Do you?” he asks covering your wondering hands with his, “Because I do, I love you.”

“So many eyes in the world are searching for love and somehow I find you, of course I love you Daryl.”

The two of you laugh together as you kiss again, the set of wings you were stitching onto your jacket fully discarded as the kiss deepens.

[cardiagf]

Makoto is Makoto

I don't really like engaging into cis or trans character debates especially when it's characters who are gnc/androgynous bc a lot of people especially in twt gets worked up ab these said characters are read as trans, which is completely harmless btw, it just rubs me the wrong way when some people are too insistent about a character being cis

and so I want to talk about makoto and how he is not cis, but is nb/transfem in more ways than just him being a femboy/crossdresser.

Disclaimer: I will be using he/she/they pronouns for makoto in this post just bc i think makoto will be cool with that

and for the record, i finished reading the main series but i have not read the middle school specials, yet.

im also someone who really likes otokonoko and onee characters so yes i am aware of the cultural nuances but this would be just me speaking a queer nb person who loves this series and how i perceive makoto as one

also spoiler warning!

first and foremost, I want to say that gender identity, gender expression and sexuality are all wholly fluid, it's a big spectrum that only you, yourself can figure out. And i think as queer people we're allowed to relate, reflect and see ourselves into the experience and struggles of a fictional character.

while i also don't mind it too much if we think ab how makoto dresses is just her gender expression and that even a cis guy should be able to be feminine and like feminine stuffs with without them being trans / or yk anyone can be gnc but i think as someone who went from being gnc to trans/nb pipeline, it is incredibly hard to not draw a line within queerness or being lgbt with makoto's OWN identity and queerness.

I mean makoto literally uses the "Atashi" 'I' pronoun for themself in which is, by the way, a jp 'I' prn most commonly used by girls when they're dressed as girl while she uses "Boku" when she's not crossdressing

(not to mention both saki and ryuji usually refers to makoto with gender neutral pronouns/referral, with saki always calling him "senpai" and ryuji just having the default gender neutral "Aitsu" pronoun for everyone)

and yeah i know it's also because he's an "otokonoko" but in retrospect, when we read further into the manga we learned that by high school, makoto had transferred to a school that lets them dress however she wants and had been living in said school for ALMOST A YEAR (until he was outed) and he clearly doesn't mind being perceived as a girl.

in fact, as shown in early chapters makoto was so happy when someone made a pass at her because that stranger thought they were a girl and he was so happy when he passed AS a girl.

him being an otokonoko or crossdressing only becomes a problem for them when other people are involved, i.e. when someone confesses to him or when she gets close enough with others, as I believe he sees it as a form of deception/don't want to disappoint them.

either way makoto is makoto, yes this is also a form of expression but i think it's also more of an identity, she doesn't have be locked down by the gender binary

not to mention how makoto hides his true identity to his mom is just something a lot of queer, and especially trans people can really relate to. she literally has to lock a huge part of herself inside a locker when they have to go home bc they cannot be themself in said home, it can clearly be read as someone who is closeted

now onto the spoilers regarding this, makoto coming out properly to his family and most specifically his mom really encapsulated the nb feeling really well

and yes i know she states that "he's a guy who happens to like girly things" (just give him a few years /j) but the point still stands: makoto is makoto. they don't want to live neither as a boy or just a girl. it didn't have to be "one or the other," they chose to be themself and this scene really spoke to me as someone who is nonbinary and how i didn't want to perceive as just my agab...i just want to be myself and i want to be true to myself and that was makoto's answer as well.

i honestly don't want to engage in the debate regarding makoto's gender/gender expression and yes it's canon that he's cis but his own experience and the queer experience especially at her age are just very much parallel to each other.

i know a lot of other trans people will be able to see themselves in makoto and I just don't like how people fight ab androgynous/otokonoko characters being cis only when queer readings regarding these character are completely valid and came from a place that reflects on their own experiences, we can't just lock the fluidity of gender identity of someone in one place, much less for a fictional character. they're queer, they're trans in some way and that is completely okay.

[steddie-island]

20 Questions for writers

I was tagged by @runninriot over 2 months ago Thank you friend 😘🥰

I've done one before but I like answering these types of questions so I'm doing it again.

No pressure tagging @wynnyfryd @stervrucht @wormdebut @mugloversonly @augustjustice

Pressure tagging @v3llichor who saw this over my shoulder and said "I wanna fill one out!" 😂😘😘

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37, all but 1 of which were posted between October of last year and now. Which I'm really proud of. 🥹 The only other fic I'd written and posted was for Frasier back in 2020.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

63,421!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I write Stranger Things mostly, but I've written Good Omens, Frasier, and Destiel (I haven't written for them in a loooong time though.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Just Because We Get Around (Part 1 of my Fuck his dad series. Steve is Dustin's dad, Eddie is Dustin's college friend, they fuck nasty and then there are feelings. It's silly and cheesy and I still love it even if I think about renaming it at least once a week. 😂)

Mutually Beneficial (Written for this art by @2jihiir0 😌 There may be a part 2 coming if I can ever get Inspired to work on it again WE'LL SEE!)

With Extra Nuts (Eddie sees Steve in his Scoops uniform, they fuck nasty in the back room about it.)

Dustin's Dad (Has Got Me Down Bad (Part 2 of Fuck his dad, wherein Dustin finds out. 😌)

Vixen (Steve wears lingerie to a Christmas party. He and Eddie fuck nasty about it when they get home. There's a pattern here. 😂)

5. Do you respond to comments?

It definitely takes me some time sometimes but I try to! Even the ones that are just like, hearts or a laugh emoji. They took their time to not only read my fic but to leave a comment and I want them to know that I appreciate it. 🥹

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I had an answer here but I had completely forgotten about A rush kinda like the old times (I still cross your mind). It's Stommy, with Tommy reaching out to (fem) Steve after he gets engaged. There's lots of reminiscing but it's bittersweet because Tommy's clearly not happy, and Stevie isn't going to give him what he wants.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a transfem Steve series (Wallpaper, Long Haul, Candles) that gave me so much joy to write. I don't really write unhappy endings (IDK maybe that'll change but I kind of doubt it. to quote T Swift, "I'm just too soft for all of it.") but these three just. I'm really proud of them. Part one is Stevie coming out to Robin, part 2 is Eddie, and then part 3 is Stevie getting dicked down a happy ending to her birthday. I was nervous to write these, because I'm not trans. None of it is from Stevie's POV, it's from the POV of the people who love her. And that's what I wanted to show. A beautiful trans woman who had been through so much hell before life decided to throw gender stuff at her, getting to come out, getting to be herself, and getting so much love and support from the people around her. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no (knock on wood)!

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

All kinds? We have monster fucking and some good ol' sapphic steddie semi-hate fucking and some Steve playing Billy Loomis (with the softest fucking aftercare in the world, tbh). 15 of the fics I've posted are explicit (it feels like there should be more but I think that just means they're all in WIP purgatory, who knows when/ if they'll see the light of day).

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have one I've been working on for months that's a Marmalade/ Baron x Eddie fic but I also haven't touched it in months. 😅

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of (knock on wood again).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so but that'd be cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not one that's been posted yet but I actually have two written with my spouse that we're going to upload eventually!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I love Steddie, I've found so much community here, but I would be remiss to not acknowledge the fact that Destiel had such a strong hold on me for years. I've made so many friends because of it, I literally met my spouse writing it.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I honestly don't know. I'm intending on finishing the ones I have started but my WIP folder is kind of daunting so. Who knows?

16. What are your writing strengths?

Even though I don't write it often I think my angst is pretty good. I've also been told that I make things feel very alive, and that's something I try hard to do, too (and am glad that I can do, I've only been writing for over half of my life even if I'm only just now posting it! 😅)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. I struggle SO HARD with action scenes. It's something I'm working on, something I've been working on for a while, but I feel like my pacing is way off and needs a lot of work.

I also can't write slow burn to save my fucking life. I just want them to get to smoochin' already!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I would do it but I would want to be so careful and not have a scenario where I translate it as one thing and someone comes along and says "she said he smells like dirty socks and liver" or something. 😂

19. First fandom you wrote for?

That I posted, Frasier. First fandom that I started writing for in general was Spn!

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This is the same answer I gave last time but I think it has to be Don't go where I can't follow, which was I think my 2nd Steddie fic? It's under 1,000 words but it's the one I've reread the most. There's lots of hurt/comfort packed into those 990 words. It was written as a kinktober prompt, written in an hour and posted in the middle of the night and IDK. I just really love it.

[lab-trash]

hi!! aplogies if this is pushing but i really really really love your michie fic titled “H̶e̶r̶” and i was wondering if you’re planning on updating it at some point?? no pressure i just love the premise a lot and i am HOOKED

[also i really hope i have the right blog lol]

Okay, so first off. Right blog? Yes and no? I am the person who wrote Her, but this is more of my... sci-fi, supernatural blog? Which I suppose NPMD could key into, but it's much more sitcoms and movies. (Also just my personal rants, vents and other bullshit)

That being said, I've gotten a confused person looking for my musical theatre blog enough times that I definitely should create a pinned post including my other blogs.

My musical theatre blog, for future reference, is @im-not-a-l0ser . Very fitting if you ask me ^-^

Anyway! About your question! I do plan on updating it at some point, I just don't know when that point will be. Something that keeps me on top of my stories is writing chapters in advance so I don't get burnout. Example, I'm writing Beanies right now and there are nine chapters posted. Chapter 10 is complete, but I haven't yet finished chapter 11, so I'm not posting Chapter 10, and Chapter 11 won't be out until Chapter 12 is complete. (This also allows me to double-post chapters when I'm finishing a book, although this has not actually happened yet.)

I did not start doing this until after starting Her. I'm stuck with Her, because I don't know what direction I'm going into, and I don't know where to start. Also doesn't help that my parents were never formally divorced (they have 6 kids and had been married for over 20 years by the time they separated; can't blame them) so I really don't know anything about the process. I know it's long and gruelling and stuff, but I don't know how quickly I'd be able to just gloss over it. But I suppose maybe Gary Goldstein (Attorney At Law) is a good enough lawyer to get it wrapped up real quick lol.

I understand that Her is more of an angst and trans-comfort gold mine, but feel free to take a peak into my other books, which are updated slightly more frequently, such as Beanies or Zeek: The Fighting Nighthawk. Beanies is more building friendship secretly between them, while Zeek: The Fighting Nighthawk has them becoming friends with one under false identity (obviously, that's Zeek.) Beanies does also include the same character being trans, but it's not a major plot/talking point (yet). I really appreciate the support, I'm just going to be very busy between planning for pride and writing for Beanies (I have a trio of chapters coming out that I want to get out of the way before I pick up something else; I don't want burnt out on this before I even finish the pride event stories.)

If you want something of mine that's complete, I have a handful of one-shots, such as Dance with Death (spoilers for Workin' Boys and Abstinence Camp), Max Jagerman's Socks, r/TrueOffMyChest (you can actually find some backstory for that on my blog under an ask @/24-guy sent in), and Max Jagerman's Private Story.

I also have an ongoing porn saga but we're not gonna talk about that right now

Hi! If you follow me for LREF, Stranger Things, It, etc. and you for some reason read this whole thing. You should totally go watch the Hatchetfield musicals! If you like musicals (some people don't lmao)

If you're interested, they have a rich lore, many meta-jokes, and a currently active fandom which you might enjoy (looking at you LREF fandom. That is to say, like six people.)

If you are interested, it's The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals, Black Friday, and Nerdy Prudes Must Die. They're all free on YouTube, recorded by the creators and they're all absolutely fantastic IMO. Watch them in that order though! If you don't, you'll be really confused! This is a trilogy (kinda), the world is the same (kinda), the previous shows give context for world building and jokes.

If you do watch them, please please come talk to me about it over on @im-not-a-l0ser . I do highly recommend blocking the tags though before you've finished them. Spoilers can happen really easily, and when it comes to Hatchetfield, something that might seem small or insignificant (or maybe just extremely confusing) probably means something pretty big overall.

(Ps, there's also a 'mini series' called Nightmare Time. It definitely gives some context and it expands upon Hatchetfield as a whole, but it's not technically necessary to watch. I'm not gonna force anyone to watch it, just because there's so goddamn much of it.)

[uncle-fruity]

There are so many things about the accepted stereotype of transmasc experiences that do not line up even a little with my particular transmasc experience. I have been told that misogyny doesn't affect me. I have been told by other people that I want to oppress trans women. I have been told that I transitioned to avoid oppression (ha!!!!). I have been told that I want to perpetuate toxic masculinity because it will put me in a better position or because trans men all think toxic masculinity will help them pass better. I have been told that no one actually cares that I'm a trans guy, but I don't think anyone talked to my mom about that before saying so.

In reality? My body is still legally regulated as if it was a woman's body -- I still live in a state that restricts abortion and which constantly argues about my autonomy when it comes to doing what is good & right for my body & my life. I am constantly being scrutinized and judged by society at large for doing what I want with my body and my life. And quite honestly, when people talk over my experiences and my pain, it's hard to tell the difference between someone making assumptions because they want me to fit into their neat little "what makes a man in theory" box and regular ol' "you don't know what you're talking about, you stupid little girl" flavored misogyny.

In reality? The only people who have ever accused me of wanting to oppress trans women are complete internet strangers. Not the trans woman who inspired me to learn about my own transness way back when. Not the trans woman I have picked up from the hospital multiple times after she had a bad mental health episode. Not the trans women who happily greet me at the queer holiday potluck that we all came out for. Not the trans women who come to the queer art group I help organize. If any of THOSE trans women started to call me out on problematic behavior, it would be more cause for concern. But interestingly enough, me and my transfemme/trans women homies are all cool asf right now. Not to mention that anyone who knows me for more than one (1) day knows that what I WANT is for everyone to do art, be housed, get fed, and act kindly to the people around them. I have never wanted to oppress anyone because I have no interest in that kind of power or dehumanization of others. And I certainly don't think you should be subjugated based on your gender, because I have always found that shit illogical and cruel ever since I first learned about gender roles.

In WHAT reality is any trans person ever going to experience less oppression than if they were cis? Are you fucking kidding me with this one? Do you think I'm trying to become a doctor or soldier in the 1800s or something? 100% fuck anyone who believes trans men transition to avoid oppression holy shit.

In reality? All my life I have looked up to kind, gentle, soft men who treat the people around them with respect and care, and who are in touch with and confident in their emotions. I reject toxic masculinity, and I reject the hardness that society and the patriarchy try to push onto men at every turn. Some of y'all do not realize how objectifying it feels to be treated like your worth is only as good as your ability to be good at sex, your ability to do hard labor, and your willingness to die as a Protector of Others. To imply that becoming hard is something desirable for the fleeting privilege of passing is mind-boggling to me. I have intimately known cis men who are up to their ears in toxic masculinity because they feel like they have something to prove, and I genuinely can't see it as a benefit for them or for trans people of any sort. Toxic masculinity is a curse; how dare you tell me that I believe it to be the only way I know how to access manhood?? (Again, that pattern of OTHER people telling me what I know, think, or believe. OTHER people telling me what my goals are. OTHER people defining my masculinity while willfully ignoring my personal definition.)

In reality? There are a lot of people who care that I transitioned into a guy. As mentioned, my mom -- who I no longer talk to because she's a MAGA style racist & a real patriarchy-loving child abuser -- refused to accept my transition. (Not that I gave her much of a chance because that other stuff that I mentioned is why I chose to cut her out of my life.) I've dealt with other women acting like I'm a gender traitor when they find out I'm trans. There was a whole book about the """irreversible damage""" I and my fellow trans men are doing to our bodies. And more than just my experiences, all you have to do is listen to one of the many accounts of trans men being forcibly married and made pregnant to keep them from transitioning. Like, yeah. People absolutely give a fuck when trans men attempt to transition. Me included. I have had some real vile shit said to and about me & my body because I'm transmasc.

All that to say, stereotypes will always be reductive. If you think trans men only go through one uniform experience, then you are terribly misguided. If you can read all that and think, "Yeah, but he's probably lying for internet clout" or "he doesn't go through real transphobia" or "he doesn't understand sexism" or "he wants to be oppressed so bad" then I invite you to examine your biases or at least fuck all the way out of my life, because you're no ally of mine, and I don't need hateful, cynical people like you in my life.

If you read all that and thought, "huh, that guy probably understands his own life experiences better than I do, so it's worth listening to what he has to say in case it helps me interact with other trans people in the future" then congratulations! You are using your critical thinking skills, and I am giving you two major thumbs up and nodding my head enthusiastically and inviting you to show off all your cool art projects to me.

it kills me how much people love to speculate on the trans male experience. transphobes and even other trans people will conjure up ideas of what it must be like for us to live, how hormones affect us, and especially what society treats us like. they love to tell us how we live our lives; strawman after strawman about fictional trans men who started hormones and became "evil and ugly", completely fabricated stories about about how every trans man they know suddenly "gained male privilege" and never deal with misogyny or transandrophobia.

people who tell you how your transmasculine experience will go have no idea what they are talking about. even if they sound confident, they are not correct- each and every transmasculine person has a different experience in life- we do not automatically gain the societal privilege of cishet white men once we decide to socially transition. they cannot see what your future holds. you don't deserve to have someone telling you how you will experience your own life, it is yours, you are allowed to live your truth, pave your own way and prove that we have varied lives that transcend what transphobes think the trans male experience is.

[nightcoremoon]

foot fetishists can be weirdos but not always.

so if you like feet, that’s cool. whatever. you have a kink. you have a fetish for a particular body part. that’s fine! it’s totally normal. the moment it stops being okay is when you start begging for feet pics or harassing people over it or creeping on random strangers in flip flops out in public or forcing other people to see your foot porn.

same with any other body part. armpits. shoulders. legs. fingers. tummy. thighs. hands. genitals. nipples. tits. ass. whatever. if you’re sexually attracted to any body part in particular, you have a VALID HEALTHY SEXUAL FETISH.

you really like penises, you fantasize about having them in your mouth or ass or vagina or rubbing on your own, holding them in your hands, that’s fine! you’re totally ok. you really like vaginas, you fantasize about putting your own body parts on in or near them, that’s cool too! you like both, the more the merrier! you like neither, I mean you’re probably asexual in which case you’re valid too. but nobody is going to tell you that you’re a bad person for only being attracted to one or the other, because it would be foolish at best and a passage to bigotry at worst. you can have kinks for body parts, it’s fine.

but your kinks don’t determine your sexuality.

if you like feet, it doesn’t say if you’re straight gay bi or whatever. if you ONLY like the feet of men, then you’re only into men and have a kink towards them. if you ONLY like the armpits of women, then you’re only into women and have a kink towards them. if you ONLY like vagina but you’re into cis women and trans men, congrats! you have a vagina fetish. which, again, is fine. but you’re pan. which is bi. cis men who’d fuck trans men, you’re queer. cis women who wouldn’t fuck pre-op trans women, you have a vagina fetish. which is fine. but you’re not straight if you’d have gay sex, you’re not necessarily a lesbian just because you have a vagina fetish, and kinky aces are still aces because that’s how they identify. if an asexual has a fetish it isn’t that they’re lying about being asexual. it’s because they delineate between fetishes & sexuality. because there is a difference.

I like men, women, and people who are both or neither. I am capable of experiencing sexual attraction to people of any and every gender identity. I am functionally pan. I legit identify as bisexual because I like the colors more, that’s the only reason. in fact I came out as pan a little over a decade ago (when coming out was a lot more of a thing than it is now), and slowly quietly shifted it to bi. I also have a handful of kinks and fetishes I won’t get too far into detail about here, but there are body parts that I am attracted to more so than other parts (that are not genitals, chest, or ass). some are dependent on gender, some are not. so I get it. I get it completely and 100%.

but just because you won’t fuck someone doesn’t justify treating them like hot garbage. if anything you should go out of your way to befriend them and understand them and shit like that. but It’s too bad transphobes are cunts.

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[curoopeez]

My review because I'm feeling chatty:

Sabrina is a boring protagonist. She is flawed, that much the writers got it right, but more often than not she isn't punished by the narrative for the bad things she does, and it doesn't help how much of her actions were manipulated by Lilith or the dark lord for half of the show

Theo is great, I was very pleasantly surprised to have a trans character in the show, but it seems like the plotline of him being able to talk to ghosts was completely forgotten, and it seemed like the writers were struggling to figure out what to do with him after he transitioned (which, by the way, we don't really see that? In one episode he struggles with the idea of maybe using magic to transition because he wouldn't be able otherwise, but then it's never brought up again, he was just transitioned)

The show's relationship with death is probably the worst of it. First they establish that it's extremely hard to kill witches, and that Hilda is often murdered and comes back. Then it was actually the ground of their graveyard that could ressurect witches. They it's established that mortals can also be ressutected with a spell. Then they don't use the graveyard even when witches like the anti-pope died. In conclusion, the show had to constantly retcon how high or low the stakes are for dying. Also I'm pretty sure a named character died and came back to life between seasons, like they just forgot it happened.

The romance disgusts me. The only interesting relationships they made was Hilda and dr. Cerberus and Ambrose with Luke. Every main romantic lead for the main character had the charisma of a brick, and it felt like the show just wanted to throw hot guys in and hope shipping wars would brew.

Speaking of Hilda, she is the best character by a long shot. She is a calm and kind houseowner who doesn't like confrontation or taking responsabilities but would gladly commit the most brutal murder the second she has plausable justification. I have nothing against her, she was the best thing the show brought.

There is the issue of how the show approached feminism. Of course, having a story about witches with a female lead, it was the right thing to make powerful women and they did. Especially with Hilda. She is both sweet and maternal and powerful on the show. I cannot stress this enough, seeing a character who is both very feminine and very strong is my favorite thing in this. That being said, there were moments every now and then when someone would say "let's not do this. Men do this. We are better than men, let's do this instead" and baby that's not feminism that's gender essentialism the same thing the patriarchy is build upon. Also I think women should have the right to slaughter strangers who summon them without consent. If they didn't want those witches to do that the writers shouldn't have suggested it in the first place.

Also the third season really fucked up with how they did the pagan witches. Having the villains introduced saying, and I quote: "we were here first" is not a good look. Especially if the "happy ending" is the heroes brutally murdering them as they try to run away. Sure, they were established to be evil, but the main characters also were established to be fine with unprovoked murder and cannibalism to please their god, it's less a matter of who's good and more of who's framed as good.

Overall, I think it's mildly entertaining in the first two seasons. Third season I really wouldn't watch because of the parallels between pagans and colonies and the fourth season is not interesting enough on it's own to just skip to.

Finished watching chilling adventures of sabrina. Bad ending, but not too much worse than the show overall. Weird way to end it, but at least it ended

[yellowocaballero]

Star Wars Roleswap AU: Cody accidentally enlists a terrorist as a babysitter, Obi-Wan Chooses Violence, and Din Gets Baby Fever

EXTREMELY unexpected Mandalorian crossover!!!!!

The kid squinted, obviously trying to place him. Something in his eyes glimmered strangely in the yellow light, but in the next second it was gone. “That’s pure beskar.”

How could he tell just by looking at it? Maybe he was just surprised to see something that wasn’t awful plasteel. “Yep.”

“...are you even a trooper?”

Din went back to his book. “Never said I was.”

Slowly, voice rising with complete and unhinged teenage glee, the kid said, “Did Marshal Commander Cody of the 212th battalion leave his only padawan with a complete stranger in the middle of an active war zone?”

Din shrugged. That depended on what a padawan was, probably.

The kid raised his hand and looked towards the bar, where the bartender was cautiously emerging. “Check, please!”

My friend @bobafett got really into the Mandalorian, so this is a gift for her! Because this is my house, it’s my dumb roleswap thing that I said I wouldn’t write any more of. 

Yes, it is baby Obi-Wan during the early Clone Wars. Yes, he’s hanging out with regular adult Din Djarin. Who is Din roleswapped with? Use your imagination. He lost his parents in *flips through notecards* the turtle wars. Horrific. It’s EXTREMELY fun to see who he is when he actually knows what the fuck is happening, though. 

Rest under the cut. CW for descriptions of gore and corpses.

The bartender was staring at him again.

Din stared back. He normally won staring contests, although he always cheated. He got into a lot of staring contests with bartenders. He had the feeling they didn’t really like him. It might have something to do with how he never bought anything. The really adventurous ones kicked him out over it, but the really adventurous ones offered him a drink to go. Din didn’t drink, but he appreciated the thought.

But the bartender was staring at more than him. He kept on looking out the windows, or quickly scanning the mostly empty cantina. The lunch rush should have come in thirty minutes ago, but it was oddly quiet. There were only a few other lushes hugging the corners of the cantina, all of them in equal states of depression. It was a little pathetic, but it might be less pathetic than hanging out in a cantina just so you can air out your ship that still smelled like swamp gas.

Something exploded outside. The walls of the cantina shook. Din looked out the grimy window. It wasn’t nearby, so it probably wasn’t his problem. 

Somebody screamed, but very faintly.

Din had gone back to his book Credo of the Way [trans. and annotated Tarre Vizsla], marking up the particularly salient passages to his life right now, when the door to the cantina burst open obnoxiously loudly. He looked up just long enough to see that it was a clone trooper, tugging a kid in by his arm. 

He had seen a lot of clone troopers on his way here. And some tanks. Din had struggled to remember if this was a seperatist planet before eventually reasoning that it could go either way. Tanks on streets were tanks on streets. Din believed in not getting involved in other people’s problems. 

The trooper was dressed very gaudy, all tacky gold hakama over cheap plasteel armor. Most of them weren’t dressed like that. He was also saying more than three phrases, which most of them didn’t do either (the three phrases were usually “this road is blocked”, “give your identification”, or “Hey, are you a Manda - I mean, give me your identification”). Unfortunately, the dimly lit cantina was dead silent, so Din heard every word no matter how hard he tried to focus on scripture.

“ - it’s blown up then obviously it’s not secured, Lieutenant. Get Ghost Squadron on suppressing the insurgent activity yesterday.” He paused a second, tugging the kid in further into the cantina. The kid was dragging his heels, extremely surly. “The General’s what?”

“The General’s what?” The kid asked loudly. The clone stopped short in front of the bar, sending the bartender scampering away. “What’s the General doing?”

But the clone trooper just said, “I’ll be there in ten. Over and out.” He looked down at the kid, keeping his grip on the kid’s arm no matter how hard he squirmed. “We’re getting you back to the ship -”

Another explosion shook the cantina, distantly coming in from the northwest. The clone trooper’s head snapped up, the cheap and ugly helmet staring faintly into the distance. He looked back down at the kid before releasing his arm, leaving the kid to rub it and scowl. The trooper raised his hand to his eyeline before abruptly dropping it. 

“Okay,” the trooper said, sounding a little stressed. The bartender had disappeared into the back, almost pointedly. “Okay. Okay.” He turned to the kid, bending down a little to meet him in the eyes. “I need to go suppress a terrorist attack and stop the General from causing an interplanetary incident. You. Stay. Here. Do not move.”

“Aw, come on,” the kid whined. “I can help, I’m really good with bombs -”

“No bombs! No bombs, Commander! You are staying here until I come back to get you. Is that clear?”

“I will escape,” the kid threatened.

The trooper made a muffled sound of frustration. He straightened and looked around the cantina before his eyes finally settled on Din - or, rather, the silhouette of Din underneath the grimy yellow light in the corner. “Hey, you! Trooper!” Din raised a hand to his chest in a ‘who, me?’ gesture. “Yes, you! What are you doing sitting around? Where’s your squadron?”

This was offensive. Real Mandalorian armor and cheap knock-off clone plasteel looked nothing alike. They would only ever look alike if you knew nothing about real Mandalorian culture, and if you happened to be sitting in a half-lit cantina. “I -”

“Never mind. You have a new assignment.” The trooper stepped forward, putting a hand on the kid’s back and pushing him forward too. “You’re in charge of the Commander. Do not let him out of your sight. Do not leave this cantina unless it’s exploding. And anything happens to him you’re down on deck duty for the rest of the war. Do you understand me?” Din stared at him. “Good.”

“I don’t need a babysitter -”

But the clone just crouched down again, putting his hands on the kid’s shoulders and squeezing. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, sir. This trooper’s going to keep an eye on you. So don’t find trouble.”

“Trouble finds me most of the time,” the kid groused, but he subtly leaned into the touch. 

The trooper straightened and pointed a finger at Din, who still didn’t know what was happening. “I’m trusting you with this.”

Din didn’t know what was going on, but he knew this. It was one of the few things he did know, or at least one of the few things he trusted in.

“I’ll protect him with my life,” Din swore solemnly, not knowing who these people were.

“Good. And stay here!”

The trooper didn’t waste any more time. He turned on his heel, turning some com in his helmet on and resuming barking out orders. Din wondered if he was important. He did have a lot of hakama. Shitty hakama, though.

The kid sighed and walked over towards Din, clambering in the booth seat across from him as if he was a factor worker returning to his favorite cantina after a long day of physical labor. He stretched his arms out on the table in that particularly wriggly kid way before finally stopping short and staring at Din. He obviously looked Din up and down - taking in the full beskar suit (won off an accidental encounter with General Grievous), the cape, and the glossy grey helmet. 

The kid squinted, obviously trying to place him. Something in his eyes glimmered strangely in the yellow light, but in the next second it was gone. “That’s pure beskar.”

How could he tell just by looking at it? Maybe he was just surprised to see something that wasn’t awful plasteel. “Yep.”

“...are you even a trooper?”

Din went back to his book. “Never said I was.”

Slowly, voice rising with complete and unhinged teenage glee, the kid said, “Did Marshal Commander Cody of the 212th battalion leave his only padawan with a complete stranger in the middle of an active war zone?”

Din shrugged. That depended on what a padawan was, probably.

The kid raised his hand and looked towards the bar, where the bartender was cautiously emerging. “Check, please!”

*****

The kid, in order, was:

Commander Obi-Wan Kenobi of the 501st, but you can just call me Obi-Wan, since we’re friends and all.

A Jedi padawan. Yes, the Jedi were the ones with the laser swords. A padawan was, like, a student? But also a military commissioned officer. No, you were both simultaneously. Yeah, this is normal, why do you ask? 

Fourteen, from a certain point of view (Din was fairly certain this meant he was thirteen).

And totally not Din’s responsibility. Nice to meet you, it’s been great, this was hilarious, Cody’s going to have a conniption, but I think I should go help blow up a building right about now. I’m a member of the army, that’s what we do. Do you blow up any buildings? Well, I’ve totally blown up more than that. It’s been fun, gotta go -

“I can’t let you do that,” Din said. The kid froze from where he had half-way wriggled out of the booth. “Your guardian asked me to take care of you.”

“I’m a Jedi,” the kid said waspishly, sliding out of the booth and straightening his robes. That explained the bizarre mix of robes and shitty armor. He had plasteel vambraces over his forearms and identical greaves over his legs. It was kind of sad. “I don’t need taking care of. Quinlan infiltrated a drug ring when he was twelve. I gotta beat that.” He glanced back at Din, expression frozen in that self-assured haughtiness just as fragile as his cheap and badly made armor. “They need my help out there. I’m not going to abandon them just because Cody keeps pretending I’m scared.”

Din weighed the pros and cons of this.

He saw Jedi on the holoscreens sometimes. Mostly in cantinas or waiting rooms, during those programs with the talking heads that were always going on about the war effort. He didn’t have holoscreens on his ship, and he disapproved of them on principle. Too worldly. But he did listen to the radio, and the radio had some choice words about Jedi.

Mandalorians also had some choice words about Jedi. Very choice. The entire sect congregated on Concordia about once a standard year for their annual meeting/festival/conference - it was the only time per year that Din had gotten to play with other children, so it was both highly memorable and usually horrifically embarrassing - and they tended to pick up Mandalorian gossip that way. Death to the Jedi and the etceteras and so on and so forth. The Armorer said it was a disgraceful focus on transient politics instead of the deeper spirit of the Way. Din agreed, but mostly so he could skip out on the boring rallies about how much they all hated the Republic and the Jedi.  

The rest of Death Watch had spent years petitioning the Children of the Watch to join their struggles against the New Mandalorians, but twenty years ago they had done the same to try and convince them to join their struggles against the True Mandalorians, and so on and so forth. They were never successful. The Children of the Watch eschewed baser politics and power mongering. Pre Vizsla usually had something to say about how politics cared about them, but Pre Vizsla creeped Din out.

   There hadn’t been a real Manda’lor since Jaster Mereel, and his son had thoroughly disgraced his name through his atheistic greed and commodification of the Way. The last time Din was on Mandalore he had to sit through some Death Watch kid lecturing him for an hour about how the Sith were the only real allies of the Mandalorians and how they really followed the same path because of their thirst for violence. He didn’t notice that Din had fallen asleep around halfway through. 

We are untouched by these worldly concerns, they agreed. Pre Viszla and his adherents may involve themselves in power struggles, but the Children of the Watch and Mandalore will persevere, they agreed. I’m excited for Hala’s special curry during the potluck, they agreed. 

So it was actually relatively unlikely that Din should involve himself in Jedi or war matters. They might technically be on opposite sides. He had landed on this planet to collect an outstanding bounty, and chances were his bounty was getting blown to smithereens as they spoke.

On the other hand...

“In that case, I’m coming with you.” Din stood up, regretfully sliding his datapad back into his belt. “Where are we heading?”

The unfortunately named kid gaped at him, even as a far-off boom crashed over the cantina. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, “why do you even care?”

Din shrugged. 

“Ugh, fine. You look like you can handle yourself in a fight anyway.” Din was the five year champion of the Children of the Watch, the hyper-militaristic splinter sect of Death Watch, known hyper-militaristic extremist faction of the Mandalorian people, known -  “Come on, we can’t waste any more time. And remember we have to avoid the military occupying this planetary system. I don’t wanna get grounded.”

The cantina was in the outskirts of town, nestled in the prairie close to the shipyard where Din had landed. Nothing but cement on one side and a long, thin road to the other, hemmed in by prairie grasses towering as high as Din’s nose. All of the booms and random explosions seemed to be coming from the city center, which was definitely looking the worse for wear. There were large craters in the road leading to the city, flecks of gravel and asphalt leaving dirt tracks through the shredded prairie grass. 

It was a beautiful planet from atmo, all creamy greens and yellows. A breadbasket of the system. The land was flat as anything, with small mountains poking out in the far distance. He had flown over huge herds of bantha as he landed, rolling their way unceasingly through an untouched frontier. The city they were in - Din had forgotten the name already, it had rhymed with Dismarck or something - was the only city that Din had seen so far, stretching far out instead of up. Judging from the clothing the people around him were wearing, it may be cold. 

Obi-Wan was crushed to find out that Din had simply walked here from the spaceport and that he didn’t have a speeder to ride into town. He only quieted when he saw one of the drunk’s run down speeders parked in the corner of the lot, staring at it for a little too long.

“No.”

“It’s perfectly legal,” Obi-Wan argued. “I’m requisitioning it for military service. Almost every planet’s military contract specifically legalizes it. As a commissioned officer of the GAR, I have full authority to requisition needed vehicles for the war effort. It’s my civic duty.”

Din stared down at him. 

Obi-Wan deflated. “Anyone ever told you that you’re difficult to argue with?”

“Strangely enough,” Din said, “most people don’t argue with me.”

 In the end, they both got their way - Din found a speeder rental at the shipyard (“Your ship lacks a certain refinement”) and Obi-Wan got to requisition it for the war effort. He assured Din that he was a top-notch driver, which seemed right, so he shrugged and got into the passenger seat. The speeder visibly tilted to the side. 

Din was planning on falling asleep, but when Obi-Wan jerked the speeder hard to the side he forced himself to sit up. He had avoided a large pile-up of scrapped droidekas cluttering a lane, cold and still. It was a little sad to look at. Din liked droids. He used to mistake them for his caretakers growing up.

Obi-Wan craned his head backwards, pressing down hard on the gas. “I think Wooley’s squadron got those guys. They always split ‘em down the middle like that.”

“Eyes on the road.” Din jolted again as Obi-Wan banked the speeder hard to the side, avoiding another crater in the road. The side of the speeder brushed the long grasses, sending pollen drifting into the speeder. “Why are there scrapped droids everywhere?”

But Obi-Wan just gave him an incredulous glance. “Did you miss the entire aerial and land battle over this planet two days ago?”

Din shrugged. “I only got in this morning.”

The kid squinted at him. “Did you miss the destroyed town?”

“I was hungry.”

“You’re so cool,” Obi-Wan said admiringly. Din shrugged, wondering if he was winning this babysitting thing. “You’re a real Mandalorian, right? Like a real real Mandalorian.”

Everybody always asked that, but maybe Obi-Wan had more reason than most. He was surrounded by knock-off Mandalorians all day. This must be a big moment in his life. “So far as any of us can truly embody the spirit of the Way,” Din said mysteriously. Obi-Wan squinted at him. “Yes. This armor is of ancestral heritage.”

“Wizard! Mandalorians place a high cultural importance on their armor and weaponry. I read that they believe it contains their souls. Is that true?”

“No. The armor is of the…” They sat in silence for a long second. Din racked his brain. Finally, he said, “I don’t know how to explain any of it in Basic.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Your Basic’s really good.” Din’s Basic was quite bad, but he had been reliably informed that his terrible vocabulary made him ‘look cool’, so he decided not to be embarrassed about it. “I know some Mandalorian, but probably not enough to help. It’s mostly curse words. And the clone pidgin, but - oh, I’m not supposed to…whoops, that droid came from nowhere!”

More and more buildings flashed by their view, squat and blocky industrial buildings switching between small outposts and hulking factories. Din had the feeling that they had been passing by dwellings for a while, but they had been so well hidden in the prairie that they were invisible. He caught glimpses of them as they passed by the destruction: much of the grass was burnt and razed, and in the charred black void he could see hints of what used to be dwellings. A glimpse into a living room here. An overturned chair there. The hidden lives of people only visible in death. 

He wondered if the GAR were going to burn it down. He’d seen militaries do that - cripple the food source of the populace to make them easier to control and starve out. The talking heads on the Republic channels never talked about the GAR doing that kind of thing. The Seperatist talking heads begged to differ, but they usually did. 

They zoomed past a bombed-out factory, a foul smell in the air lingering even as the smoke had already dissipated. Obi-Wan craned his head and looked it over, sniffing the air.

“Wow. That looks really different from the ground. I helped get it, you know.” Din grunted. Obi-Wan saw this as invitation to continue. “Yeah. They were using it as a warehouse for deactivated droids. We sneak attacked, hit ‘em before they activated, and...boom!” Obi-Wan threw his hands out, making the speeder wobble before he jammed his hands back on the wheel. “Easy win! So much as they’re ever easy, I guess. We totally got ‘em, though. Six hours of us on their schlebs and the planet’s totally defenseless now.”

So he did know the curses. “Hence the insurrectionists.”

“Hey, your Basic is pretty good.”

This kid was weird. 

The closer they got to the city center the more impassable the roads became, until finally they hit a complete block and the speeder couldn’t go any further. They both ditched it, Obi-Wan easily vaulting out as Din carefully extracted himself. The speeder visibly shook and righted itself when he left. At least it could hold him. Din couldn’t get on most commercial speeder bikes.

The city center was all tall and blocky grey buildings, identical and formless in the ruin. Obi-Wan easily stepped over piles of rubble as Din kicked through it. His helmet readout signalled an increasing quantity of ash and smoke in the air, loaded with dust and debris. 

He looked down at the kid, who was easily leaping over a giant mound of rubble. It was just a little uncanny, just on the edge of strange - how he lingered in the air a bit too long, how his highest point was a little higher than any other bouncy kid. There was something very strange about Jedi. 

Or maybe that was just the child thing. Din didn’t interact with many children, despite his complete dedication to their concept. The covert that rescued him had been a scouting and bounty hunting covert, and when they realized his skill they kept him in their group instead of sending him to some of the sedentary nursery coverts. He was grateful, obviously, but the next oldest of them had been ten years older. The first time he saw a human baby he thought it was a deformed hairless Loth cat. 

Children needed to breathe, right? “The air quality here is bad,” Din said anxiously. “Do you have a breathing mask?”

“It’s fine, it’s just dust. The masks are itchy.” Obi-Wan ruined his point by coughing. “The recycled air tastes weird.”

“You should put on a mask.”

“Little gods, I get it, you’re my babysitter,” Obi-Wan complained. “You’re worse than Cody. I mean, nobody’s worse than Cody, but -”

The kid froze, head tilted. Din froze, hand drifting to his blaster. The kid abruptly jerked around, running over to the nearest semi-stable building - what looked to be some abandoned small restaurant - and worked the door open. The frame was crumpled and twisted at a corner, but after a quick push he ripped it open.

“In, in!”

Din assumed this was a Jedi thing, and went in.

The windows were all shattered, and if there was a wall between the dining area and the kitchen then there wasn’t anymore, but the place didn’t look like it would collapse. Obi-Wan quickly pressed himself against the grey wall next to the window, and Din awkwardly hovered next to him. He silently withdrew his blaster, but Obi-Wan just quickly waved it away. 

There was a series of thumps outside the door, a series of jackboots clinking in time. The shadows of the troopers drifted over the wall, row after row of marching, and Din and Obi-Wan held their breaths as they passed by.

A two troopers lingered outside of the restaurant, and from Din’s vantage point he could see a sliver of white armor and a long blaster. Obi-Wan held a finger to his lips. 

“No activity in Sector 1,” a trooper said.

“No activity in Sector 2,” the other replied.

“What’s the report on the General’s movements?”

“Torrent’s cornered a group of the insurrectionists to Section 5.”

“The theater district?”

“I don’t freaking know, man.”

“Sorry. Do you think the theaters will be okay?”

“Seriously, Rivers?” Obi-Wan hissed. “The theaters?”

“Seriously?” the other trooper echoed, annoyed. “Who cares. Plays are overrated.”

“You’ve never even seen a play, man. They’re nice. Cultural heritage spots are important.”

“Well, it’s the General. So safe bet that no, this city will not have any theaters by tomorrow. And hopefully no insurrectionists. Happy?” An incriminating silence stretched. “Is the Commander with him?” 

“It’s a summer’s day on Hoth before the brass lets the Commander around the General and Torrent on these missions, so no. Vell said that the Marshal Commander left him with a trooper away from the action.”

“At least there’s that.”

If Din looked down, he could see an interesting series of expressions cross Obi-Wan’s face. Din was extremely bad at interpreting facial expressions, so he couldn’t quite figure out what they meant. It seemed like a strange mix between confusion and frustration. 

Frustration made sense. The troopers had taken up post right outside the restaurant, and they wouldn’t be able to leave the way they came without getting caught. Not that it mattered, but this seemed important to Obi-Wan. Maybe Din could leave and pretend that he’d been enjoying his food too much to notice the fighting. That could work. 

“The trooper call in on their status yet?”

“No. Protocol with Commander duty’s to send the all-clear every twenty minutes, right?” (“Commander duty?” Obi-wan hissed. “Twenty minutes?!”). “Try hailing him.”

Obi-Wan hastily slapped a screen on his vambrace, turning off his comm. They both listened to the comm ring on the other side of the wall. And ring. And ring.

“...not picking up.”

The troopers shifted in slight agitation. 

“Call the trooper,” the other trooper suggested.“What’s his comm code?” 

“What’s his regiment?”

The two soldiers stared at each other. A boom shook the building.

“We have to get out of here,” Obi-Wan hissed. He looked around the restaurant, eyeing the crumbling structure speculatively. “I could get through that hole in the ceiling.”

“I can’t,” Din whispered back.

“We should probably tell the Marshal Commander about this,” one of the troopers said.

“Sure,” the other trooper said, “why don’t you make the call? I’ll be right here.”

“Who’s babysitting who,” Obi-Wan said, surly. “Out the back, then. I’ll make a distraction. When you see it, go.”

Before Din could begin to ask what the distraction was - before he could helpfully suggest that the distraction include walking up to the troopers and assuring them that he was perfectly safe and that Din had not kidnapped him - Obi-Wan straightened. His expression set in a hard line of concentration, and he slowly brought a hand up. He spread his fingers out, palm facing out the destroyed window and towards the crumbly building across the street. 

Gently, yet with enormous tension, he curled his fingers inwards.

For a second, Din thought it was another explosion. But it was just the building, rumbling and shedding debris. Obi-Wan clenched his hand hard, twisting his wrist with a fierce expression, and Din watched a far corner of the building slowly slide and collapse onto the ground. 

Thick chunks of cement and rock landed on the street, shattering into pieces and cracking the pavement, and the troopers surged forward to get out of the way. If anything else happened, if strange acts of Jedi wizardly brought the building down on their heads, Din didn’t stop to see it. Obi-Wan was already running towards the back, feet so light he seemed to barely touch the ground. Din, far less mobile, was left vaulting the piles of rubble as quickly as he could, following Obi-Wan into the kitchen.

Without even pausing Obi-Wan took a few tight turns and pushed through a back door, dumping both of them in a back alley next to large black trash chutes. The shutters were burst open, the durasteel doors twisted and charred. Din peered inside as Obi-Wan checked the mouth of the alley for troopers, flickering on this helmet’s night vision.

A languid form stretched far underneath, tucked in the corner of the cute. Barely visible, with knees and elbows sticking up and jutted at an angle. It shimmered pale and green in the night vision spectrum, exposed flesh shimmering with shiny burns. Two other forms were splayed next to it. 

“All clear,” Obi-Wan said. “What’s that smell? Smells like ash and grossness.”

Din quickly kicked the durasteel shutters closed, stomping on them until they fit back in the grate. “Just trash. Let’s get going.”

For some strange reason, Din now wanted to be out of this town as quickly as possible. For a far less strange reason, he wanted to get Obi-Wan out of here as soon as possible. This was a bad introductory exposure to corpses. At that age, you needed a controlled environment. There was supposed to be a trusted guardian, a clean shot, a warrior’s death. 

Not...this. Were wars supposed to look like this? It didn’t feel like any war Din had ever seen before. It tasted strange, cheap and flimsy like plastoid armor or thin durasteel plating. Something was cold and artificial about it. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

They finally broke into a side street, one without any tanks or clones. Obi-Wan heaved a heavy breath of relief as Din put a hand on his blaster, scanning the area to check for hostiles. 

“Hah!” Obi-Wan split into a triumphant grin, swinging at the air. “That’ll show them Commander duty! Can some snotty kid do that?”

Din just grunted. Area was clear. And if the area wasn’t clear, then the kid could just...move his hand and collapse the building. And if he couldn’t collapse the building, then the legion of soldiers would just scold him for getting into trouble. 

But Obi-Wan clearly wasn’t thinking about any of this. He was rubbing at his vambraces instead, unhappily kicking aside clumps of rubble and dirt. Every step sent showers of dust flying, curling in the still air before settling back down. “Why do they keep treating me like this? I’m practically fourteen! I’m a Jedi! Why don’t they trust me?”

“Maybe because you ran off the second they turned their back on you?”

“You get it, don’t you?” Obi-Wan whirled on him. His fists were clenched, but dust had settled in hard and thick on his dark red hair, sticking in clumps and turning it a turgid brown. “You’re a Mandalorian! You guys get it. You know that war’s just life. I bet you killed your first guy at, like, twelve.”

“I was your age,” Din said. 

“There you go!” Obi-Wan cried, throwing up his hands. “The clones - I know you guys really hate them and call them a sin or whatever -”

“They are.”

“ - but they have the spirit!” Obi-Wan’s face twisted, a strangely harsh expression on the round and soft face. “That’s the important thing. The spirit to protect people and win. They keep acting like I’m some soft Jedi. Like months ago, when I was a kid and I didn’t know what was going on and I was - you know, scared all the time. But that’s not me anymore! I have the spirit just like you all do! Just let me prove it!”

Din didn’t know what to do.

He should. He helped educate younger sect members when they gathered together. He knew how to explain the Way; how to describe what being a Mandalorian meant. He knew it as well as he knew his own helmet. In a disintegrating city and an unprecedented war, there was no uncertainty in this.

It should have been a simple thing to explain the truth to this child: that Mandalorians found life within war. That they did take pride in it, that Mandalorians strove to prove themselves to their community for honor and glory. That their greatest pride was to create better and better warriors, and that any Mandalorian would be proud of Obi-Wan’s mandor’kala. 

That the heretic clones were not Mandalorian and could never be by virtue of their disgraceful birth and perverted teachings. The act of birth was a struggle and a fight, a new life’s first battle against the elements as two souls worked together to bring it to life. A birth that involved nothing more than sliding out of a glass tube would never instill the fighting spirit in a child. 

But Din didn’t know what to do with Obi-Wan’s confusing and weird feelings, and he didn’t know what to do with his familiar and strange uncertainty. Instead, he said, “There’s a lot more than that to being Mandalorian, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, I took the classes. But you know what I mean.” Obi-Wan brushed dirt off his tunics, scraping gunk off his vambraces. His greaves were smeared with mud. Who reminded him to clean them off? Who looked them over to make sure that they shined? “Can’t believe the mysterious ancient warrior won’t even help…”

Din sighed. “Do you know the Resol’nare?”

“Wear the armor, speak the language, defend yourself and other Mandalorians, contribute to clan welfare, and doing what the Manda’lor says,” Obi-Wan said promptly.

Was that really what it sounded like in Basic? Where’s the...poetry?

“Where in that Resol’nare is ‘being very good at killing people’?” 

Obi-Wan stopped, nose wrinkling. “Defend yourself and other Mandalorians means self-defense of your territory and home as well as participating in battles to promote the interests of Mandalore. Contributing to clan welfare too, in many respects. War is your primary economy, and many vagrants like you use bounty hunting in as a source of income. The armor is inherently militaristic. And the Manda’lor calling unites Mandalore as an army…”

That was an unnecessarily complex answer, using many words Din did not know. Din wondered if Obi-Wan liked school. He couldn’t imagine the rough and loud kid liking school, but maybe he just couldn’t imagine liking school. “The parent who guides their child’s hand as they forge their armor fulfills the Resol’nare. The injured teacher who remains at home and teaches the children the language fulfills the Resol’nare. Defending yourself and other Mandalorians can mean purging even the most influential figure within the community if they prove to be dangerous to other Mandalorians.”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, as if he thought he had given a wrong answer. “Those are less common interpretations…”

“A true Mandalorian puts family first,” Din said simply. “Family above all. And within the family, protecting its children is the highest priority. I’d say it’s a very straightforward reading of the Resol’nare not to put the only child of the clan into harm’s way.”

“I’m a Commander!” Obi-Wan snapped. “I’m a Jedi padawan! We’re not a clan, and there’s no children in the military!”

True. Din shrugged. “That’s why the clones aren’t Mandalorians.” He looked around, hooking his thumbs on his belt desperately. He needed to be free of this conversation. “I haven’t seen any people around. Did they all evacuate?”

Obi-Wan bristled, ready to defend the clones, but he accepted the change in topic. Nothing proved your point more about being a real commanding officer than giving sitreps. Or so Din had to assume - without a real Manda’lor his sect had never answered calls to battle. He didn’t know why the other Death Watch loved war so much. It was boring. You just sat around most of the time. 

“The city should be empty,” Obi-Wan said grudgingly. Din wondered if the child no longer liked him. The thought was weirdly stressful. “The only natives left in the city are probably those Rebels. There’s not a lot of them, though. Master said he was gonna go crush the Rebel factions before he ran off with that flamethrower.”

“Your master crush Rebels a lot?”

“He says it’s calming.” Hm. Obi-Wan looked around, squinting into the distance. If Din stepped over and stood next to him, he could see what Obi-Wan was looking at: a tall building, somehow relatively untouched. It was more ornate than the others, with a molded stone siding and a finely carved clock at the top. Like every other city hall in the galaxy. “My grandmaster’s still working facilitating government handover to the Republic, but the Force probably gave him another idea. He’s probably in there right now. We have to go help him out. Or stop him from doing something stupid.”

“We wouldn’t want anybody to do anything stupid.”

“Right?” 

It was much easier to avoid patrols once the kid did something mysterious with a datapad and downloaded the patrol routes. Din craned his head to look at the downloaded map, split into different sectors and outlined with patrol routes, but he quickly lost interest even as Obi-Wan scanned the entire thing several times over. He mouthed words to himself, flipping quickly between the map and other long read-outs. Judging from his mutters, it was something about how the governor of the planet was a hardline Separatist and dragging his heels on declaring martial law.

Din was uncertain what happened to Separatist planets after they were captured by the Republic, or vice versa. Nothing ever seemed to happen from the ground. The only differences were what soldiers checked your paperwork at the checkpoint and who they asked you to hunt. Martial law was always deeply annoying, but the droids were easier to get past than the clones.

If the Republic won the war, would the Separatist planets return to the Republic? How would that even work? Even if they all swore allegiance to the Republic again with guns to their heads it wouldn’t be the same. Din was starting to get wind that nobody on Mandalore wanted to return to the Republic. What would they do then?

It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t something that Din actively thought about, and he definitely didn’t care. It was probably Obi-Wan’s problem, but he didn’t seem to care either. He wondered if Obi-Wan thought about it. The kid seemed to think a lot, but never about the right things.

         They picked their way through the shattered streets, Obi-Wan leading them in seemingly random twists and turns as they avoided patrol routes. Din felt glass crunch and shatter underneath his feet, debris and trash scattered everywhere and piled against buildings. The sky far outside the city was a smooth expanse of pleasantly light green, but inside the city the sky had darkened to a bruised brown. Smoke blotted out the sun above them, and ash blew in sharp and harsh on the wind. Din forced Obi-Wan to put his atmo mask on. Damn kid was just barely old enough for a helmet, wasn’t he? He should be wearing a helmet. He was going to get brained by debris. The ash had to be stinging his eyes. Did he have goggles on him?

         “I’ll be fine.” Obi-Wan jumped up on a topped comm pole, casually walking along the skinny metal as if it was a sidewalk. “The Force provides.”

         “Can the Force provide you better equipment?”

         “Cody tried to make me wear more armor, but it massively hits my maneuverability.” Din wished the kid would use smaller words, but he wasn’t about to ask. Bit embarrassing. “He’s all like – ‘you’re a defensive combatant, Commander, strong armor would suit you’. But what if I need to do a triple backflip? More armor would ruin that. I bet you can’t do triple backflips in that thing.”

         “Not really.”

         They occasionally heard a tank rumble down the street, and they were forced to duck around a building. Din scoped out each one beforehand to make sure they were clean. Obi-Wan thought he was checking for structural damage, and Din let him think that.

         The kid was clearly used to working in silence, but as they picked their way through more and more rubble he seemed to grow a little uncomfortable. He kept worrying at his vambrace straps, flipping his thick brown hood up and down and sending dust flying from his head. He walked along downed power lines, jumping from power line to felled tree to half-destroyed wall to comm tower with absolute ease. After they passed by a destroyed playground he began to ramble.

         “I got top marks in all my Culture classes, you know. We had two whole classes on Mandalore. That’s a lot of time when you’re covering a galaxy of cultures. I think it’s because everybody knows how cool Mandalore is. I had a phase when I was a kid – I read, like, ten books on it. My Grandmaster reads a lot of those goopy Mandalorian romance novels too but don’t tell him I told you that.”

         Din grunted.

         “Are you a New Mandalorian? You have a lot of armor for a New Mandalorian.” Din scoffed loudly. “Ohhh-kay, not them. Nomadic tribes to the north? Agricultural civilizations to the south? Off-planet nomadic tribes?”

         “That one.”

         “I thought so. I read this visual guide on different variants of Mandalorian armor. Most of it isn’t complete, pure Beskar like that. Because it’s so expensive. You must be a really good merc if your armor’s that good. Or are you a bounty hunter?” Din grunted affirmatively. “Cool! Hey, wait, are you a criminal?”

         Din stopped short. Obi-Wan stopped short too, balancing easily on a branch as wide as Din’s hand. “Define criminal.”

         Obi-Wan squinted. “If you have to ask that then you’re a criminal.”

Din thought about it. Finally, he said, “Only legally.”

“That’s such a mysterious non-answer,” Obi-Wan said approvingly. “You know who you remind me of? Whitey! From that holomovie The Smuggler, The Pirate, and The Mandalorian.”

“I don’t watch holomovies.”

“Whitey was the Mandalorian. Because his armor was white. It’s a great holomovie, Quinlan and Reeft and Siri and I watched it together. Those are my friends. The Pirate was really funny, he was this Greedo named Tuvo –“

“Why don’t you check your maps again.”

Obi-Wan did so, humming a song under his breath as he walked alongside Din with his arms stretched out. It seemed to be a theme from one of those Mandalorian Westerns. “Mine eyes hath seen the glory of the coming of the sword; it’s cutting down the vineyard where the grapes of wrath are stored…”

Din learned a lot more about his Westerns. Apparently the ones with bounty hunters were way better than the ones that always had the Tuskens or native tribes as the bad guys (“It’s human colonialist propaganda”). Whitey was a real Mandalorian, apparently. He had a code of honor that he never broke, and he never missed a shot. He didn’t care what anybody else thought and he never put down roots. Like a leaf on the wind, he went where he was needed but he never stayed. He was running from the memory of his lost husband and child, Obi-Wan explained. He couldn’t bear the guilt of finding happiness.

“That’s stupid,” Din said, despite his attempts not to pay attention. “Only looking out for yourself isn’t Mandalorian. It’s selfish. If he really regretted his inability to save them from the pirates then he’d dedicate his life to protecting a new clan.”

“I don’t really get it either,” Obi-Wan agreed amicably. He took a running leap onto a hanging low branch for absolutely no reason. He bounced on it slightly, testing his footing, before calling down at Din. “Jedi are raised communally. None of us have kids or parents. We don’t prioritize one sibling over our other siblings. But it does sound cool to, like, Loth-wolf it. Show that you don’t need anyone to survive.”

“There’s no parents?”

Obi-Wan sighed loudly, jumping down from the branch and landing picture-perfect on the ground. Quickly and rotely, he said, “The Jedi don’t steal babies, we give parents the option to pass on their child to our care to avoid the child hurting themselves or the people around them, yes we do not have traditional family units but all of the Jedi are one big family and we’re all very happy this way if you still have questions we have an FAQ on our Holonet page.”

Wow. Din was glad that almost nobody outside of Death Watch even knew about the Children of the Watch, much less interrogated them constantly about their cultural practices. It was bad enough how he constantly had to justify his helmet. “That’s similar to how my people live,” Din said finally. He didn’t normally share this, but it felt right. And Din mostly did what felt right. “Many of our children are foundlings. Children are raised communally by the covert. They’re everybody’s responsibility to protect and raise. Every adult teaches the child what they know. I give a lot of my paychecks back to the covert to feed the children.” More accurately, he gave them to the nursery covert – his own had technically been a bounty hunting covert, and he was the only child they ever had. “Sounds like you.”

When he turned his head he saw Obi-Wan staring at him, eyes wide. Din couldn’t read his facial expression, and he couldn’t tell what Obi-Wan was feeling. But it seemed to affect him strongly.

“That is like us.” Obi-Wan jerked his head back to the front, quickening his pace along the skinny tree. Din sighed and refused to pick up his pace. “You know, I read a storybook when I was a little kid. Like, super little. We were having library time and I wanted to find the oldest kid’s book I could. You know how far back the Jedi Archives go? Ten­s of thousands of years. It’s insane. Scholars come in from the Outer Rim to read our public access section. They’re super funny. They’re always walking around like…” Obi-Wan pulled exaggeratedly huge eyes, dropping his jaw in amazement. “Just at our library! Or our gardens! It was super funny. We had to stop letting them in five years back ‘cuz some guy faked credentials and tried to blow us up. But it was funny.”

“I bet.”

“Anyway, I found this kid’s book from forever ago. And the opening notes said that the story inside was also from forever ago, so that’s double forever. And it was a story about the Mandalorians and the Jedi. Do you wanna hear it?”

Stinging flecks of ash twirled in the wind, a slanted column of smoke drifting above their heads and dissipating in the hot wind. “Sure, kid.”

         “Here’s how it goes,” Obi-Wan said, as the ashes fell.

          ******

          A very, very, very long time ago, in a galaxy just like ours, everyone was at war.

The entire galaxy fought against each other. Race against race, clan against clan, family against family. Brothers slew each other and children revolted against their parents. These wars lasted for centuries. As soon as one ended, another would begin. Soon enough nobody could tell the difference between wars anymore, and nobody knew why they were fighting.

         In the midst of this conflict, one powerful group emerged. They were made of all sorts of species, from all over the galaxy. Only one thing linked them together: their knowledge of the secret mystical arts.

         (“That’s the Force,” Obi-Wan editorialized. “People thought we all used magic back then.”

         Din did not vocalize that he had also thought this.)

         Their talents made them unstoppable, and soon they had formed the greatest clan of warriors ever known. They dominated so easily that their clan became an Empire, and they conquered planet after planet until the galaxy was at peace. But they kept their knowledge jealously hidden, and nobody outside of the powerful clan was allowed to learn its secrets.

         The proud clan grew power hungry. They began acting cruelly to the planets they controlled. They use entire planets in their dark rituals, stealing their life force to artificially extend their lives.

         But not everybody in the clan agreed. The Emperor’s daughter was kind, and she felt the suffering of her people in her heart. She pleaded with her father to spare their lives and share their knowledge with the people. They were the strongest warriors in the galaxy, and they could teach their people how to fight and protect their families. Their knowledge could save people. But the Emperor was avaricious (“That means greedy”) and he refused.

         So the daughter rejected her father. She took the other members of their clan who agreed with her, who wanted to share their knowledge with the galaxy, and stole away. Together they founded a brand new clan and helped teach the people in the Empire how to fight. Together, they all overthrew the despotic and greedy Emperor. The daughter began a new kingdom, where everybody was equal and they fought together. They were the first Mandalorians.

         But when the Emperor died, his entire clan vanished. It was like they disappeared into thin air. They left, and their secrets left with them. Some say that they’ll return one day, and take their revenge against the new kingdom…

******

Obi-Wan trailed off significantly, eyeing Din. “The End! Isn’t it a weird story?”

“I’ve never heard it before,” Din said gruffly. “It’s heretical.”

“Right? I can’t believe what people used to think back then. I bet it’s a Mandalorian story. It makes the Jedi out to be these terrible bad guys, basically the Sith. I don’t know why they vanished at the end. The Sith pop up and leave and pop up and leave a lot throughout history. They must have told it during one of those thousand years where the Sith weren’t a thing.”

“It can’t be Mandalorian,” Din said gruffly. He adjusted his rifle, the familiar weight suddenly strange on his back. “It says the Jedi and the Mandalorians are one tribe that split. No Mandalorian would say that.”

Obi-Wan glanced at him as they turned a corner, surprised. “Wasn’t there a Mandalorian Jedi?”

“Heretic.”

“You think a lot of things are - oh shit!”

         Din opened his mouth to make a comment about language, right before he also cursed.

         They were finally in front of the town hall building. Obi-Wan must have been too busy telling his story to keep a closer eye on where they were going. The building was only four stories, but it seemed to loom above them. Its walls were scorch marked, ugly black jets scoured against its orange brick.

Of course, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the tank parked neatly to the side of the town hall. The other problem was the squadron of troopers standing in front of the ornate doors, carrying long rifles and standing at attention around the entrances and exits. The third problem was every trooper besides that, who were standing in a large group in front of the building and talking seriously amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to be guarding anything - rather, they were standing at attention listening to one trooper in gaudy gold hakama barking orders. He didn’t sound very happy.

“Oh shit,” Din said.

The golden trooper turned around.

It happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that Din was almost caught off guard. The trooper’s pistol jumped into his hand, drawn so quickly that Din didn’t even see his hand move. Din had no time to react: three blaster shots, squeezed off in quick succession, hit his breastplate. 

The surprise and triple hit sent him staggering back a little, and Obi-Wan cried in alarm. Din barely had enough time to grab Obi-Wan’s collar and yank him behind him before several other shots hit him, with one shot perfectly hitting his helmet dead-center. 

A loud rustle echoed through the empty street, and suddenly every trooper was drawing their blaster - or, more worryingly, their rifle. The gold trooper unhooked a rifle from his back, and Din quickly weighed his options. 

Not the flamethrower, since the kid was right behind him. The rifle or pistol would hit one, but not the other thirty. None of their shots would be particularly effective individually, but something about getting hit by thirty blaster bolts at once put a crick in your neck. Then there was the tank -

The gold trooper squeezed the trigger on the rifle, and Din instinctively braced himself. But the hit did not come, and the whir of the blaster was drowned out by a heavy snap-hiss cracking right next to his ear.

There was a glowing blue sword in front of Din, along with a kid. He had redirected the rifle blast into the pavement, creating a hissing and smoking crater meter away from them. How did a sword redirect a blaster shot? Those things were pure energy. How did that even work?

“Commander!” The gold trooper slashed a hand, hoisting the rifle higher. “Get away from him!”

“Why are you shooting at us?” Obi-Wan called back furiously. The sword whirred and hissed, held at a strange angle covering Obi-Wan and Din. “Stand down!”

“Sir, that man’s Death Watch. Move aside!”

That startled Obi-Wan. He looked backwards, eyes wide. “You’re what? You said that you weren’t a criminal!”

“I said I was legally a criminal,” Din said gruffly. “Terrorist’s a political term.”

“How are you only legally a terrorist?!”

“Sir, move aside -”

“No!” Obi-Wan straightened, twirling his lightsaber in a flashing show of blue. “This man’s not a hostile. Stand down, right now. That’s an order!” The group of soldiers hesitated, looking amongst each other as their weapons drooped. They looked at the gold trooper. “Now!”

The gold trooper made a gesture and the soldiers stood down. Obi-Wan was breathing somewhat heavily - not from exertion, but from adrenaline. The gold trooper made another gesture at his men before stalking forwards, posture coiled in danger and pure malice. Din found himself straightening and actively stopping himself from putting his hand on his blaster. That man wanted to kill something and he didn’t care what it was.

He stopped a few yards away, one hand resting on his blaster. He sized Din up, who let himself get sized up. His eyes lingered on the blaster, rifle, beskar staff (won off a surprisingly amiable Count Dooku), and flamethrower. 

“Are you,” the trooper said, “or are you not kidnapped?”

Obi-Wan stared at the trooper. 

Finally, he said, “I most definitely am not.” He pointed at Din, who fought the urge to wave. “This is my friend…” He glanced back at Din. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“He’s a really good friend,” Obi-Wan said anxiously. “We bonded! I’m not kidnapped!”

“Then why,” the trooper gritted out, “are you running around with a member of Death Watch?”

“You’re the one who left me with him!”

The trooper made an interesting sound. “If he wasn’t kidnapping you then he should have kriffing told me he wasn’t a trooper!”

“It wasn’t relevant,” Din said.

The trooper jammed a finger at him. “Shut up!” Din shut up. The trooper bore down on Obi-Wan, who quailed slightly. “You were not where I left you. You were not on the ship. We could not get in contact with the trooper I left you with - whose ship logs flagged high priority capture on Mandalore.” What? Really? What’d he do to them? “And you ignored every kriffing call!”

Obi-Wan paled, somehow. “I...may have...turned my comm off.”

“You may,” the trooper said, strangled, “have turned your comm off.”

The trooper stood there. Obi-Wan stood there too, clearly terrified but with a strong wave of guilt swelling up in his chest. Din was caught in the middle, wondering what he was looking at. 

Then the trooper sagged, every centimeter tired. “Dammit, kid…”

Obi-Wan’s face crumpled, and with no hesitation he set off running. Exactly on cue, as if they’d planned it, the trooper knelt down on one knee and let the kid slam into him. They cut a strange picture, robe against armor and helmet carefully balanced over one shoulder, and Din couldn’t see either of their faces. But he had never quite gotten the hang of reading facial expressions. He was much better with body language. He couldn’t miss the awful, desperate way the trooper clutched at the kid’s robes, fingers digging into the homespun fabric. It was more than worry, and something right of anger. It seemed like pure and raw desperation, hoarsely screaming but always muffled.

“I’m sorry, Cody…”

Cody didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t trust what he wanted to say.

Finally, he clutched at the kid one more time before rising. He made a hand gesture and two troopers magically appeared at his side, decked out in similar gold. “Waxer and Boil are taking you back to the ship. So help me, you will not move. You are going to your room and you are staying there.”

“You can’t ground me!” Obi-Wan protested. Ground? “Master Qui-Gon needed help, you said so! I came here so I could help him and my master!”

“The battle’s over, sir.” Cody’s voice was hard and cold, with just a tinge of that familiar clone roboticism. It was the first time Din had heard it. “General Skywalker subdued the insurrectionists and they’re in custody. General Jinn extracted the military powers from the governor through use of...a Bantha, two tables, and a hand grenade, I believe. It’s over.”

“It’s over,” Obi-Wan repeated. He looked harshly at the ground, mouth tightening to a thin line. “I didn’t even help. It’s always over too soon…”

“Things end when they’re meant to, sir.” He made another hand gesture, and a trooper brought up two speeder bikes. One of the troopers easily swung himself onto the seat, checking to make sure it still functioned despite the scorch marks. “We can debrief after we withdraw our forces. Then we can discuss your new duties for the week.” 

Looking at Obi-Wan’s face, Din felt as if ‘debrief’ meant something different in this context. Din wondered if militaries were supposed to work this way. He wouldn’t know, but…

“Cheer up, sir,” one of the troopers said, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder and making him buckle. “Always cause to celebrate after the fighting’s over. We can have a party!” The other trooper made slashing motions across his neck. “Ah. A, uh, enlisted man party. That you can’t attend. Because you’re...grounded!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Cody said frostily. “You’re dismissed. I’ll speak to the Generals about this.” Obi-Wan grimaced, but all of the troopers around them winced. “Now go.”

They went. Din wanted to go too, but Cody’s helmeted glare froze him in place. But just as the troopers were packing Obi-Wan onto the speeder bikes he faltered, and with a particularly gravity defying flip he leaped over their heads and landed right in front of Din.

For a terrible, heart-stopping second, Din was afraid that he was going to get a hug. But Obi-Wan just smacked a closed fist against his heart instead, round face intense. “Thank you for your services to the GAR, Mandalorian! Your help has been indispensable to the war effort! Oh, indispensable means -”

“I know what it means,” Din lied, returning the salute. On some strange, insane impulse, Din reached out and put his hand on the kid’s head. Cody bristled, hand flying to his gun, but the kid just made a face. “Name’s Din.”

The kid grinned, wide and toothy. “Thanks, Din!”

Din was hit with a particular sensation. It felt a little like indigestion. It felt like a weird grasping in his heart, as if he was reaching out for something. A sadness that was not sad; an ache that did not hurt. A hole that happiness dug. 

In a fit of insanity, Din thought: Little gods, I want one. 

Then the kid was packed away, Cody speaking in quiet tones with one of the lieutenants before sending them off. The other insisted on giving Obi-Wan a spare helmet, who put it on with only token complaints. Din watched them go, seeing the tufted mess of ginger hair turned brown turn smaller and smaller - turning a corner, then gone. 

The minute that Obi-Wan disappeared from view Cody sagged, raising a hand to his eyeline before dropping it - a move that Din now recognized was an aborted desire to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Din opened his mouth, ready to politely ask if he could finally go and maybe get a friendly military escort out, before Cody rounded on him. 

“If you want a cash reward forget it,” Cody snapped. “You’re lucky I’m not bringing you into custody now.”

That was offensive. “I wouldn’t take it,” Din said, annoyed. “It was my duty.”

“Duty to what, the Republic?” From the clone’s tone, he highly doubted it was the Republic. “Or to Death Watch?”

“It was my duty as a Mandalorian,” Din said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Cody leaned back a little, but before he could say anything else a group of troopers approached them. They were wearing gold, like all the rest, but the shoulder pad seemed to indicate that they were brass. 

“Marshal Commander,” one said, and they all saluted. Cody nodded, and they relaxed. “Sir, we wish to make a proposal.”

Cody grunted. “What?”

The troopers looked at each other, somewhat hesitant, before they bucked up. Very carefully, one of them said, “Sir, what happened today wasn’t your fault.”

“Even if the Commander’s safety was not my responsibility,” Cody panned, as if the statement wasn’t the objective truth of the galaxy, “I seem to recall actively giving a terrorist custody of a Jedi padawan. I’d call that my responsibility, Sergeant.”

“Not a terrorist.”

“And I’m not someone who cares.”

But one of the soldiers just stuck his chin up stubbornly. “I seem to recall that you were overloaded, Marshal Commander. And that it’s still not in your job description to keep eyes on the Commander at all times. On top of every other duty. Sir.”

“It’s just unfeasible,” another trooper added.

“So I’d say that what us infantry saw here today, sir, was that the Commander assigned himself an independent objective.” The trooper spoke slowly, keeping his voice as flat as possible. “And that he ran off to rendezvous with his grandmaster. He made a new friend along the way and didn’t think to inform us. That’s what I’d say happened. Sir.”

“As the Commander would say,” another trooper added, “it’s true. From a certain point of view.”

“I’m not going to lie to the Generals to get myself out of trouble,” Cody demanded, somewhat scandalized. “I take full responsibility for -”

“Everything?” A trooper said dryly. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t juggling five balls on two hours of sleep and five cups of caff. Sir.”

“Wooley, you better -”

“We already decided, sir,” one of the troopers said firmly. “It won’t get the Commander in trouble. All the story does is...leave you out of it. And you should have been out of it from the beginning, sir.”

Another trooper in the back, who had been hovering anxiously without speaking, suddenly piped up. “Sir, General Skywalker…”

A hush fell over the troopers.

Din didn’t really get all of this, but he didn’t need to. Din did what felt right, and this felt right. “That’s how I remember it,” Din said, and the troopers jerked. He shrugged. “It’ll be how Obi-Wan remembers it. I’m sure that if any...incorrect reports got to the Jedi, then somebody would let Obi-Wan know. And he’d set the record straight.” And there was no way in the galaxy Obi-Wan would ever snitch on Cody. Din already understood that. 

The other troopers nodded eagerly. Cody stood there, frame rigid, radiating a stiff and terrible battle. 

Finally, after an agonizingly long pause, he said, “I’ll debrief the Generals on the Commander’s movements during the skirmish.” The troopers immediately started making complaining noises, but Cody spoke again. “And I will only volunteer my own if they ask. Happy?”

The soldiers cheered. Din wondered if a military was supposed to operate like this. 

But Cody just made a gesture at Din, as if he was supposed to automatically understand military code. But a second later he realized that he did understand it - it was standardized Mandalorian hand signal code. ‘Follow me’. 

“I’m going to show you something,” Cody said.

And Din followed him. 

The troopers bustled around them, carrying stacks of datapads or bringing out speeder bikes. The tank rumbled and, with a metal cough, slouched into motion. Squadron stayed with squadron, troopers with shoulder guards gave orders to other troopers, and the clone army began their slow retreat from the planet.

Din wondered what would happen after they left. Would another battalion come in to stay? Would they leave the planet alone, meaningless save for the scrap of paper that the governor must have signed? Who would rebuild the theaters, sweep away the rubble and dirt? Where were the people of this city - were they hiding in the grass houses outside its limits, silent and still? Or were they still in garbage chutes, shining?

It didn’t matter. There was no way Din would find his bounty now. He was out fuel money and a week of his time. He would just have to hope that none of the guys back home found out about this. He didn’t want to get an earful for helping the Jedi and the GAR - who were, in retrospect, definitely on a different side. If Din had a side. If there were sides. Sometimes he wasn’t sure. It all felt the same to him - but it wasn’t as if Din understood any of it.

He picked his way through the rubble with Cody. He had to work to keep up - Cody moved with a calm, efficient surety, as if the world moved aside for him. If he gave an order to the rocks to move then they would leap out of the way, and the fallen branches would jump back onto the trees for him, healing themselves. Din couldn’t imagine growing up with this guy for a parent. It had to be terribly intimidating -

Din stopped short. Where had that come from?

Cody stopped too, turning back to look at him. “What’s the hold up?”

Din didn’t know. Basic didn’t seem sufficient. Maybe nothing felt sufficient. 

“Get a move on.”

Din got a move on, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself from talking. New sentence. “He’s a good kid.”

Cody stepped across an exposed chunk of cement. “He’s none of your business.”

They walked in silence. Din stared up at the brown sky. There were ribbons of red threading through it. Soft rivers of fire. 

After five minutes, Cody said, “He’s changed. Had a mission on Ryloth few weeks back. Bad. He’s changed since then. He turned into…” Cody faltered, struggling for words, before giving up. “That.”

“What happened on Ryloth?”

“Classified.” Cody fell silent again, speaking in starts and stops. Din wondered if he had said this before. “It was my fault.”

“Why?”

Cody fell silent. He didn’t know. There was no reason. It was just something he felt.

Finally, he gruffly said, “First time I’ve seen him smile in a while.” The thank you went unsaid. “Why did you help?” Din looked at him. “An actual explanation, sir.”

“It’s part of my Creed as a Mandalorian,” Din said. “Children are sacred to us. You asked me to help protect him, so I did. It’s not more complicated than that.”

Cody stopped short, staring at him. Din stopped too. He wondered what Cody saw. Everybody saw the same thing looking at him - everybody, perhaps, but Cody. “Jango never said anything about that.”

“You knew Jango?” Din asked, surprised. And a little awkward. “Uh. How’s he doing?”

“Very dead,” Cody said shortly. Din winced. “I’m one of the few who did know Jango. He taught us first few batches personally. Taught us Mandalore. He didn’t say shit about that. Figures.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The Basic words tasted strange on his tongue, so he gave up. He told Cody a similar sentiment in Mandalorian, specific for the loss of a parent to a child. “And he’s a True Mandalorian, so we have different beliefs -”

“He wasn’t my parent,” Cody said curtly. In Mandalorian. The accent was terrible, but it was definitely Jango’s. For the first time, Din had an odd sense of deja vu. If he ignored the words - if he ignored everything - it was Jango speaking to him again. Only the curse words were missing. Really, Jango just mainly cursed at him. “He was very clear about that. He taught us the language and the armor and the Ways, but we aren’t Mandalorians. He was clear about that too. We were born wrong. Weak.”

Oh, thanks to the small gods. Din switched to Mandalorian. That was enough Basic for a lifetime. He worked mostly in the Outer Rim, where Huttese was the standard language for under the table deals like bounty hunting. Basic was for talking to rich people. “But you want to be, don’t you? Obi-Wan wouldn’t shut up about it. The Jedi didn’t teach him that.”

“Obi-Wan hasn’t wanted to be a Jedi since Ryloth. The brothers have been filling his head with nonsense about Mandalore.” Cody set off walking again, harsh and hurried, and Din had to quickly catch up. He used the word ‘men’ or ‘soldiers’ in Basic, but ‘brothers’ in Mandalorian. Hm. “We never should have passed on what we knew about Mandalore to the younger brothers. It filled their heads with nonsense ideas. Honor, righteousness, glory...it’s all morale. Natborns would never let us take the creed. Our own gene donor wouldn’t.”

“No,” Din agreed. An alert popped up on his HUD to warn for an excess of contaminants in the air, but he dismissed it. “You’re Mandalore’s greatest shame. There’s no glory in fighting another’s battles. You don’t protect Mandalore or your clan. You only protect the corrupt Republic’s interests.”

“Do you want to see the Republic’s interests, Mandalorian?”

Cody took a right turn, and Din followed him. 

The first thing he registered was the crunch of his feet on the ground. He looked down and saw a thick layer of ash, his armor leaving heavy footprints in the dust. It was floating down thick here, already collecting almost invisibly on his armor. It was far more visible on Cody’s armor - settling on the bright white until it turned almost as silver as Din’s own.

The second thing he noticed was that there were no buildings. They stood in what could have been a market square, with a large brick courtyard and tall buildings rimming the sides. Carts were once set up outside, selling fruits and vegetables - you could still see some of them pushed up against the buildings, smoldering. 

The buildings were ruins. Most were nothing but half a story of durasteel rebar and cement. Others were completely decimated. Many had clearly been set on fire, the brown building now a black shell where the ash went whistling through. The floor was nothing but rubble, all traces of pavement and brick ruined. 

An entire market, flattened. In the span of two days. Maybe one. Maybe a few hours, as Obi-Wan walked on fallen trees and chatted about ancient stories of war.

A limb stuck out of a pile of rubble. Another group of bodies lay against a building, necks cracked from the force. Limbs were scattered, burned and shriveled. Some of the bodies were covered in white armor, and other figures in white armor were carefully extracting them. Speeder carts were parked around the square, with white and blue figures carefully loading up corpses on the back. Some troopers leaned against the cab of the cart, chatting. 

In high-handed and elaborate ancient Mandalorian, drawled with a special theatrical flourish, Cody said, “Mine eyes hath seen the glory of the Republic.” 

Din stood silently. For just a second, he really did try. He knew how to find beauty in the aftermath. Every limb spoke of a struggle, and every corpse was a valiant sacrifice. The insurgents had been protecting their homes from intruders. They had known that the odds were impossible, but they had fought anyway. Even when the battle was done, even after they had lost, they had kept fighting. Every body was burned, and many of the limbs had cauterized edges. Other bodies just had holes through them, a single burn mark piercing their heart. No beskar, no magic. No chance. 

Din fell asleep at rallies. When the Death Watch congregated once a year he had to sit through endless preaching and yelling about the glory of their war against the New Mandalorians and the Jedi. He heard Sith poetry, speaking on the beauty of this hurt. The sanctity of this suffering. They all seemed silly to him - a focus on grand political ideas instead of the simple and hard work of providing for your family and covert.

Was this silly? Din didn’t know. 

It mostly felt like a waste.

A trooper heavily decked out in hakama and shoulder pads, color coded blue instead of gold, came jogging up to them. He saluted at Cody, who nodded back. “Sir! Did you find Obi-Wan?” He looked at Din, as if to say - I hope you have not found Obi-Wan, because this is not Obi-Wan at all.

“The Commander,” Cody said pointedly in Basic, and the other trooper shrugged in embarrassment. “Is perfectly safe. Captain. Our friend here was keeping an eye on him.”

The Captain stared at Din, who awkwardly waved. “Our friend the terrorist?”

“That’s a political term,” Din said. The Captain continued staring at him before Din realized that he was still speaking Mandalorian. He repeated the sentence in Basic before adding, “He’s fine. He was just worried about his guardians.”

“Oh, the General is just fine,” the Captain said wryly. “He’s having the time of his life. I think he’s off bouncing around with General Jinn.” Cody angled his head. “There really just wasn’t time to mention that the Commander was missing, sir. They knew you had an eye on him. They really had full faith in you.”

“Shut up, Rex.”

“That Cody is so dependable,” Rex continued blithely. “I never worry about the whereabouts of my padawan when he’s around. I can’t possibly imagine a situation where Cody accidentally makes a terrorist babysit him in the middle of a war zone. Can you, Master?”

“Shut up, Rex.”

“Only if it’s the Will of the Force, padawan -”

The two troopers started bickering - which was a little strange, considering how frightened every other trooper seemed to be of Cody - and Din started looking around instead, looking at the wagon of corpses. Pity about his bounty. The Armorer would give him shit for a failed mission and wasting his time. 

Din’s HUD pinged a facial recognition on one of the bodies. He stepped closer, letting the HUD scan the body fully. With a cheerful ding, it registered a match. Huh. 

Din turned around, calling out to the two troopers still arguing. “Can I have this corpse?”

Both troopers stopped short and looked at him. Din helpfully pointed at the corpse. It did not seem to help.

“What,” Cody said flatly.

“It’s my bounty.” Din pulled up the holoscreen on his gauntlet, showing the men the wanted poster. It was a Greedo, big eyes sparkling. Apparently it was a wanted...terrorist. Against the Republic. Guess it really was a political term. “Can I have it? If you aren’t using it.”

The two men looked at each other. 

Finally, voice slightly strangled, Cody said, “Sure. Why not. Have fun with your corpse.”

“Thanks.” He nodded at the incredulous trooper in the cab. “Can I borrow a rickshaw? With trunk space? The trooper stared at him before slowly nodding. “Thanks.”

Cody hovered as Din packed up the corpse in the rickshaw and settled his affairs, calling ahead and making sure that the spaceport was still functioning. Thankfully, enough GAR had landed in the spaceport that it had escaped relatively unscathed. Cody seemed about five seconds away from tapping his watch. Rex had left to go coordinate the men, carefully lifting the bodies of their fallen brothers and placing them side by side in the trucks.

For some reason, Din found himself asking, “What do you do with their armor?”

Cody hesitated, as if uncertain whether or not Din was allowed to know, before answering. “Officially, the structural integrity of the plasteel is compromised and we dump it all in the recycler.”

“And unofficially?”

“Space burial.”

Hm. Din imagined it: the airlock whirring and grinding, the neat vacuum sealed packs of armor lined up one by one like gravestones. Bits and pieces removed from each one as mementos for their friends. He imagined them drifting in space, lasting five times, ten times, a hundred times longer than their owners did. 

Who had told them the importance of the armor? Jango, probably. Imparted onto Cody and his early brothers, and then passed down onto generation of brother after brother like a game of whispers. No Mandalorian would waste armor on a space burial - they’d pass it down throughout their line, handed down from parent to child. But Mandalorians were adaptable, and many Mandalorians throughout history had been forced to adapt to oppressive circumstances.

The Way was not adaptable. It simply was. That was the pride of the Children of the Watch: that despite the tumultuous tides of politics and power, the Way was always the same. Din’s Way was identical to the Way of his ancestors, stretching back hundreds of years. His sect had branched from their parent sect five hundred years ago. Before that, he must follow most of the same teachings from that parent sect. How long did that last? A thousand years? Two thousand?

It was comforting. The Way was yes or no. There was sacred and heretical; on the path and off the path. It was the way of most Mandalorians: your Code, your Creed, your Resol’nare, your Way - all Mandalore asked of you was that you walked the path of your ancestors. There was no room for change. Frankly, change was something Din hated and avoided at all costs.

But they lived in a changing galaxy. Din could feel it on the horizon. Unprecedented times rocked their worlds, and tectonic shifts loomed on the horizon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he and his sect could avoid it. If they had even avoided it. If they ever would. 

The New Mandalorians preached it frequently: adapt or die. Death Watch had its own creed: death before dishonor. Din knew acutely that if the Children of the Watch were faced with either change or extinction, they would proudly march towards extinction.

Din didn’t know how he felt. He rarely did. He didn’t know how to verbalize his thoughts, or how to make Cody understand. He rarely did. He usually didn’t bother. 

In Mandalorian, Din said, “There’s a lot more to being a Mandalorian than the battles you fight, you know. Or who you’re forced to serve.”

“Watch it,” Cody growled. 

“A true Mandalorian puts family first,” Din said. Maybe Cody would understand. Maybe, one day, Obi-Wan would. “Family above all. Mandalorians do not fight for the glory of war, to attain power. They fight to protect their clans. And children. Who do you fight for, Commander?”

Cody was silent. 

Din revved his bike, letting the antigrav kick in and raise him further off the ground. It creaked, but it held his weight. “The boy has mandor’kala. Only a Mandalorian could teach that. Think about it, will you?”

Cody didn’t respond, and Din knew that he wouldn’t. He revved the bike instead, setting it curling around the unsteady ground towards the long, empty street. It had been cleared for the tanks, and it was a straight shot towards home. 

Obi-Wan’s off-tune hums echoed through his mind. Mine eyes hath seen the glory of the coming of the sword...

Din hit the gas, and let the brown horizon rise up to meet him. 

[avintagekiss24]

Hi! I don't want to start anything on here and am always willing for civil conversations. At this point there's so much I've found out about Seb (besides the video he liked, the tommy lee thing, and the girlfriend thing) that I feel so guilty if I would continue to support him. I love him sm but it just doesn't look good rn. He is associated/follows an organisation (for helping veterans) that has posted a blue lives matter flag picture and who's co-founder has sexual assault allegations against him, and worked with him in 'The last full measure'. His friend Paul Walter Hauser has done blackface in the past, and when called out on it he just listed a few people that also did blackface. There's more, I found a discussion on here that I can link. I seriously don't support "cancel culture" bc I don't think it helps anyone but there are just a lot of 'mistakes' and shady people that can be linked to Seb, I wish it wouldn't be that way. I honestly don't know what to think about it anymore.

Hi! I’m also open to having civil conversations and I don’t believe you’re trying to start anything. I really do think this situation of dragging up a four year old video and taking it completely out of context is harmful not just to Black people, but to fandom/activism in general. This is gonna be long because I’m going to take your points one by one, and I want to preface this by saying that I will not answer any derogatory, sideways asks pertaining to this subject. I will delete every single one and will block your silly ass. I’m not going to argue with people who think I’m blindly supporting Sebastian because I’m just trying to get fucked by him, or people who think I hate myself and am trying to appease some white man.

So, on with the discourse!

The video he liked - this video was taken completely out of context and that is my main issue with this whole situation. It was not a video of a white man saying that he thinks he should be able to say the n word as everyone claimed it was. They were quickly debating on whether or not it's okay to say in rap lyrics. He was told no, that's not okay, that's never okay and they moved on from it. That's it. End of story. That somehow was twisted into a click bait style headline of "Sebastian Stan likes a video of a white man defending his right to say the n word" when that is absolutely not true. My other issue is that people are more upset that Sebastian liked the video than they are about the white man in the video literally saying the n word. So, do you really care about the use of the n word like you're claiming? Cuz if you do, you'd be more upset at the white man that said the word than you would be about the white man simply liking the video. Or, are you just using this as an excuse to grandstand against a white man you don't like?

The Tommy Lee thing - Sebastian Stan playing Tommy Lee does not make Sebastian Stan a bad person. Is Charlize Theron a bad person for playing Aileen Wuornos, a prostitute who started murdering men? Is Leonardo DiCaprio a bad person for playing a slave owner? Is Edward Norton a bad person for playing a nazi sympathizing racist? Actors play bad people. That doesn't mean that they themselves are bad people. 1990's Tommy Lee was a bad person, but that should have no bearing on who Sebastian Stan is or his character as a man.

The gf/Paul Walter Hauser thing - Why are we holding Sebastian accountable for what the people around him are doing? Again, why are we more upset that Sebastian is associated with people who have done questionable things than the specific people themselves? I'm not going to speak on the kimono wearing -- I'm not Asian. It's not my place to say whether or not its offensive because it's not my culture, but she posted that picture and attended that party before she started dating Sebastian, quite possibly before she even knew him. Same with Paul. I think that black face thing was long before he knew Sebastian. Now, if Sebastian was defending these actions, going around saying "I think it's okay for white women to wear Kimono's" "I think black face is fine" "I think white people should be able to say the n word" then we'd have a different story, wouldn't we? But that's not what we have, and that's not what he is doing. He is not responsible for the things his friends do or have done in the past just because he's more famous than they are, and he is not required to speak on them. Let's put it this way -- would you be comfortable having to be responsible for something a friend of yours did before you knew them? Would you want to have to be forced to answer for your friend when you yourself had nothing to do with the questionable behavior?

The organization that supports the military/blue lives matter - Sebastian cannot control what message that foundation puts out and it does not mean that he is or is not pro-police himself. There is not enough concrete evidence -- if any evidence for that matter -- that Sebastian is a blue lives matter supporter. Did Sebastian donate before they put up the blue lives matter post? Or after? I don’t know, cuz I don’t follow him that closely, but if he donates before they come out with a particular stance, that means he should be held accountable for that? I know I donated to an organization once and they turned out to support something that i’m 100% against. That means I’m a bad person because I couldn’t see into the future? Another point, how can we be certain that Sebastian saw the blue lives matter post in the first place? I know I’m not online 24 hrs a day, I miss posts all the time and I’m just an average person. I make three or four tumblr posts a day, and I’m gone. I have to play catch up on social media, and even then, I still miss stuff. So I’m sure the same happens to a working actor. As for the co-founder, I don't know who this person is and would rather not get into any allegations against them because I don't want to trigger anyone who comes across this post. If Sebastian knows about these allegations, is a willing participant/supporter of this person then yeah, that's pretty shitty, but we don't know the inner workings of this friendship/acquaintance/work relationship. We don’t know how close they are or if they even still speak.

I’m a pretty big fan of Don Cheadle. He’s a stand up guy, he’s a great actor, he’s funny, he’s political and stands up for what he believes in and in a very public way. I support him. Don Cheadle is also friends with Chris Evans, RDJ, Mark Ruffalo, and Letitia Wright (just to name a few). Chris Evans has a bipartisan forum that highlights/promotes right wing politicians, RDJ defended Chris Pratt during the whole “he’s the worst Chris in Hollywood” crap, who’s technically done black face, and who once said to a female reporter “nice tits” when she walked into the room, Mark Ruffalo just walked back his support of Palestine, and Letitia Wright retweeted/supported an anti-vaxxer/anti-trans Pastor who equated an ingredient of the covid vaccine to the devil because it contained some parts of the word Lucifer. Does that mean Don is now a bad person because he’s friends with these people? Why isn’t he getting any heat for his friendships with them? Why isn’t he being held accountable for what they’ve done and said? Oh right, because he’s not a white fave. So people don’t care one way or the other, which brings me to my next point. 

I can guarantee you that if Sebastian’s gf or Paul or this co-founder were not associated with Sebastian in any way, nobody would give a shit about her wearing a kimono, about Paul doing black face, or about the co-founder/organization being blue lives matter supporters and in that lies the actual problem. Being critical of people and their actions should be consistent and should happen all the time -- not just when they interact with your white fave. That’s when it becomes performative and looks like you just want to be able to show internet people that you follow/support/stan unproblematic celebrities, when really, you don’t care.

I think the moral of this post is that I think it's unfair to hold a complete stranger to a standard that I cannot hold myself to. I also don't view celebrities the way most teenagers/twenty somethings do, and that’s because when I entered fandom we didn't have social media, so I grew up with a wall between myself and said celebrities. There is no wall now with the presence of social media. "Fans" nowadays have a weird ownership feeling over celebrities because they can read their personal thoughts or view personal pictures and think that they have this personal quasi-friendship with them. I can't get on board with that. I prefer having the wall and I still keep the wall.

If supporting Sebastian makes you uncomfortable, then by all means, stop supporting him. Just make sure you are making this decision for yourself based on credible sources and concrete evidence and that you're not letting this fake woke activist mob make you feel uncomfortable. Internet activism means nothing unless you put your money where your mouth is in your real life and 90% of the social justice internet warriors do not. Real activism is bigger than changing your avi to a black square.

[greensaplinggrace]

do you have any darklina fic recs?

I certainly have a few! But first I want to clarify that I don’t really read fic when I’m writing it, and since I have so many fics in the works right now, I haven’t really been reading a lot of fanfiction. So this list probably won’t be as extensive as it could be.

Here are some other great fic recommendation posts, however:

DARKLINA FIC RECS by @vicioux

DARKLINA FIC RECS // part ii by @vicioux

Darklina Ruling the World Together Fic Recs by @clubofthestarlesssaint

Tumblr Ficlets

Aleksander’s First Memory by @kestrafagnor

Fivan Talk About Darklina by @jomiddlemarch

a little light in the great, big dark by @valkyrhys

Alina tells Mal she’s with Aleksander by @lorsanbitch

Darklina week day 5: intimacy & touch by @starlesscne

AO3 Fanfiction

if it ain’t me by larry_hystereks (Incomplete - 10/13 Chapters)

alina’s in her second year at Yale when she meets aleksander at one of his frat parties.

a hookup with the potential for more, only if alina wasn’t still struggling to piece herself together from last year’s breakup.

or: alina, zoya, their trust issues, and the men that fall for them

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I’m only at about chapter 6 of this fic currently, but so far it’s one of my all time favorite Modern AUs. The characterization for Alina and Aleksander is incredibly well done, and the entire fic itself is so feminist and queer in such a refreshing way. Aleksander and Alina are bisexual as fuck, both with their own separate complex lives, and much of Alina’s own traumas and relationships are explored outside of Aleksander.

There’s some Zoyalina, with Nikolina friendship and endgame Zoyalai. There’s some mystery and some tension, but nothing too extreme, and a lot of the fic is merely an exploration in growth and overcoming one’s history and learning how to move on in healthy ways. I love it.

She Wears a Collar (With My Name) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

She is immortal, and whatever lingering hints of humanity she may have once had have long been bleached from her heart.

I will grant you one wish, boy, if it is in my power to do so. What does a Shadow Smith most want?

"You," he answers.

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 2: Role Reversal

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This piece is just exquisite. This author’s writing style is one that I particularly enjoy. Their stuff is always so uniquely composed and crafted, and this one especially is a work of art. The way Darklina as a relationship is portrayed in particular is fascinating to me because it’s a role reversal but it’s still so complex. Aleksander’s character is nailed.

the bright sun was extinguish’d by athousandwinds (Complete)

Somewhere, deep in the dark forests of Ravka, a boy grows up on stories of Sankta Alina of the Wastes, the Sun-Scorched Saint.

---

This fic is just straight up magnificent. It’s so engaging and I love love love the way a role reversed Aleksander who joins the army is portrayed. He reminds me so much of Demon in the Woods Aleksander, as if he’s exactly what a grown version of that young boy would be. When I say I adore his characterization in this I’m not lying.

If I wanted any completed fic I’ve read to have a second chapter, it would be this one.

Winter in the Little Palace by redisxwing (Complete)

Written for Yuletide 2020.

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

Warning: Baghra is written as a harsh and arguably abusive parent, and this is darkfic about that relationship, with a side of shipping. Everything is terrible (except the parts that are pretty much okay).

Canon divergence pretty much as soon as Alina gets lessons in summoning.

This fic is likely not compatible with King of Scars (or any subsequent work).

---

As is said in the summary, this one makes Baghra a bit more extreme. If you’re a fan of Baghra, this fic probably isn’t for you. But since I’m not a fan of Baghra, I had no problems with it.

My biggest praise for this fic is in regards to the character interactions and the POVs. There’s a brilliant grasp of unique perspective and how to convey it, and that talent is carried over into the way character interactions are brought to life in the text. Also, there’s a scene where Alina gets kind of protective of the Darkling, which is one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to Darklina.

Good Ideas by FelixRivers (Complete)

Alina Starkov had a very good idea. Aleksander Morozova would definitely agree. (or: Alina wants to go camping and Aleksander won't complain)

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This fic is just straight up adorable and hilarious. They’re such a cute couple and Alina’s POV is great. It’s just pure fluff and humor 💕

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you by SanktaJenya - @sankta-arya (Complete)

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Darklina Red Riding Hood/Company of Wolves AU

Darklina Week, Day 4, Fairytales

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This fic has a splendid grasp of tension and atmosphere. It’s very enchanting and dark and intriguing, and it nails those aspects with absolute precision. I love the style and the way the fairytale is incorporated into the narrative. It’s truly a masterpiece.

The Wretched by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“We are strangers, but I want to help.” He growls at her, mocking and mistrustful. “I understand,” she said. “You think I am one of them. I certainly look like one of them. But I want to help you. Will you let me?” Prompt: fairytale. Alina saves a dragon.

---

Okay so I’ve mentioned this one before as one of my Top 5 fics of all time and I still stand by that. I can’t even describe why I love this fic so much except that the pacing is amazing and the prose is stunning and the story is beautiful. Aleksander is a dragon and Alina is a witch, and their relationship is just so...interesting and fascinating and lovely. I would literally kill for this fic. There’s such a softness to it as well. Such a tenderness. Idk, I just really love it.

Show Me Who You Are (I Want To Know) by Ceris_Malfoy (Incomplete - 12/?)

Alina takes her future in her own hands and makes her own decisions.

---

This is a great “what if Alina had stuck around after the reveal” rewrite. It doesn’t have Mal bashing and in fact still writes them as close friends, which is something I’m fond of in Darklina fics. Aleksander is allowed to be soft and Alina is allowed to be powerful, and I really enjoyed the take on their dynamics as a power couple wherein Alina is given a lot of control.

There’s something to be said for the way Aleksander is written in the scenes where he must be honest and earnest with Alina. I really enjoy the way they both come to equal ground, and I’m even more fond of the way Alina is allowed to grow darker without losing her light. She also engages a lot with quite a few other characters, developing tons of friendships and alliances on her own that help strengthen her as an individual character.

on this bridge between starshine and clay by @rhea-imagined (Complete)

"His breath narrows for a moment, his fist clenched tight before he forces himself to loosen it. She is his only opportunity for salvation, but vulnerability is not a cape he wears easily. “In those days, there was less prejudice against Shadow Summoners. But everyone fears the dark, in one way or another.” He does not look at her as he waits for the penny to drop, half-hoping it stays suspended in the air."

In which Alexander comes clean to Alina and tells her about his true identity in hopes that this will help convince her to take down the Fold.

A rewrite of the fountain scene in episode four, with a good!Darkling that is trying to make amends.

---

This is my all-time favorite good!Aleksander AU. He’s kept in character despite the major changes made to his motivations, and Alina is given a lot more agency in her own story. It’s the first fic in what might become a series, but it can stand alone beautifully.

I love how Aleksander and Alina’s relationship is allowed to grow tense without breaking, and how it’s a clear sign of change but not abandonment. I love how both characters are able to think for themselves and become self-aware and are given the chance to think critically. I love the character interaction so much because it’s honest and fresh and engaging. Everything from the smallest action to the most off-hand thought is in character and meaningful and incorporated with an amazing style of writing. It’s a very refreshing piece, and the writing only makes it that much better.

Bunnies of a Feather Stitch Together by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Just as Alina called to the light, gathering and twisting it into a ball in her hands, the door swung open.

Kirigan blacked out the door frame. His appearance enough would have surprised Alina, but there was something clutched in his arm, something dark and floppy. It almost looked like the stuffed toys that had been passed around to the younger Orphans." - Alina and The Darkling bond over a love of soft things

---

Soft stuffed animal shenanigans. Bits of trans!Aleksander, which I’m very fond of, as well as just a lot of fluff with a bit of something bittersweet and sad in a good way.

Half Lie by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Baghra always talked of the demon that had stolen her daughter." Or, Alina learns the hard way that the Darkling isn't the only one who deals in half-truths

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This one is trans!Aleksander, and it handles it in a very interesting way. It’s quite sad, and deals a lot with Baghra & Aleksander’s relationship through Alina’s POV. I want to give a warning for transphobia, because it does center around that a lot as the premise, but it really is worth the read if that isn’t a trigger for you. This is one of my favorite trans!Aleksander fics, and the way it handles emotion and grief and pain is quite extraordinary.

The CEO and Helioseismologist by mrthology (Complete)

Aleksander Morozova doesn't get sick. He's the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, one that he had built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears. He exercised daily (usually), maintained a healthy diet, and kept himself fit.

He wasn’t sick.

Too bad no one believed him. And too bad Genya decided to call Ivan to take him home before also calling Alina to take care of him.

Maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad. Especially not when he has such a wonderful girlfriend.

---

Both of the fics in this series are great, but I love this one in particular because I’m an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort. Anyone who’s been on my blog for a while knows that it’s my all time favorite trope to read, and this fic fits the hurt/comfort trope to a T in the best of ways. It’s very tender and in character, and Aleksander and Alina are so soft with each other. It’s adorable and really makes you feel for Aleksander, and the caretaking is done perfectly.

All the different layers of dark (thousand little suns) by Anuna (Complete)

One month after the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to the Little Palace, and Alina has been missing him.

Or

Episode five canon divergence in which Alina had never left Os Alta.

---

This one is soft emotional hurt/comfort smut. They’re both so open and vulnerable with each other, and it’s so beautiful to read. I love the writing style and the emotion in this one. It makes my heart ache in the best way.

An Honourable Man by liviy695 (Complete)

A reimagining of the scene after the winter fete. Alina catches a glimpse of a caring Darkling after he returns from integrating the Conductor. Plus, no Baghra interference.

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This one is what it says on the tin, in that Baghra doesn’t interfere and they’re allowed to talk after the Darkling interrogates the Conductor. But more than that, it’s a great imagining of how a scene where Aleksander reveals Marie’s death would have gone. There’s a sort of quiet to it that I appreciate, with grief and solemnity weighed against care and vulnerability.

I see the real you (even if you don’t, I do) by Anonymous (Incomplete - 8/?)

A series of questionable decisions lead Alina to meet the Black General a bit earlier. Butterfly effect ensues.

---

I’ve only read half so far (I hadn’t realized it had updated!! 👀👀) but I’m already in love with this fic. Alina’s dialogue and perspective is perfect, her relationship with Mal and the other cartographers is great, and I really enjoy how much personality she has. Aleksander is so smitten, but more than that, his characterization is soft but not weak. It feels almost as if he’s swept up by Alina, instead of the other way around, and I quite like that.

Of parenting by Anuna (Complete)

Alina finds out how her husband handled yet another parenting situation.

---

This is pure adorable Darklina parenting fluff and I live for it. Yet it doesn’t lack depth and in fact explored Alina and Aleksander’s relationship with parenting quite well.

i have a longing by LRCee - @ladylyannastark (Complete)

“So, Alina Starkov, risk-taker, how did you end up being editing’s newest wunderkind?”

Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for editing (see: rewriting) the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It's the position she's always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. Life is perfect. That crush on her boss though, that's gotta go.

---

OKAY! I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH!! Let me tell you, as someone who is not too fond of Boss/Employee dynamics, I was very wary going into this fic. But boy did it deliver in a way that was perfect for me.

The relationship that develops between Aleksander and Alina is complex but healthy, and it never feels as if there’s too much of a power imbalance or anything that would make Alina feel forced or unhappy. The tension lies purely in how she fears others will perceive her, and not in how unhealthy her relationship with Aleksander is. For somebody who’s often attracted to unhealthy ships, I have to say that my favorite fics are usually ones that don’t have that type of dynamic between the characters. This fic delivers on that.

Also, Aleksander’s POV surrounding his struggle with his Russian heritage and his feelings for Alina is amazing, and has some of the best writing and characterization I’ve seen.

You receive: an evil demon; I receive: human souls by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

The next morning while she tried to tell herself it was a dream, that of course there wasn’t a fucking demon in her house, she found a note taped to her fridge.

“You might eat this shit,” it had written, “but I would like some fucking souls please.”

Darkling Week Prompt 7: free choice. Alina has a demon in her house.

This is absolute crack, and I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.

---

May I just say that this is the most fun I’ve ever had when reading a fic. It’s interesting with a bit of mystery, and Aleksander as a little shit of a demon is hilarious. Alina in this fic is great too. It’s such a unique take on her POV, especially when you reread it after knowing the ending. 10000/10, this fic is brilliant in every way and I love it.

I had been lost to you, Sunlight by BrytteMystere (Complete)

A Girl became a Woman, became a Sankta, became a Goddess.

Or: An Immortal Alina calls upon merzost to reunite with the Prince of Shadows she lost long ago. She may have lost herself in the process.

But then again, maybe time and endless wars did that instead.

---

You really just have to read this one to get it. It is utterly haunting and fascinating in the best of ways. The writing style is strange and novel and fits so well with the story being told. The composition of the fic as a whole is genius.

I Look Inside Myself (And See My Heart Is Black) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"When is a monster not a monster? Why, when you love it, of course."

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 6: Favorite Quote • King & Queen • Monster

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Once more, this author comes through with an absolutely breathtaking writing style and story. The imagery is elegant yet brutal, simultaneously horrifying and glorious. There’s a certain way these stories are written, like fairytales, where the beautiful becomes the macabre and becomes ever more stunning because of it. It’s very dark but in a good way - an almost bewitching way.

Afterlife by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“You are asking me to leave?”

“Not asking, shadow,” she said. “Telling. Time to get unlost, loser.”

Day 3 Darklina Week prompt: Modern AU (I mean, barely)

Alina expels ghosts from purgatory.

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@aceofnowhere once again bringing the best of the paranormal to the Grishaverse. Literally everything you write is amazing idk why I’m even pointing out individual fics when I could just rec your whole page. But anyways!! This is fun and interesting and Alina is a badass. Aleksander is, of course, compelling and dark and kind of a little shit, and it’s all incorporated seamlessly into an existential paranormal narrative.

Once Upon a Shooting Star by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"But most of all, she was drawn to a vast darkness that reached out above all of them, a void so hungry for companionship that she knew she could fulfill."

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Let. Alina. Be. Feral!! Anyways, I clearly have a type when it comes to storytelling, and it’s whatever the fuck this person has got going on. Feral!Star!Alina is literally the light of my life. Her interactions with not only other people but the world in general are so well done, but my favorite parts about this fic are the numerous ways her relationship with Aleksander is described and depicted.

I love the dark and light imagery, especially with how it’s portrayed as them filling in the gaps of each other’s lives and supporting each other instead of trying to block each other out. There’s such clear passion and joy and love and devotion between them. The central focus of this fic is on her and Aleksander’s relationship, the interplay between them and their powers and the way her light fills his loneliness, the passing of adoration and trust and reliance between them. It’s very beautiful and I love it.

A Blaze of Light by Keira_63 (Complete)

They discover the Sun Summoner in the burnt-out remains of the Shu laboratory in which she has spent the last seven years of her life.

Or, the Darkling finds himself with a Sun Summoner whose greatest wish is to burn Shu Han to the ground. He is happy to oblige her.

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👀👀 Badass Alina and Badass Aleksander. The ultimate power couple, and Alina burning a path through Shu Han before they both burn a path through the world together. The darkness and rage in this one are handled very well, and the way that rage turns to coldness and then resolve is done so well. This fic is very cathartic and also very furious, and reading it is certainly a trip down emotion lane.

One more for the Road by Rist (Complete)

He returns to the war room shaken, and finds an Alina that cannot leave without at least having tried.

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This one hurts so much but its soooo gooood!!! Very smutty but also very tender and very bittersweet. Sad and soft all at once. I just... love the way Alina and Aleksander are written so much, and Alina’s complicated feelings for him are explored in such detail and depth. This one is truly worth the read.

[coughloop]

(screenshotting all of this to condense it a little)

I really appreciate the time and effort you put into writing all this and it feels like you sent this in actual good faith unlike a lot of the messages ive gotten the last couple days so I'm going to try to respond and talk through my feelings about it in as well thought out a response as I can (although i am not always the most succinct with my conclusions). My apologies if i contradict anything I've said in the last couple of days but im going to try to express where i am, at this moment in my understanding of cnc and everything else thats been talked about.

putting this under a read more cause it got really long

First off, I want to clarify that the stuff I have REALLY been disgusted with that has come out in the last few days has been 4 main groups:

1. the people that have made public their pedophilic fantasies, and the fact that you can point to people in these circles that have groomed minors in the past or are actively doing it right now.

2. the people posting about their fantasies of sexually abusing family members and strangers alike (which i realize now is seperate from cnc fantasies).

3. the people fantasizing about raceplay (which is just straight up getting off to racism).

4. the people who have defended any of these things either by doing so directly or by going out of their way to spread misinformation about what the original callouts were about to downplay what was originally said and what people were so disgusted by and to make it sound like people were just freaking out because some trans women on this site are "having sex that puritans dont like" (seriously if you're in this group and were part of shifting the narrative, fuck you)

Second, I agree with the disclaimed you sent afterwards. After having a talk with my partner and reading a couple blog posts about what cnc is, I think I had a different understanding of what it can be, and I think i had a very specific, negative image in my mind of what the average CNC scenario actually is. I realize it is probably more of a spectrum with space to play in (like consensual use of rope play or pushing someone against a wall because you both like the feeling, both things i have tried and enjoyed to some degree) could arguably be considered CNC while both parties can be made to feel completely safe through the entire experience.

I do not personally think going as far as actually roleplaying a rape scenario sounds healthy at all. I feel like that is the time in a consensual sexual encounter most likely to be misused by someone with an imbalance of power and safety to pressure someone into a situation they can very quickly dislike and feel unsafe in (like the anonymous message I got earlier about someone else with experience in CNC).

I also know that I am not the sex police and while certain things happen behind closed doors I myself am not comfortable with, if two consenting adults can be comfortable with the scenario that's really no skin off my back, and genuinely I really dont care if I dont have to hear about it (disclaimer this does not apply to raceplay behind closed doors because while two adults may consent to it or whatever, they are actively engaging in racism and rationalizing it into a fetish that further hurts and demeans people of colour in the consenting adults eyes and its just really fucking racist listen to black people and dont fucking do that shit GOD).

To sum up, i dont actually think cnc has to be inherently abusive though i do believe more than all other kinds of consensual sex, it has the easiest leap to get there if partner's dont listen to eachother or try to push boundaries the other is not comfortable with. I think actual full on rape play sounds horrendous and bad and i dont think people should do it but i literally have no way of stopping them if theyre doing it behind closed doors. I think pedophiles and abusers should rot because i know how miserable they make the lives of their victims and fostering it in your community even if you claim you would never act on it or its all just edgy jokes or whatever is a horrible way to live and you need to get better and im going to block you and maybe warn people about you if i see you doing those things.

I hope this all made sense and I didnt ramble too much, i genuinely appreciate you sending your message because it helped me take a step back and think more about what exactly i am upset about and I hope this response is helpful for you too.