#lots of trigger warnings

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part IV.

pairing: din djarin x plus-size fem!O/C          

word count: 12K       

chapter summary: They talk. They fight. They talk. They fight. They talk. They fight.  

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, physical violence, mention of sexual assault, mention of child sexual abuse and rape, sexual situations, oral sex (m receiving), mental breakdowns and mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing       

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***        

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Din hadn’t known he had fallen asleep until he woke up. He blinked several times, working out exactly where he was.  He lifted his head to find himself reclined fully back in his captain’s chair, a sleeping Grogu sprawled face-down on his chest.  Marathel was nowhere to be seen.  How the shab does she manage to get away from me while we’re sleeping?  Can she levitate?  Do I have to tie her up…? Din paused that thought with a smile, then he checked the chronometer and saw he’d been sleeping for about four hours.  He listened for any sounds in the main part of the ship and heard nothing.  Din’s hips were stiff, and his seat back would only raise up by physically pushing it back into place, so getting up was a clumsy chore.  He reminded himself — again — to fix it while he left Grogu sleeping on the seat.   

Din twisted at the waist, this way and that, and roughly tilted his head back and forth so his vertebrae would crack.  Assuming Marathel was sitting and knitting below, he quietly went down the ladder in search of her and of a cup of caf, with actual caf in the hot water this time.  He was surprised at first to see that she wasn’t leaning against the wall, he then assumed she was sitting on his bedroll again while stabbing hell out of that wool roving.  He walked over to the galley to heat some water, and turned back to see that the door to his quarters was closed.  

Closed?  Closed and … locked, he thought, remembering he’d dismantled the door control from this side.  But … why?  She knows I’m not — out of control now.  Din went over to the door, and touched it with his fingertips, willing her to open it from within.  He listened and heard nothing.  Either she was sleeping … or she was hiding.   

Confused and concerned, Din climbed back up into the cockpit and sat in the aft chair, wondering what was going on with Marathel now.  He took a sip from his cup, realizing he’d forgotten the caf crystals again. 

Haar’chak! 

Din went back down the ladder to get the damn caf when he noticed the door to his weapons locker was slightly open.  He didn’t keep it locked — on one hand, he should probably start since the addition of a curious toddler, but on the other hand, Grogu didn’t show the least bit of interest in the weapons.  Din fully opened the locker, doing a quick visual inventory, seeing nothing missing.  He started to close the door when he caught a smudge out of the corner of his eye.  Squatting down for a closer look, he examined the smudge, which was in fact a blood smear, and then he remembered: the Dilimgau.   

He didn’t put the Dilimgau in the locker; Boba had, because he didn’t know what it was.  But when Din took out the marchwyl — the beskar hammer — the Dilimgau had been in there.  Now it was gone.  What the … Din did a cursory look around and did not see it.  Where the shab is that damned thing?  He didn’t move it, he felt reasonably sure Grogu wouldn’t touch anything that had hurt his Mama.  So that only left Marathel.   

Forgetting his cup of warm water on the bottom shelf of the weapons locker, Din stood and turned to the closed door.  Is she in there with that … thing?  Why would she mentally torture herself like that?  Or is she …  

With the horrible thought that Marathel may be doing herself physical harm, Din took two steps and was at the door.  Knocking, he asked, “Marathel? Are you awake?”  Hearing nothing behind the door, he called out, “Please, Marathel, please open the door.”  There was still only silence.  Din pounded the door more vigorously.  “Marathel!  Open the damn door!”   

“Mama?” 

Din spun around to see Grogu standing behind him, looking curiously at the closed door.  Din pounded the door again, saying, “Marathel, Grogu wants his Mama!”  Din dug in his pockets to find his multi-tool, and he began removing the little panel that had held the door switch before Din ripped it out.  “Grogu, is Mama okay?  Can you tell?” 

Grogu tilted his head and sighed.  “Sad Mama.” 

He got the panel off and he pulled out several wires, untwisting two of them. “Yes, yes, sad Mama, but is she hurt?”  

Grogu bleated, then said, “Hurt Mama.” 

“Is it a new hurt or an old hurt?” Din stopped what he was doing for a moment, then shook his head.  “We gotta work on a better sort of communication, kid, this isn’t working for me.” He accidentally tapped two live wires together and received a shock. “SHIT!” 

“Shih!” 

“Grogu!” snapped Din.  The door slid open, and he stepped into the opening.  Marathel was sitting against the far wall, knees up, arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at a point somewhere past where he stood.  A meter in front of her on the bedroll, on an old rag, lay the remains of the Dilimgau.  Din sat carefully down, trying to get himself into her line of vision.  “Mesh’la? Ma’mwsh ha’laa?  Speak to me, please,” he said quietly, but Marathel did not move, maintaining her wide-eyed stare at nothing.  He slowly moved closer to her as he removed his gloves.  He reached out and touched her cheek.  “Cyar’e, are you being still?  You don’t have to be still anymore.  You don’t have to suffer that Dilimgau anymore.  You don’t have to suffer that Hold anymore.”  Din watched as Marathel’s eyes refocused, and tears spilled over her transparent eyelashes as she shut her eyes tight.  “I’m covering up that monstrosity now,” he said, flipping the rag over the Dilimgau. “Cyar’e, why did you lock yourself in here with that thing?” 

“I … don’t think I meant to shut the door …” Marathel took a shuddery breath and opened her eyes.  “What happened to it?” 

“I beat the shab out of it with the marchwyl.” 

Marathel nodded.  “I think every female in the Hold would be glad to know.  Belwhyns weren’t made often, but the Dilimgau was always there for us to see.  It was the only one, you know.” 

Din didn’t know, didn’t want to know.  Marathel’s voice had taken on that flat tone again, the tone she had when she spoke so blithely of the foul deeds done to her by the males of the Hold.   

“You probably think that Belwhyns were made right and left, don’t you?” asked Marathel.  “There were only ten that I knew about in my lifetime, and I was only present for four of those, so … another six in the thirty years I was living outside?” 

Only ten, thought Din.  Only ten suffered like she did in the past forty-five, fifty years. That she knew about. How many women, how many girls, were beaten to death or died in childbirth or from whatever indignities they were forced to endure? 

Marathel’s quiet, even voice broke into his thoughts.  “They didn’t have to, to keep us in line.  That Dilimgau was deterrent enough. It was never cleaned, you see.  It was the one thing we didn’t have to clean.  And the … remains left on it, they would fester and rot, and bring maggots and flying insects.  They’d threaten us with it, from time to time.  I’ve had it rolled and dragged across my skin, I’ve had it in my mouth, I’ve had it right in front of my face while the Bishop … from behind … especially soon after a Belwhyn was made.  The stench of it would make me sick.”  Din felt sick himself.  No wonder she went septic, he thought.  He wondered when he would ever hear the worst, the most despicable act committed by the Elders, for every time Marathel spoke, the bar was set lower and lower. 

Marathel continued, “It was the only one, though.  I wonder … I wonder what they’ll do now?  To make a Belwhyn?” Marathel went silent for a long time, then she shivered.  “I carry them, the Belwhyns, with me, now.” 

Din nodded.  She did, after a fashion, carry those who also suffered.  “I carry you with me, now.” 

Marathel looked at him.  “I don’t understand.” 

“The marchwyl was used to repair my helmet.  Your blood was on the marchwyl, and the Armorer forged that beskar into the repair for my helmet, and into new armor for my people.”  Marathel began to cry again. “I wear it with pride, my mesh’la, that something so terrible has redeemed itself by fire.  The others who receive that beskar may never know what you suffered for their benefit, but I will never forget your sacrifice for me and my covert.”  He reached out and cupped her cheek, and to his surprise, she pressed her cheek to his palm, and a look flashed through her eyes — just a flicker — that made him think that she did love him, and then her face fell back to her blank, protected visage.  “That thing, though, can never be redeemed.  It should be destroyed forever. It should be destroyed by you.” 

“By me?” 

“The marchwyl is no more because of you.  The Dilimgau should share the same fate.”  Din stood and picked up the Dilimgau as if it were a sacred object.  He carried it to the divot he had beaten into the floor, placed it there, and opened the rag to expose the crumpled hunk of metal. He then folded down a wall panel to expose an array of tools.  Din picked up a heavy hammer and held it out for Marathel to take.  “I’ve done a number on it, but I’ve never seen any metal that couldn’t use more persuasion from a hammer.” 

Marathel looked at the hammer, then back at Din before she stood and came forward to take the hammer in her hand.  She hefted it a couple of times, and then pointed with it at the tool board.  “What’s wrong with that one?” 

Din turned to see a small sledge.  He traded out the hammer he’d given Marathel.  “I thought it might be too heavy.” 

Marathel ignored this comment and hefted the sledge, deftly flipped it over in her hand, then spun it, surprising Din.  “It’s unbalanced,” she said with shrug.  Marathel gathered her hair with one hand and shoved down the back of her shirt.   Dropping to one knee, she raised the hammer, and slammed it down on the Dilimgau with a guttural cry.  Half-a-dozen times, Marathel hit the Dilimgau, making a much deeper divot than Din, shrieking louder and louder as her rage grew.  She pounded the flattened metal scrap two last times, popping the rivets on the floor panel and making it bounce.  Marathel slung the hammer aside, nearly hitting Din in his shin, shouting, “IT’S NOT ENOUGH! It’s not ENOUGH!”  Red-faced with anger, her eyes darted about, and then fixed on Din’s blaster. 

Din looked down to his hip, then back at her, saying, “No, no … don’t even think about it,” just before she lunged at him, reaching for his blaster.  He grabbed her forearms, not wanting to hurt her, but he would if she was going to put them in danger.  Panicking, Marathel tried to pull her hands free, but couldn’t, so she wrapped her leg around his and pulled Din off-balance, bending him backwards.  Her legs were strong, but were no match for his strong arms, and Din recovered enough to replant his foot and spin her, so he had one arm around her neck and one arm twisting one of hers high behind her, making her yelp. “Stop it, Marathel, calm yourself, be st- …”   

“NO!  I will not BE STILL!” Marathel pushed back hard enough from her feet that she propelled them both into the wall, knocking Din’s breath out of him, and he thought, if I had gifted her that damn sledgehammer, like a token of courtship, this would be our first date. This thought tickled him, even as he gasped for breath, and he let out a chuckle, which he regretted immediately as it infuriated Marathel, and she jabbed her free elbow into his gut as hard as she could, reminding him that he’d neglected to put on his cuirass again … but truth be told, I didn’t anticipate wrestling with a silver-haired hellcat when I woke up earlier.   

Her technique was sloppy as hell, not even befitting a new apprentice, but she sure had a good instinct for hand-to-hand combat. Din briefly wondered what Marathel would look like in form-fitting armor when she nearly managed to squirm free by dropping her weight straight down, but her arm twisted behind her back hampered her movement.  Marathel cried out and kicked back against Din’s shins, but he slid his other arm under her free one, immobilizing it.   

Grogu, meanwhile, sat quietly and watched the proceedings. Grogu wondered if Patu and Mama were doing the thing that made Patu and Mama make strange noises.  Grogu wasn’t sure, because Grogu was always in a different room or in the flying bubble when Patu or Mama made the strange noises.  Grogu thought Mama was too sad and angry at Patu for the strange noises thing.  Grogu thought if Patu and Mama were doing the thing that made Patu and Mama make strange noises, Patu and Mama were yelling a lot more than usual. Grogu wondered if Grogu should get in the flying bubble and wait for Patu and Mama to stop making strange noises. 

Marathel continued to struggle and wail, and Din shouted, “Haar’chak, Marathel, stop fighting me!”  Screaming like a caged animal, she bent at the knees and the waist, pulling Din off his feet as she dragged them both away from the wall, making him worry that she was going to flip herself — and him — forward.  “No, no, ma’mwsh ha’laa, you’ll only hurt yourself!” He pulled back on her, raising her on to her toes, then using her instability to spin her around and pin her up against the wall – trapping her again.  Well, this seems familiar, he thought.  “Marathel, mesh’la, you need to stop!”  Marathel screamed again and slid down the wall to the floor as she burst into tears and wept uncontrollably.  Not having a nervous breakdown, my ass, thought Din, dropping to one knee before her, holding her shoulders.  Grogu came over to pat her hip and coo sadly.  Marathel put her face in her hands and cried while Din sat on the floor too, pulling her into his arms and rocking her like a child. 

Marathel’s heavy sobs eventually began to lull, and she felt the calming warmth of Grogu’s touch coursing through her.  “No, no, Grogu, my love, I don’t need to go to sleep.  I don’t want to sleep.”  She sniffled and asked Din, “Are you all right?” 

“Me? I’m fine, my ma’mwsh ha’laa ...” 

“But I threw the hammer ... 

“... and it missed me, my wounded acorn.  I hope I didn’t hurt you, but I can’t let you go after my weapons like that.” 

Marathel scrubbed her nose with her hand.  “You are right.  I was foolish and I could have put you and Grogu in danger.  I didn’t keep you safe.  I’m sorry.”   

“Physically fighting you was the last thing on my mind when I woke up,” said Din, finding a cloth in his inner pocket, and handing it to her. “Do you really want to disintegrate that Dilimgau?” 

“I want it broken apart into a million pieces so that it can never be used again.” 

“We can make that happen.” 

Marathel blew her nose and looked at Din curiously, her eyes red and puffy. “... we can?” 

“Yes, but you will need to get off my lap,” said Din, his voice teasing, trying to lighten the mood.  Marathel arched her eyebrow, but the tiniest hint of a smile curved her full lips, thrilling Din.  She slid off his lap to the floor, and Din stood and held out his hand to help her up.  “First, we need to drop out of hyperspace, so let’s get back up into the cockpit.”  Marathel groaned, but she headed towards the cockpit ladder and began to climb.  Din scooped up Grogu and made it to the ladder in time to view Marathel’s lovely behind above him again, wondering if she knew what he was doing. 

She did.  And she liked it.  Just a little.  More than a little.  More like a lot.  And it scared her and amused her at the same time. 

They got strapped in. Din did a quick recalculation in his head, and then dropped the Razor Crest out of hyperspace with a small jolt.  “Okay, head back down.” 

With a sigh, Marathel unstrapped herself and climbed back down, Din and Grogu following her. Din picked up the Dilimgau and searched through a drawer, pulling out a small, lighted device that went beep.  Din attached the device to the Dilimgau, and then he moved the Dilimgau remains to the floor just inside the ramp door.  As Din set about to making sure that everything was put away and locked up tight, Marathel asked, “Did I need to come down here for this?” 

“What’s going to happen is, I’m going to open this ramp door, and the Dilimgau will get shot out into open space.” 

“Wait, what?” 

Din smiled under his helmet.  “We’re going to be in the cockpit, sealed in by the closed door.  Then I will bring the ship around and you’re going to fire the ship’s lasers at the Dilimgau.” 

Marathel frowned.  “I am?” 

“Yes, you.”  He led her back to the ladder and sent her and Grogu back up while she grumbled that she still didn’t see why she needed to come down just to watch him put the Dilimgau by a door.  Din’s smile got even wider, and he got up the gumption to pat her rear end, which she only halfheartedly swatted away.  Well, well, well, thought Din.  

After they got back into the cockpit, Din closed and sealed the cockpit door and turned on the monitor to the main corridor.  “Okay, watch here ...” He released the airlock and the Dilimgau disappeared out the door like a rocket while Marathel jumped with a small shriek.  “Now hang on ...”  Marathel stood by his captain’s chair while Din swung the ship around.  He performed the maneuver with a little more … style than he really needed to, just so Marathel would lean off-balance towards him and grab his shoulder. 

Din pulled up the ship’s targeting system, showing Marathel how he could find the Dilimgau, using the tracker to pinpoint its location in the vacuum of space.  He turned to her.  “Ready?”  Marathel only nodded, her eyes wide.  Din got up, and gently moved Marathel to take his seat while Grogu stood on the console, watching. Din reached around her and took her trembling hands, placing them on the laser firing control handles, wrapping her splinted fingers around the handles and placing his thumbs over hers on the top buttons.  Her breathing was fast, shallow, nervous.  “Just breathe, mesh’la, breathe in ...” -- Marathel took in a shaky breath -- “... and out!” As Marathel breathed out, he pressed down on her thumbs, firing the lasers, and the Dilimgau disintegrated in a cloud of sparks.  Marathel gasped, her eyes wide, her arms going rigid, and she went still.  “You did it, cyar’e, the Dilimgau is no more.” 

Marathel began to tremble all over.  She pulled her hands back and covered her mouth, sobbing.  Din put his arms around her, lifting her slightly so he could sit in the chair again, with her in his lap, rocking her gently as she wept against his neck.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...” she whimpered. 

“No, ma’mwsh ha’laa, don’t be sorry ...” 

“All I do is cry around you ...” 

“My mesh’la, you have much to cry about.  Cry all you need to.”  Marathel clutched at him as she continued to weep.  When it seemed the worst of her emotional storm was over, Din asked, “Why wouldn't you let Grogu put you to sleep earlier?” 

Marathel found the cloth Din had given her earlier in her pocket, and she blew her nose again. “Sometimes, when I go to sleep, I can hear their voices.” 

“Whose voices?” asked Din. Marathel waved her hand towards the glittering remains of the Dilimgau, floating in the vacuum of space. “Are they the women who also had to suffer that thing?”  She nodded, and Din wondered if she had finally snapped.  “Ner kar’ta … What are they saying?” 

“They are singing the only song.” 

Din shifted Marathel in his arms, tucking her feet in by his hip. “What parts?” 

“The apology part.”  Without being bidden, Marathel quietly sang, 

“Rwy’n wethi tir’ch calon,  

Rwy’n ym’dirie daererth, 

Nido’es ganen chi diodyth y’lore  

Mwywch oher wydd gwnnyf  

Nafarw a ph’eidio 

D’ogel cad w’n di’rugar. 

“‘I have broken your heart, I have broken your trust, I will suffer the hurt myself, I would rather die than not keep you safe,’” said Marathel. 

“Why are they apologizing?” 

“They didn’t keep me safe.  They broke their promise to keep me safe.” 

“Rwy’n di’rugar,” said Din. “You said that meant I love you and you can only say it to children.  But it really means …” 

“‘My heart breaks to keep you safe.’  We only say it to the girls, because the boys don’t need it.” 

“You say it to Grogu.”  

As if on cue, Grogu climbed up on Marathel’s lap, and she put her arms around him.  “I would rather die than cause him harm.”  But you are harming him, thought Din.  As if she had heard his thoughts, she said, “I know you think I’m hurting him.  I’m glad you think that.  It will make it easier for you to leave me behind.” 

“Marathel …” implored Din.  “You’ve … your mind is broken, as you say, but stay, stay with me and I will help you fix it.” 

“I don’t want to be fixed.” 

The shab?  “Then you can be broken, as broken as you wish, just please stay with me.  With us.” He held her tight.  Marathel remained silent as Din rocked her in his arms.  Deciding to try another tack, perhaps appealing to her somewhat sarcastic nature — which he found so attractive about her — he said, “You know, if you were in my covert, that fight we had earlier would have been considered … a date.” 

“A date?” 

Din shrugged.  “Such is the Creed about courtship.” 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.  I don’t understand date, or courtship.” 

Din knew that such social trappings were unknown to her, and he struggled to find words that were on her level.  “When one Mandalorian has … heartfelt feelings for another, that person gives the other a token, a gift … usually a weapon, and the two … spar, as we did.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, to see if they are a good match.  Sparring opens up … thoughts of compatibility between two people.” 

“Your Creed says this?” 

“Yes.” 

“But what of affection?” asked Marathel, confused. 

“Affection comes with time, with learning how compatible you are, with adapting to how that person also lives the Creed.” 

Marathel would have responded that she was no Mandalorian, that she did not follow his Creed, but then she remembered that he had told her that his affection for her was less than his devotion to his Creed.  Less than, less than, less than.  “If you find that the other Mandalorian is compatible with you, then what happens?” 

“Then, perhaps, that person becomes your riduur, and the two of you enter a riduurok.” 

Marathel frowned.  “And what is that?” 

“It’s a pledge, a promise, between the two of you.  ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.’” 

Marathel thought her heart would explode.  Such simple words, but so beautiful.  “You pledge this… for life? Forever?” 

“Forever.  Forsaking all others, until death,” he said quietly, stroking her arm. 

“Is this something you’ve considered doing?” 

“Of course,” replied Din.  “But I would prefer pledging the riduurok while standing in the Living Waters of our home planet of Mand’alor.  That is where I was going before I came to find you.” 

“You were?  You were going to … enter a riduurok?”   

“No, no … I was seeking redemption.” 

“Why in Frith do you need redemption?” 

Din sighed.  “I have intentionally, of my own volition, removed my helmet before others where they could see my face.  Quite a few others. I felt I had no other choice, for I was trying to rescue Grogu at the time.  And then … when Grogu left with the Jedi, I revealed my face to him, so that he would know who I was.”  Din looked away from her.  “It is the greatest sin I could have committed in my Creed.  Because of my actions, I am no longer a Mandalorian, but an apostate.  I must find absolution by bathing in the Living Waters and renewing my pledge to Mand’alor.  This is the way.” 

“But …” Marathel placed her hand on Din’s shoulder where it met his throat, and her thumb managed to find a narrow strip of bare skin between his cape and his cowl, and he felt an electric shudder pass through him, sending all of his flesh into goosebumps. “But your love for Grogu is greater than your devotion to your Creed, isn’t it? You had no choice, as you say.  How could they be so cruel to strip you of your … what was the word … religion?  Who you are?” 

“This is the way.” 

“It seems so … narrow-minded.  And petty,” she said, even as she wondered why he was so insistent to not reveal his face to her!  She couldn’t be made more of a Belwhyn, they could only kill her once, so what was the harm of one more pair of eyes looking upon his? Unfair! She childishly cried in her head, before she pushed those thoughts away as unseemly and selfish. Marathel awkwardly hugged him, saying, “I am sorry you are suffering so.  I hope you find your redemption.” 

“I thought you didn’t give a shit about my Creed,” whispered Din, filled with delight that she had put her arms around him for once. 

“I don’t.  I only care about what your Creed means to you.  Perhaps … I am jealous; I have nothing in my life that is so meaningful.”  Except for you and your son.  Din held her tighter, stroking whatever skin of hers he could touch, and as time went on, Marathel trembled more and more; his touch was becoming too much for her, and she began to feel trapped again, even as she wished she could remain where she was, somehow feeling both terrified and safe. 

Din, meanwhile, was savoring her arms around him, having her in his arms, warm and soft, dreading the end of this journey, which was coming faster and faster with every moment they remained in hyperspace.  “Please, let me take you in the room below,” whispered Din, motioning to his quarters, “so that I may turn off the lights … let me kiss you, let me hold you … let me convince you I love you.” 

Marathel sighed and pushed herself away from his embrace.  All he wanted was to fondle her, after all.  Just like those nights on Unmanarall, when he’d rejected her plea to look upon his face, just once, before she went into the Hold to give up her life, for him!  He says he will always remember my sacrifice, but then he demands to caress me, put his hands on me, and I don’t think I can bear it, thought Marathel, confused and torn by her desire towards Din while feeling repulsed by his touch at the same time.  “If that’s all you wish from me, I will go into the room with you …” 

“All I wish?” 

“… and you may do as you please with me …” 

“Marathel, no, that’s not …” 

“… but you will not make me change my mind.” 

“Don’t do that, Marathel, that’s not what I want!” 

“Isn’t it?” asked Marathel, weary. 

“You told me you loved me …” 

“… as much as I knew how.  You said it before, there’s no word in my Oldtalk for love.  I merely obey.  Even after thirty years of living on my own, I can only … obey a man’s desires.  I could tell you that I loved you, but who could say if my love for you was… real, or merely your command to do so? You deserve so much better than someone who can’t see the difference.” 

“You know the difference, Marathel, surely you can feel the difference in your heart …” 

Marathel continued as if Din hadn’t spoken.  “You don’t know the difference, either, though, do you? How could you, living like you do under that helmet? You tell me that my Hold has ceremonial words for every occasion, yet your own Creed has rules and stipulations for … finding someone … compatible! 

“Do you know if it’s love you speak, or if it’s what you command of me because you know I cannot refuse?  That I am a helmetless, worthless, stupid woman you can bend to your desires? I’m no Mandalorian, I’m not part of your Creed; what would the point be, for you to have anything to do with me … other than simply for your gratification?” 

Din went silent and released his hold on her.  He took Grogu from her and gently pushed her off his lap to a standing position as he seemingly stared at her through the darkness of his visor.  Finally, he dropped his gaze from her and looked out the view shield as he said, “Marathel, I think … I think you may have found the words to drive me away.  I’m beginning to believe, as you do … there’s no point.”   

“Din, I ...” 

“Not now, Marathel.” 

Marathel stood, looking at him for a few moments, and then she went down the ladder.  Standing in the middle of the corridor, near the deep divot she’d helped make, she sank to the floor, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  At last, I have pushed you away, she thought. Din Djarin, my love, I’m so sorry. Someday, you’ll come to realize that I did you a favor.  I do love you, Din Djarin, from the moment I heard you call out my name as I stood in that tree, I knew I loved you. I will miss Grogu, but I will die from want of you. I am so sorry I must do this to you. 

I love you both, more than I can bear. 

Marathel opened her eyes and looked into the disparaging countenance of Grogu, standing in front of her.  Oh, he was angry, she could tell.  His little hands clenched into fists, and he spit out, “Mama sad Patu!” 

Marathel bowed her head.  “Yes, Grogu, I made Patu very sad.  I am very sorry that I have hurt you both.”   

Grogu was so mad! Mama loved Patu.  Mama said so!  But Mama hurt Patu.  Mama hurt Grogu.  Grogu was mad at Mama.  Grogu loved Mama, but Grogu was mad that Mama made Patu so sad.  Grogu was mad that Patu was sad.  Grogu was mad that Mama was sad.  Grogu was mad at the dark inside of head of Mama.  Grogu was mad that Grogu could not fix the dark inside head of Mama.  Grogu was mad that Mama did not want to fix the dark inside head of Mama. 

Grogu was mad that Grogu could not say the words about how Grogu was mad! 

Grogu grunted and pushed her leg.  He did this several times, and then he began to hit her leg.  Marathel did not stop him, nor did she encourage him to hit her.  “I know, Grogu, you are very angry with me.  I am sorry I have made you angry ...” 

“Grogu!” Both Marathel and Grogu looked at Din, standing at the bottom of the ladder.  “You stop hitting her, right now!” 

“He is angry and frustrated, and he cannot say ...” 

“Whether or not he can use words is immaterial.  I will not have him hitting anyone like … a Hold boy! Grogu, come with me, now.  Sit with me in the cockpit.  Leave Mahr alone.” Obediently, Grogu went to Din, grumbling under his breath, while Marathel died a little inside, for Din referred to her as Mahr and not Mama.  And Grogu did not correct Din that it was Mama and not Mahr.  To Marathel, he said, “We’re going back into hyperspace now.”  Marathel silently went back up into the cockpit and strapped in while Din set the Crest back on its hyperspace path.  After they were back on their way, she went back down without a word. 

Din kept Grogu in the cockpit, and Marathel could hear him talking to Grogu in a low but calming voice, just as she would a little Hold girl who was crying over a hurt caused her by a Hold boy.  Never would she have taken a Hold boy to task for hurting a girl, not if she wanted to keep her head on straight. Redirection from violence was acceptable, reprimand was not. She may have scolded Grogu for eating eggs, but that was because she didn’t know if eating the eggs that way was bad for him.  And then he had put her in a tree for it, which had frightened her because she didn’t know he could move people and not just things. 

For a few hours, Marathel sat on her folded blanket — she didn’t feel right about sitting on Din’s bed anymore — and worked on her projects.  She finished five of the wool cloths and decided they were good enough. She made a tiny pair of cuffed slippers for Grogu, which took no time at all, and hurriedly made a neck gaiter for Din.  If she’d thought about it earlier — and had a finer yarn — she’d have designed a hooded close-fitting cowl that he could have worn beneath his helmet against the cold.  The neck gaiter, though, could pull up over his chin and ears, she supposed, and was made in a “mistake rib” that was warm without being bulky.  This neck gaiter used the last of the yarn Cobb had bought her.  This made her a little sad, but she hoped that someday Cobb would see Din wearing the cowl she’d made.  She hoped that the two men could rekindle their friendship, or whatever kind of relationship they’d had before she came along.  Marathel was sure Cobb loved Din dearly, although she was unsure quite how a romantic love worked between two men.  She could guess, but no such relationship was known to her on Unmanarall.  Shrugging at her ignorance, and deciding such knowledge was useless to her anyway, she set about weaving in the ends in her knitting. 

Meanwhile, in the cockpit, Din stewed in annoyance.  Again, that woman had opened her mouth and, in her strange ignorance and naïveté, spoken the utter truth, this time about Din’s understanding of love and romance.  Of course he didn’t know how love worked!  What did he have as a base for that knowledge?  A bunch of stupid rom-com holos? His history with prostitutes?  His disastrous affair with X’ian?  

His parents had been murdered before he was old enough to even think about such things.  He’d watched his father treat his mother well, but that was common decency … along with lots of touching and kissing, the latter of which he was unable to do with the helmet, and Marathel ran hot and cold to being touched.  His buir remained without a long-term partner as long as Din knew him, and while buir had copious amounts of advice about pretty much everything else, his advice regarding a … relationship with another boiled down to: 

No means No, and Yes does not necessarily mean anal. 

If you’re too embarrassed to have a medic check your dick over if you caught something, you’re not ready to get laid. 

Same goes for getting a birth control implant. 

When it comes to women: the older the holocorder, the sweeter the music. 

No matter who it is: the bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’. 

Huh, thought Din, I guess he gave me more advice than I realized.  When buir fell gravely ill with the lung disease the first time, Din was a teenager and had managed a single sexual encounter but was still embarrassed about how lackluster and awkward the event was.  On his sickbed, buir had punched him in the arm and snapped, dammit, kid, you should be proud about getting laid!  Who cares if it wasn’t all that great?  The first time never is! And every other time is awkward as hell!  Now, go get that kriffing implant, like I told you!  Not everyone can afford the damn thing, so do your part! 

Several years later, as buir lay dying, his scarred lungs destroyed, barely able to breathe, he had this to say:  Kid, I don’t know much … but when it comes to someone special, someone who could be your riduur … if that person is reasonably intelligent ... can make you laugh all damn day ... and has a filthy mind … that’s a keeper. I never found one who was all three at the same time ... I hope you find one, son. 

Din’s throat felt thick.  He’d forgotten that was the one, singular time buir had called him son. Oh, buir, I think I found one.  She’s bright, she’s smart, she can do damned anything she sets her mind to.  She makes me laugh so damn much.  I don’t know how filthy her mind is but she’s sarcastic and she cusses a lot and she’ll smack you a good one and laugh while doing it. 

Din also considered what Lady Senel, the former senator had told him on Coruscant ... he may not always like Marathel but he had to do his best to love her.  She’d had a hard life.  Her life would continue to be hard, if she changed her mind to stay with him … or even without him, but not on Unmanarall.   She would have to figure out a whole new universe while coming to terms with who she was and where she came from and have to endure people judging her for it.   

And fuck my life, I can’t think about anything but her, keeping her with me, keeping her safe.  I want to wrap her up in her blanket like a Bothan sweet roll and snuggle her on my lap.  She’s lost her mind, I’m a fucking murderer, and I want to hang up my weapons and eat the bread she bakes and go to fat and chase her and Grogu around in a little house in our underwear and build blanket forts and have tickle fights and cuddle with them until the stars explode.  

No one, no one, had ever made him want to hang up his damn weapons. 

Except, maybe, Omera.  Omera had come close.  She was so lovely, quiet, sweet.  But he wasn’t in a position — at the time — to stop running, to remain in one place — even the few weeks he had spent there had been too long, putting Grogu in danger of Imps catching up to them. If anything, Omera had planted the seed of the idea of a life beyond bounty hunting.  He’d considered going back to Sorgan, to seek her out, and now he was damned if he could remember why that didn’t happen. 

Oh, that’s right.  Greef Karga buzzed me with the bounty of a lifetime, if it were real. More money than any other mercenary could believe for a single bounty.   And that was Marathel. And she ruined me for all others. 

Oh, Marathel, I … 

And suddenly, there she was, standing in front of him, with what looked like a cup of hot caf and a sweet dunking biscuit resting on the cup.  These, she set on the console.  Solemnly, she sank to her knees before him, bowed her head, and held up her hands, palm-up to him, and in a sweet, quiet voice, she sang: 

“Rwy’n wethi tir’ch calon,  

Rwy’n ym’dirie daererth, 

Nido’es ganen chi diodyth y’lore  

Mwywch oher wydd gwnnyf  

Nafarw a ph’eidio 

D’ogel cad w’n di’rugar.” 

She remained on her knees, her head bowed, her hands trembling for some time. Din stared at her splinted hands, the metal coils wrapped around each finger, her smallest fingers permanently bent at an odd angle, still discolored, still scarred deeply across the palms and fingers. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably, and her hands shook. Taking his silence for reproach, Marathel dropped her hands, and stood, keeping her head bowed, avoiding his eyes.  As she headed to the ladder, Din asked, “Was there anything else?” 

“... No.” She went back down the ladder.  Din picked up the biscuit and set it aside.  He picked up the cup of caf, thinking that she’d never made caf before.  He took a sip.  It was perfect.  He smiled.   

Then Grogu Force-stole his biscuit and ate it. 

Marathel had refolded the blankets for her pallet and was about to lie down when she heard the strangest sound start.  It was oddly rhythmic, soft somehow, like the melody of the only song but made with a sound that was like wind blowing through grass, and plinks of water on rock, and tings like a fork against a clay cup.  It was peculiar but soothing.  Din came down the ladder and stood there, looking at her.  “What is this ... sound?” asked Marathel. 

“This is music.” 

“Music?” 

“Like your only song.  Just different.” 

“Is this the only music?  Or are there ... more songs?” 

Din nodded.  “More songs than there are stars.” 

“Are there ... are these sounds the words to the song?” asked Marathel. 

“No ... this song has no words.  Those sounds are the instruments playing the notes.” 

Marathel blinked a few times, then shook her head.  “I’m sorry.  I just ... don’t understand a single word you’re saying to me.”  Din moved closer to her, placing his hand gently on her waist.  “What are you doing?” 

Din shrugged.  “We’re, ah ... going to dance.” 

“Dance?” 

Din took her hand.  “Dance.  Um ... like how you sway with Grogu while you hum the only song.  Like how flowers wave back and forth in a gentle breeze.”  He pulled her a little closer.  “Like how we spun in circles in the water when you were digging clams.” 

Marathel arched her eyebrow with a smirk.  “The clams you later threw up.” 

“Precisely.” 

“How does one do this dance thing?” 

“You put your other hand on my shoulder.”  She did.  “Now, I know about this much ...” -- Din held his thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch apart -- “... about dancing, but ... first you take a step back with your right foot.  Then you step to the left side.  Good, now put your feet together, and shift your weight to your right foot.”  Marathel followed his instructions.  “Very good.  Now, step forward with your left foot, step to the right side, put your feet together, and shift your weight.  Then we do that again.”  They started the same step over, Marathel looking down at their feet.  “Marathel.”  She stopped moving.  “Don’t look at your feet.  Look at my ... well, look up here.” 

“I don’t know what my feet are doing.” 

“Don’t worry about it.  Just ...” He pulled her a little closer.  “Just let me kind of guide you as we go.”  Slowly, slowly, they did the box step over and over, sometimes stepping on each other’s feet, sometimes going the wrong direction, but eventually they fell into a regular rhythm.   

Marathel frowned at Din.  “Is this the only dance there is?” 

“No.  There are dances that are fast, some are slow, some dances you just … thrash around until you snap your spine, as far as I can tell. But … this is the dance I learned from my parents.  I would stand on my father’s feet while he would dance with my mother.” 

“Was he handsome, your father?” 

Din shrugged.  “My mother thought so.” 

“And your mother?” 

“She was beautiful.” 

“You must miss them terribly.” 

“I do.” And when I look at you, Marathel, I’m reminded of her, although you look nothing like her, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why that is.  “Did you want to try a turn?” Marathel just looked at him blankly, so he lifted his left arm out to the side.  “Spin in a circle under my arm,” he said, giving her a gentle push with the hand on her waist.   

Marathel made a slow turn in the direction Din sent her, laughing quietly.  “Do I know how to dance now?” 

Din chuckled.  “Enough to get by at a wedding, I suppose.” 

“Wedding … I’ve heard that word before,” mused Marathel.   “Peli said it.  She said something about wedding … chapels and a place called Canto.” 

“Canto Bight is a planet where it’s popular to visit … wedding chapels.” 

“But what is a wedding chapel?” 

Din grimaced under his helmet.  “Wedding chapels are places where people go to get married.  Getting married is … similar to a riduurok.  For the most part, it’s two people promising, before witnesses, that they intend to spend their lives together.” 

Marathel frowned again, more confused than ever.  “It all seems … complicated.” Deep in her thoughts, Marathel tripped over Din’s boot and lost her balance. Din tried to catch her as she flailed, grabbing at Din’s arm.  Her hand clutched his vambrace, and she inadvertently managed somehow to start a playback of Din’s holograbber, which displayed the worst thing possible — as far as Din was concerned — the topless, highly glittered burlesque dancers he’d encountered on Coruscant.  And even worse, what he’d recorded wasn’t simply a series of still images as he’d thought he’d done, but was instead a long-running holovid recording, which featured a lot of laughing, jiggling breasts, and his own voice saying squeeze in closer, girls and go ahead, give the kid a kiss, he doesn’t bite much. 

Mortified, Din tried to pull away and stop the playback.  Marathel, however, kept a tight grip on his forearm, pressing the tip of her thumb hard between his extensor muscles.  He wanted to yelp in pain but kept silent as Marathel watched the holo in its entirety, then bent to pick up some glitter from the floor as the holo played again.  She blew the flakes of glitter from her hand through the holo projection, and Din knew that she now knew what the glitter was definitely not metal dust from the ship.  Marathel arched her eyebrow, but refused to look at him as she said, “You need better control of that thing.”  She released his arm and brushed off her hands.  “I think I’d like another cup of tea before I take a rest.”  

As she headed back to the water spigot, Din stammered, “Marathel … I …” 

Marathel turned, her face as blank as a cloudless sky.  “Did you want some tea as well?” 

Din swallowed the hairball in his craw.  “Yes … please?”  She flashed him a tight smile, then turned to the galley to heat two cups of water.  She stirred the tea leaves into the cups, wishing Din had a proper teapot.  She handed off a cup to Din and then she sat on her pallet of blankets, her back to Din as she sipped her tea, holding her cup with both hands. 

Din felt devastated.  He wasn’t quite sure how Marathel was processing this; she defied standard reactions at the best of times.  He sat down on the floor behind her and watched her shoulders sag.  “Marathel, I …” 

“Those ladies were very fancy,” she said, her voice flat.  “Who were they?” 

“Just some … burlesque dancers I ran into on Coruscant.” 

“Dancers?  Do these ladies thrash around until they snap their spines?”  Marathel laughed lightly.  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”  She half-turned and held out her cup to Din.  “I’m finished with my tea; I think I’ll rest for a while now.”  Din took her cup and watched her settle down on her pallet and pull her blanket over her head before he put the cups in the basin in the galley. She’s hiding again, she’s angry with me, and this is her only way she can show her displeasure and tell me I’ve hurt her, by dismissing me. 

Marathel was angry, just a little bit, but mostly she was disappointed.  For all his talk of riduuroks and weddings and promises to forsake all others, Din was … a man, after all.  Men were allowed to do as they pleased, while women were … not.  And she knew that she was in no way as fancy or pretty or bold as the shiny sparkly ladies. She felt as plain as a rock in the dust, in her bland clothes and saggy body and long unkempt hair.  She couldn’t behave like that.   Her abilities were limited and specific.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, then out, trying not to cry again. 

“Mesh’la?” 

Marathel’s eyes snapped open.  “What?” 

“Please, Marathel, please … don’t shut me out.”  She said nothing.  Din sighed.  He started to say something to her, and then thought better of it.  He felt the cold stare of eyes on him and turned to see Grogu sitting in the doorway of his quarters, where he’d been watching Patu and Mama dance.  Din wondered just how much the boy understood what he saw and heard.  It was easy to dismiss the child, based on his limited vocabulary, but Din believed those large, beautiful eyes of his boy missed nothing.   

Din picked up Grogu and set him in his little hammock.  “Listen, kid,” whispered Din.  “Mama and I need to … talk.  Are you okay with being in here by yourself?” Grogu nodded.  “I’m going to keep trying, kid, trying to talk Mama into staying.  Okay?” Grogu looked dubious, but patted Din’s helmet before snuggling down.  Din tapped his forehead to Grogu’s, whispering, “I love you, little guy. And I promise to do my best with Mama.”  Grogu reached up under Din’s helmet and touched his chin. Feeling revived by the simple loving touch, Din tucked Grogu in before turning the lights low in the tiny room.   

Din stepped out, dragging his bedroll with him.  Marathel looked back over her shoulder to look at him, asking, “What in Frith are you doing now?” 

Din shrugged and closed the door to his quarters.  “We get to Unmanarall in a few hours.  I want to spend as much time as possible next to you.”  He positioned the bedroll just behind her on the floor and lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling.  Marathel turned back away from him but kept the blanket off her head.  After laying there in silence for some time, Din said, “I’m sorry about the fancy ladies with all the glitter.  They didn’t come on the ship; we found ourselves in their dressing room after ... that doesn’t really matter, does it? That was only where half the glitter came from anyway …” 

“Glitter?” 

“The sparkly metal bits on the floor.” 

“So, you did lie to me.  Why in the name of Frith, of all things you could have lied to me about, did you lie about that?” asked Marathel.  “You know how stupid I am …” 

“You’re not stupid, Marathel…” 

“… you know I’d believe anything you tell me, because how would I know any different?  But this?  You choose this to lie about,” she said sharply, plucking some flakes from the floor in front of her and tossing them in the air.  “And you wonder why I can’t trust your words of love.” 

“You would have preferred I told you about the topless dancers?  You would have reacted favorably to that?” 

“We’ll never know now, will we?” she snapped.  “So, where did the rest of the glitter come from?” 

“I was thrown through a plate glass window and into a display of glitter lube.  It went everywhere.” 

“What the …” 

“And then I was smacked in the helmet with an enormous dildo; believe me, it was not a pleasant experience!” 

“I wouldn’t know; I don’t know what a dildo is!” 

“I’m glad you don’t know! That thing was horrifying!” 

Both of them made a huffing noise and crossed their arms simultaneously.  After a few moments, Marathel asked, “So, what is a dildo?” 

Din grimaced under his helmet, but decided that since she asked, he’d tell her.  “It’s an object used as a substitute … or an additional … penis during sex.” 

Marathel was aghast.  “Like a … Dilimgau?” 

“Frith, no, Marathel. That Dilimgau was a torture device, nothing more! A dildo is meant to be ... pleasurable.” 

“But you said it was horrifying.” 

“Well, I thought it was horrifying.” 

Marathel scoffed.  “What was so horrifying about it?” 

“It was enormous!  Half my height in length!  As big around as my forearm.  With a fist at each end.” 

Marathel was silent for a few moments.  “Holy Frith.  Who would want to use something like that?” 

“I have no idea.”  Yes, I do. I know a few who would see that thing as a challenge, not a threat. 

“I can’t even think of how … such a thing … would be used.” 

Din sighed, wishing he had her ignorance of such things.  “I doubt the designer meant for it to be used like a club against a Mandalorian’s helmet, though.” 

“Was it … hard?” 

Unsure of whether Marathel was being sarcastic, it took all of Din’s self-control not to burst out laughing. “Umm … sort of?”  Marathel snickered, and then Din began to chuckle, and before they knew it, they were both laughing.  Oh, buir, she does have a bit of a filthy mind.  After they had laughed for a while, Din said, “That wasn’t even the worst part of the day.” 

“Oh?  Then what was?” 

I decapitated a man for burning up your socks.  “When Fennec caught up with me, she gave me a few good smacks.” 

“Why in Frith would Fennec hit you?  What did you do?” 

“Well …” Din reached out and put his hand on her arm, hidden under the blanket, and he was pleased that Marathel did not jerk away.  “She was upset with me for not telling you about my covert not accepting the Aurodium coins.  They didn’t, cyar’e, the Armorer rejected them, because … because in the Armorer’s eyes, you should receive the bounty.  She said that the coins were tainted by your suffering, and it would be dishonorable to keep them.  Thanks to Fennec and others, I was able to exchange all those coins into credits.  And that money is now yours.” 

Marathel half-turned to look at him.  “I don’t understand … you mean … what am I to do with money?   I don’t need it, where I’m going.” 

“No, not on Unmanarall, but …” 

Marathel’s face fell, and she rolled back to her side and pulled the blanket back over her head.  I went into that Hold for no reason, and for nothing. When I awoke on Tatooine, and you told me you’d gotten the coins, I wish now I’d never woken up.  “I don’t want the money.  You keep it.  Surely you can use it.” 

“But it’s not mine to keep …” 

“I don’t care.  I don’t want it!  Keep it for Grogu, for his future. Use the money so you can stop this bounty hunting thing and keep him safe!  Get a better ship, something …” 

“A better ship?  What’s wrong with my ship?” 

“I’m already terrified of being in here, with just that door keeping us from dying at any moment.  And then we’re flying on a repair that I made when I have no idea what I’m doing?  You’ve trusted me with a repair that might fail and kill us all!” cried Marathel. 

Din shrugged. “Hell, Grogu’s made a couple of repairs on this ship.” 

“And you wonder why I can’t trust your words.”  Marathel sniffled.  “I’m dumb with words. I don’t understand much.  But it seems that words always lead to lies.” 

“I understand how … why you can’t trust my words.  Your scope is limited, but you are the furthest thing from stupid, ma’mwsh ha’laa.  You are so much more than you think you are. I wish I could find the words to convince you of that.”  He continued to stroke her arm under the blanket.  “Fennec also gave me a what-for, for telling you that I loved you, just as you were leaving.”  Din squeezed her arm.  “But you had waited for me to get there, and I knew that I had to tell you, because there was always the chance you wouldn’t survive. And if I didn’t tell you, and if you had died, it would have been my greatest regret. 

“But I was so afraid, afraid you’d reject me, I … I’m still afraid, because I’m losing you.  Mesh’la, ner kar’ta … no matter what you may think of yourself, how you don’t deserve to be part of my life, I will always, always believe that you are the second-best thing that has ever happened in it.”  Marathel did not respond.  Din sighed.  “Dank ferrik, Marathel, I would have thought you’d at least have a smart-assed retort to being second best.” 

“Your first best is Grogu.  As it should be.” 

“You make it sound like he should be my only best.” 

“As it should be … for an …” — inbred incestuous whore cunt freak — “… for someone like me.” 

Din was silent for a long me.  Then he quietly said, “No one has to know about that.” 

Marathel frowned and tossed back her blanket.  She rolled to her back and turned her head to look at him. “If what was done to me, how I was bred … you say it doesn’t matter.  But if it truly does not matter, then … why hide it?” 

“It’s not hiding it; it’s just not announcing it to everyone.” Marathel narrowed her eyes at him as he said, “People talk.” 

“I wouldn’t just … introduce myself to strangers as the Inbred Inces—…” 

Her hand was suddenly grabbed by his, his thumb pressing against her fingers.  “Stop.  I agree with you.  But it still doesn’t change what I believe I feel.  I want Patu Mama, Marathel, just like Grogu says.  I want Patu Mama as much as — even more than — Grogu does.”   

Marathel pulled her hand away, saying, “There’s no point, Din.”  She flipped back to her side … but left her blanket where it was. 

Din sighed, and rolled to his side as well, looking at the back of her head.  “We have a pattern already, mesh’la … we get close to talking about the important things, and then we spar.  I suppose we are alike, as Cobb told you.”  He lifted his hand, holding it above her hip, thinking he could feel the warmth of her skin through those horrible blue pants she was wearing.   

“Cobb was a good friend,” said Marathel, wistfully.  Before Din could process his thoughts about Cobb, she continued, “I am sorry for what I did to the two of you.” 

“What you did?” 

“I made you two angry with each other.” 

 Din frowned under his helmet.  “And how did you do that?” 

“I let him kiss my cheek, hold my hand …” 

Din rolled his eyes.  “Cobb Vanth is a man-whore who loves touching and kissing people.” 

“Is he good at kissing?” 

“Is he good at …?” stammered Din. Marathel smiled. Din had sounded mildly shocked she asked him that.  “You know I can’t … the helmet…” 

“I think, Din Djarin, that you love him very much, and he loves you as well.  He’s terribly worried about you and Grogu.  He fears for your safety,” said Marathel. “And … I sincerely doubt that a man as … intense … as Cobb Vanth would let anything as simple as beskar come between him and a pair of lips he’d like to kiss.” 

“You’re … not wrong.  I can remove my helmet so long as the other person cannot see.  Darkened rooms, blindfolds.”  Din listened to Marathel breathe.  “You are wondering why I didn’t … allow you that much of me.  Why I led you to believe that the helmet was the issue.”  Din took a breath, collecting his thoughts.  “I didn’t want to blindfold you.  I felt that was unworthy of you.  You deserved better than that.”  Marathel remained silent.  “I … believed that you were going to drop off the eggs and then go back to the hut to spin and weave and live among your Dahls, and eventually forget about me. 

“It was better, I thought, to remain anonymous in your eyes, because I knew I was leaving.  Showing you my face was too hard to consider. 

“And then, you told me to be still.  Be still.  I heard you, I did.  My chest, the bite mark burned, and I was frozen to the spot.  Olba got you out of there, and she handed you over to me.  Rodanthe left you, and she handed you over to me.  And I was the one who handed you over to your father. You made me do it, and whether it was this damned bite mark or my love for you, I don’t care. 

“But right now, I wish I could make you turn to me so that I may look at your eyes as I tell you I love you.” 

There’s no point.  There’s no point. 

Making her decision regarding what she intended to do next, Marathel reached up and lifted her hair over her head, exposing the back of her neck, knowing that she was releasing her scent to Din as he lay so close behind her.  And it worked like she knew it would: she heard his sharp intake of air, and then the little hitch as he caught the warmth from underneath her thick shock of hair.  She heard his helmet leaving his head and then his lips against her skin.   

Typical.  She made the decision to be attentive and fast, to make it go faster for him, so hopefully it wouldn’t be as good.  The Elders preferred everything to go longer, these little tricks she was using couldn’t be used too often on them; they would give beatings if they didn’t come when they wanted. 

Din was immediately aroused, even though he fought it.  Osi’k, he thought, oh kriff oh kriff oh kriff, I cannot keep control around this woman.  He nuzzled her hairline and breathed deep. He kissed her neck and then licked her salt off his lips.  His hand slid down her ribs to her hip, and she winced as he hit a couple particularly sore spots.  She let him linger on her skin for a while before she asked, “Did you want more?” 

“Mesh’la,” he murmured. 

“If you want me to face you, put your helmet back on.”  Din lifted his lips from her neck.  “Did you hear me?” 

“I heard you.” 

“Then either put your helmet back on, or … turn off the lights,” she said.  Din swallowed … and put his helmet back on.  When she heard the amplified breathing, she turned and sat up.  “Tell me what you want,” she said without looking at him. 

Din reached up and touched her cheek. “I want you.  I want you with me, with Grogu.” 

“But you’re a man.  This is all men want.”  Marathel’s hand went to his belt buckle, pulling on it, loosening it. 

Din began to sit up and reached for her hand. “What’re you …” Her hand had already unbuttoned his waistband and was slipping inside when he gripped her wrist.  Her other hand clawed at the bite mark on his chest, and Din could swear he heard the words be still whispered under her breath, and he felt he no longer had control of himself as he let go of her wrist, laid back, and went still. He felt her warm hand pluck his cock out of his pants and gently stroke it as it began to grow erect.  Marathel turned and leaned across Din’s middle, her back to him.  “Marathel, no, not like this …” and Din groaned as she took him fully in her mouth, swiping her tongue down its length, then up again.  Din tried desperately to remain quiet, and he turned off his helmet’s modulator.  He reached for her, but could only touch her back, her hip, her shoulder.  Not her hands or her face, he couldn’t see her eyes as she did the most amazing things with her tongue, lightly dancing on the edges of his head.  Her pace quickened, and she alternated between short strokes and long, moaning in her throat, and her lips vibrated and threatened to undo him entirely.  He craved for this to last longer, he wanted it to be already over, he wished she hadn’t started this.  Oh, dank ferrik, this is the best I’ve ever had, not better than Cobb, but different, and it’s so good, he thought.  At the same time, he cursed himself for thinking such a thing, Marathel having suffered so, spending her entire life satisfying a Hold full of depraved perverted men in this way. 

But then he’d feel the back of her throat, and he thrust in and out her mouth, and her lips were rough but wet, she was so good at keeping her mouth wet, and her lips changed pressure on his cock, back and forth, and he groaned again and continued to fuck her mouth as he wondered if he could pull her hair a little bit so she’d moan again and hum on his cock but she moaned anyway, because he was pressing on her back with his hand and it hurt where he pressed, but if he grabbed her hip again it would hurt worse because there was a particularly deep whip mark there and his hand tried to make an inroad into her waistband, but she was wise to this and she had positioned her body in such a way that his hand was at a bad angle to easily access her pants, for she had learned that trick at a young age, as well as this trick of positioning herself across his body this way, because the Bishop claimed he always wanted to be able to see his cock in her mouth but she could get him to finish faster when he couldn’t see her because the Bishop thought her plain and he often wanted her to face away so then he could pretend she was somebody else, just like Din could do now, but she didn’t need to pretend. 

There was no point. 

Marathel was gently massaging Din’s balls and considering shoving a finger up his ass to make him finish quicker, so bored she was by sucking his cock, for she’d sucked the Bishop’s cock countless times, and when he demanded it, she would suck and tug other Elder’s cocks because the Bishop loved seeing her get splashed by many loads of cum at once, and her ass had been big and round when she was a child, even though she was a skinny thing until her breasts budded, but her wide hips gave her a womanly look even as a little girl, and the Bishop had to chastise himself for taking her child-ass as often as he did, sometimes the Bishop would simply slide his cock between her ass cheeks until he spurted on her back, and she had to wipe the cum off her back and lick it from her hands, and that was her treat for being such a good girl. 

Din was close, even though he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to come in her mouth, her magnificent, beautiful, plush mouth, dank ferrik, haar’chak!  This kriffing mouth of hers! Oh, fuck me, her tongue, oh fuck oh fuck oh FUCK … 

Din thrust his hips as deep as he could and Marathel pulled her head back so she could catch all of his cum without choking, swallowing three times in quick succession, and she softened her sucking and slowed her tongue on him as he sank back down from his climax, and he’d bit his lip hard so that he could remain quiet while he came in Marathel’s mouth after she had given him possibly the best blow job of his life, and the knowledge that she’d been giving head her whole sad, sad, life hit his conscience like that dildo had hit his helmet, and he let out a single guilty sob, which Marathel mistook as a climax grunt.  

She replaced his penis within his thermals and did up his pants and belt.  She sat up and rolled away from him, hiding behind her hair as she lay down with her back to him, tears on her cheeks. 

He lay flat on his back, staring at the outlines of the ship’s mechanical panels through his helmet’s visor, tears on his cheeks. 

After a long time, Din turned the lights off with his vambrace control. He reached up and removed his helmet. Rolling towards her, Din slid an arm under her neck and used his other arm to roll her to face him. He touched her face in the darkness but could not feel her tears through his glove. He put his lips against her forehead and stroked her hair. Marathel remained still. 

Once he finally fell asleep, she gently removed herself from his arms, rolled back over, and stared into the darkness until she fell asleep herself, her heart filled with self-loathing and disgust. 

Whore Cunt. 

Next chapter ->

[wannabe-british-fangirl]

~ books read in 2024 ~

#16: Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Books by Kirsten Miller

Ronnie Childers was tripping his balls off in Jackson Square when an angel of the Lord appeared before him. She was a glorious vision, dressed in black gym leggings and a Bikini Kill T-shirt, her golden hair twisted into a messy knot on the top of her head. She looked a lot like a girl he used to get stoned with back in high school.

Rating: 5/5

Three Sentence Review: I picked this book up because it was Tattered Cover's book of the month for July and I thought the blurb sounded funny - former high school nemeses locked in a battle over banned books. I am so glad that I read it! The cast of characters is quite large, with pretty much every chapter focusing on a different person, but all of their stories intersect and wind up forming a strong message about the power of books to educate, inform, and change the lives of an entire community.

[the-cosmic-creature]

Negative Space by B. R. Yeager is the perfect book to start off my cosmic//sci fi horror autumn.

[mewmewdoppio]

A sma𝗹l billf𝗼rd c𝗼mic that too𝗸 me a few days to make with my take on a human bill design.

𝗖ouple more sketches + f𝗹at/alt c𝗼lor𝘀 of pag𝗲 four.

[ask-the-pioneer]

survivor's guilt

[erinwantstowrite]

the sneak pics have me wondering why peter feel the need to keep apologizing all the time ? is it because adults used to get mad at him all the time ?

yeah he has a LOTTT of unpacking to do with that. he still thinks that because he did things like this, it gave the adults around him the excuse to yell at/say nasty things to him. peter goes into a lot of detail with Dick about his previous foster homes in chapter 15, and this time Dick knows he has to ask because Peter's response to Dick and Wally realizing he knew about the "glitches" in some way and didn't tell Dick is absolutely heartbreaking

[wildflowercryptid]

it's all fun and games until your goofy ass kinnie jokes actually start to bring some interesting similarities to light.

[ftmtftm]

Saw a post that said "y'all don't deserve trigger warnings for this one" in regards to the atrocities in Palestine right now and there is something that makes me so indescribably mad about that.

Most importantly it is so deeply, disgustingly dehumanizing to the people in front of the camera that you are claiming to care for. Using someone else's trauma. Someone else's suffering. Someone else's pain. To in turn traumatize others? To guilt them? To intentionally trigger them because "they don't deserve it"? That does nothing. That does absolutely nothing.

How does stripping someone of their personhood and turning them into shock value trauma porn for the sake of proving a point to other vulnerable people do anything constructive?

What good does that do for the person in pain besides turn their pain into a tool to inflict further damage?

How does that help anyone at all?

"But it's awareness!!"

No it's not. That's not advocacy. That's not "spreading awareness". That's intentionally going out of your way to degrade, demoralize, and guilt people by preying on their sense of morality and using the horrors of genocide as a fucking prop for it. And you are a sick bastard for that.

[hualian]

tgcf spoilers but the donghua team including this was really such a punch in the gut, especially knowing the full backstory to the second image - it made today's episode even more painful (literally within the first 6 minutes !!! they knew what they were doing) these small nuggets of future spoilers make the episodes even more interesting but DAMN I was NOT ready for this one

[chandisappointment]

Herb min n sol

[lupinus-bicolor]

check out my meat shrine on neocities!!!!

⚠️⚠️ HEAVY WARNINGS FOR GORE, GUTS, VISCERA, ANATOMICAL MODELS, FLASHING IMAGES, AND REFERENCES TO DEATH⚠️⚠️

a little shrine for my favorite form of memento mori, the uncomfortable truth that we are all meatbags sloshing through life <3

[sacrificialsheepskull]

Sheep cult AU lore

The lore for my Sheep cult au. Lots of generally triggering topics in here so check the tags before you read.

Chuuya is the leader of a cult called the Sheep, and has been running it for years now, making his influence known to the people of Suribachi City in Yokohama.

The cult in general is set up like your typical gang, but it is in fact a cult. Chuuya is seen as a god, or as close as he could be to a god. This is because everyone else thinks that he can directly communicate with Arahabaki, so he's seen more as their leader. There's a council in the cult, but they recognize that they are of a lower rank than Chuuya in the cult hierarchy. They perform human sacrifices to Arahabaki for a few reasons: for protection from enemies, strength, guidance, honor and reverence, and to 'feed' their deity with human blood. The rituals themselves involve making your typical ritual circle and symbols and all that, then after some chanting from the Sheep members, Chuuya emerges and is presented with a sacrificial dagger by Shirase. He either kills the sacrifices by slitting their throats or stabbing their chests, and once they've been injured (not killed, because he wants them to live long enough to watch some of the ritual) he will hold them over a large bowl that collects the blood that flows from them. He then casts them aside to bleed out while he goes to the bowl, says a prayer, then sips the blood from it.

Similarly to religious communions, the bowl is passed around until every member has tasted the blood. Afterwards, their human sacrifice is cut up and bits of their flesh are passed around to consume, finishing up the communion part. Rituals generally happen on full moons so it's easier to see, and blood moons are the absolute best times for sacrifices, so generally more than one person is slaughtered during this. There's a whole thing on moon phases and when certain rituals should be performed on some calendar that they have. Every member wears a hood over their head (only during rituals usually) and a headdress that's a pair of ram's horns underneath as well, and the type and size of the horns depends on their rank. Chuuya himself has an entire ram's skull (he has the lower jaw too but he wears it as a necklace instead) that covers the majority of his face until he decides to remove it, which he only does after sacrificing someone. The best part about this is that Arahabaki isn't actually real, so Chuuya is just getting this group of kids to make sacrifices in his name, but lies by telling them that they're serving a god. All of the deaths made for his sake have somehow enhanced his ability, not to mention given him somewhat of a demonic aura.

Naturally, no one wants to mess with these kids. Not even the Port Mafia because the Sheep don't discriminate with who they kill. Also they do reside in Suribachi City but primarily conduct sacrifices in the nearby forest as it provides for more open space and little to no interruptions from outsiders. In a pinch though they will use the slums sewer systems to do it too, but then the moon aspect isn't involved and the ritual isn't deemed as particularly strong. The best part of Chuuya's act is how his ability comes into play, because he's capable of causing small earthquakes and such with his immense power to control gravity alone, so he can use that as an excuse to claim that Arahabaki had been angered by a certain member and he demands that they pay with their own blood. He uses this as a way to get rid of undesirable people within his cult (sometimes referred to as 'the flock,' but more on sheep cult terminology later). There are also animal sacrifices. That's why they even have so many sheep horns for the members to wear, but they also kill other animals too. Their group is still mostly composed of teens and such, and they even have a strict code for not usually allowing new members in if they're past being a teenager themselves.

However, they don't typically slaughter anyone who's been a part of their group and has aged past that point unless it's on Chuuya's terms. The slums don't allow for much growth economically either, so instead of having a tithe (a percentage of income usually reserved for a religious tax) it's more or less like a tribute system so they won't mess with certain people who can pay their monthly dues, which most are unable to do. Their structure is still more or less that of a gang rather than a typical cult with a defined base of operations. There is a small community in the forest, but it looks more like a camping ground than anything. Those members are usually the ones that prevent some of the others from running off to escape the cult, so it's kinda like border control, in a way. Chuuya has to occasionally devastate certain areas of Suribachi City with earthquakes to prevent uprisings from the people that are used as 'fodder' (aka easy pickings for sacrifices), and because Japan is on a fault line, earthquakes are not unheard of. Some earthquakes are natural, while others are due to Chuuya moving large chunks of earth around himself. This would cause mass paranoia, especially if the earthquakes are natural, because then the people in that area will believe that they have done something wrong to deserve it, when that isn't the case.

In a sense, the influence of this cult is enough to affect everyone living in the city. they have to know about their 'god' in order to appease the people who are the most devoted to him. It's basically classical conditioning. If there's an earthquake, instead of it being viewed as a naturally occurring phenomenon, it's now viewed as a calamity brought on by some enraged celestial being acting through his chosen 'prophet' or what have you. 

At some point, Dazai was sent to look into this with some men, and when they all got slaughtered, he was kept as a prisoner to be used as a bargaining chip. Eventually, he is killed, but then brought back, making him undead. Sacrificing Dazai was more or less to prove a point to the mafia, as killing off an executive would weaken them. However, it was admittedly a dangerous move on Chuuya's end, considering how his cult could easily be overpowered if he wasn't there to deal with an onslaught himself. Dazai was a major sacrifice partially because Chuuya was able to get close enough to him, but also because he wanted to test out if he could bring people back if need be. At the time, there was growing unrest in his cult as well, so he had to ensure that they wouldn't try to overthrow him.

Killing off Dazai was essentially a power move to both weaken the mafia (which is really their biggest problem at the moment), and to prevent some sort of revolution when he brings him back. The best part is that he was basically gambling. He had no idea if reviving Dazai was going to work, and when it did, it technically went wrong, but he had to quickly own it or his plan wouldn't have worked. Plus he gets a personal attack dog since Dazai is clearly not human anymore. Dazai's just feral now. He's just an undead teenager. Arguably not a good thing for anyone involved, because he was unstable enough as it was. It doesn't even matter if he retains a small bit of his personality after being revived, he's going to go insane due to having little self control. Dazai's also considerably difficult to control, even if he is supposed to listen to him. It gets so bad that he needs to have him chained up in the basement of any building the Sheep settle in. Chuuya can't risk letting him attack anyone if he's not supposed to. Sometimes he even muzzles him. Dazai has a collar on his neck all the time so Chuuya can leash him as well, and he can frequently be seen walking around with the zombified teenager at his side. Dazai occasionally acts out, as he was so close to his goal of dying, without actually attaining it, so he's reasonably pissed. He died, but then was brought back when he didn't want to be. That's exactly why he acts out so much. Plus, his death was painful. It's adding insult to injury if he was just going to be forced to live again after being put through hell before he could even die, because he'd much rather prefer a painless death.

He was the first person Chuuya tested out necromancy on. Something went awry as he went through with the ritual after all the Sheep had long since left the sacrificial grounds. The only way to effectively kill Dazai now is with a headshot. That's seriously about the only way for him to be dealt with now that he's undead. Although that'd be hard to do if he's already tearing up his enemies. Dazai's self aware enough to recognize a weapon and then try to kill himself with it. That's another reason why he's chained up most of the time. He's a danger to both himself and others. Dazai cannot speak due to his throat being slit, and his breathing is usually very audible rasping or slight whistling; he also has trouble breathing and swallowing food/water. He lacks a heart because it was ripped out. Chuuya expected Dazai to be a controllable variable in the grand scheme of things, but he ended up placing a much bigger burden on himself. He can't necessarily kill him, as he's holding an entire rebellion at bay, not to mention a war with an enemy organization, but at the same time it is wildly inconvenient to keep him alive if all he wants to do is eat. Chuuya regularly walks around with him at his side. People tend to give him a wide berth when they see him approaching. At first, it seems like Chuuya acts more as a high priest rather than a vessel, but it all depends on who views him. He does also have these eerie powers due to the sacrifices, so he could be seen as either one of those depending on the person. It's generally believed by others that Arahabaki loaned some of his power to him, which involved giving him a piece of himself, but Chuuya's not an outright vessel, nor did this widespread belief occur.

People can sense him coming before he even shows up because the atmosphere changes drastically. The air becomes heavier and almost suffocating (not literally, of course, but there's just something off about his presence at all times), and everything seems to get a bit darker. Lights flicker slightly in his presence too. Walking near him also makes you feel like he's drawing you in, like a black hole somehow. It's like a heavy ozone layer. He pretty much has his own gravitational field. Chuuya has the potential to cause blackouts. He has a fairly good grasp on his ability and it isn't like a physical black hole, but it works similarly to one. So, if he steals the light from the room, it'll go completely dark. However, he can't see either. Because black holes can absorb light, if he'd memorized the room and then completely made everything dark, he could use his ability to cause carnage without anyone even seeing what happened, so he has the function of a black hole minus drawing in other things as well because he isn't one physically. It still seems wildly inconvenient, however. no one will be able to see a thing, not even Chuuya. It would be useful if he had night vision goggles and he was able to control his ability just enough to leave enough light for them to function, or he could allow the light to come back at certain intervals to get a quick look at the room before plunging it into darkness again. It'll be like turning a flashlight on and off for him. That would work because if he was prepared for the constant change in light he wouldn't need as much time to adjust, so he would have to basically train his eyes to adjust to changes in light quicker than the average person for it. (That last part is just random speculation on my end though.)

The area of effect that he naturally has due to his presence itself is almost demonic, in a sense. It'd have adverse effects to anyone who stands near him for too long, such as making people sick or erasing bits of their souls or morality (although this part isn't real, but the product of the aforementioned sickness, plus the fact that people can hallucinate when near him for too long. The hallucination people see has been widely believed to be Arahabaki himself trailing behind Chuuya).

His very presence can cause blood poisoning, and also sap people's energy, draining them and making them exhausted. Chuuya's very presence brings pain. Concerning the whole communion thing, to prevent the transmission of any diseases through the consumption of blood, Chuuya's presence can prevent any adverse effects from happening in anyone's bodies (which would make them more reliant on him). This is mostly because even being near him can cause some sort of blood poisoning, but then it just cancels both things out. They don't bother cooking the meat used for the communion, so they could also probably get salmonella, another thing that Chuuya's presence alone could somehow prevent. His presence attacks the bacteria around him as well, which can be good and bad, because it could harm the beneficial bacteria as well. He could hypothetically shut down someone's immune system if he wanted to. Most of the backstory Chuuya's created ties into how Suribachi City was formed. He bases it off of the explosion that formed the crater that everyone lives in now, but then distorts the truth by claiming that Arahabaki did it (which isn't necessarily wrong, but he paints this picture of an actual deity in everyone's heads instead of it just being him getting unsuccessfully broken out of a government complex). He tells his followers that he was able to witness the destruction himself, and how he’s gotten some sort of connection with Arahabaki because of it.

Something about him being ‘worthy enough to be kept alive’ in the god’s eyes. No one bothers to question this, because Chuuya did indeed appear not long after the incident. He’s an astounding liar when he wants to be. The reason why he wants his followers to worship this ‘god’ instead of him directly is because then he has an excuse for some actions if it was in Arahabaki’s name. It’d be different if he wanted sacrifices for himself instead of claiming that they were for a god he served. Arahabaki’s existence is used as an excuse for actions, and as means to control others. It also makes nearly everything impersonal to Chuuya himself since it’s allegedly not in his name, allowing him to remain disconnected from what he’s responsible for.

Sheep cult terminology (aka the product of mod reading up too much on sheep and deciding to use it in this au as a kind of code language thing)

Ram/ewe/tup: general term for other members based on gender. typically used in place of boy/girl/person when not directly stating a person's name. Due to this, it can confuse the hell out of outsiders who hear a sentence like this out of context: "oh, that's what a ram told me a few days ago." they might assume that these people are talking about actual sheep. It's also important to note that tup has a more gender neutral connotation to it, as there's already a term for boys, so if someone's nonbinary, that term will be used for them. 

Lamb: refers to a person who will soon serve as a sacrifice.

Mutton: basically an insult. If someone says this to someone else, it just means that they see them as nothing but a worthless piece of meat taking up space. it's the equivalent of saying that you want the individual in question to mess up so badly that they'll get sacrificed for their sins, so it's basically condemning them to hell.

Sheared: having something cut short, whether it's how much an individual can do within the cult, to how much they're permitted to eat during meals. used in cases where nothing on the individual's person is physically getting cut off.

Docked: used when the individual IS getting something cut off as a punishment, usually something non-lethal. This isn't exclusive to the cult itself, but also the people they have control over. This is also how wethers exist. (speaking of which, there is some debate over if wethers should be sacrificed instead of intact people due to them being more 'clean' because of their lack of reproductive parts.)

Grazing: synonymous with scouting out areas or patrolling the territory, as a few people are sent out in groups to do this (they're fittingly referred to as grazers)

Flock: collective terminology for the entire cult as a whole. there's also terms for different things that members of the cult say when communicating over long distances. For example, a bleat would be considered a call for help or something. Overall, the terminology is supposed to be exclusive to the cult so it'll confuse anyone who's unaware of it.

Shepard: the equivalent of executive; people who have been reanimated by Chuuya will refer to him as this, as well as anyone he assigns them to work under. There are two kinds of undead people, ones who look normal aside from the scars they retain when they were sacrificed, and the ones that look and behave more like zombies.

Guard dog: The ones that look normal are generally more accepted by the Sheep cult. They protect them.

Sheepdog: the term for the reanimated people who are basically zombies. These people keep the rest of the Sheep cult in line instead of protecting them like the 'guard dogs' do.

[feralcorpses]

Goth Mumbo be upon ye!

This took me longer than it should’ve but I’m glad I’ve managed to finish at least one thing ig

Anyone my inspo was a mix of Star Child from KISS and trad goth ^^ (dude I love KSS so much they are phenomenal, would die for them fr)

(Click for better quality!)

Boring versions:

Reblogs are appreciated <3

ALSO if anyone’s curious the gold symbols on Mumbo is called an Ankh it an egyptian symbol in which represents life, reincarnation and the male and female privates, it’s very common in goth culture due to its symbolism of life and revival after death :D (feel free to correct me on this, I’m not an expert nor am I very familiar with Egyptian symbolism)

I started this drawing at like 2 am a few days ago and I drew on top of the star child ref and I NEED TO SHARE IT

Also I won’t be posting as much art I having bad motivational issues (it took me 4 days to finish this) and just don’t feel amazing abt my art rn ig (please don’t respond to this bit of the post it’s not that important)

[theflashjaygarrick]

Absolutely wild to me that with all of DC's reboots/retcons no one has had the sense to completely erase the Arisia incident (and no, I do not count Johns' whole 'Hal thought it was creepy but then learnt that her planet rotates differently so she is actually 200' nonsense. It's probably the biggest stain on the green lantern franchise (followed by the Kalmaku nickname thing) and genuinely there is no benefit to it existing.

But importantly I don't mean erase Arisia. She is a character with a lot of potential as a little sister with self esteem issues, a child who has been conscripted into a literal galactic army and is honestly just trying her best. She's adorable and had a lot of potential before Englehart made it so disgusting I stopped reading his green lantern comics my I own sanity. And I do feel like while it definitely did tarnish Hal and his reputation (and lets be real, probably should have done so for almost every green lantern in that era except John) Arisia herself was honestly a lot harder hit with being hated and erased. Which is how a lot of comic controversies - and even real life abuse cases can - go. I feel like she honestly deserves a second chance to be explicitly and overtly removed from that uncomfortable and unnecessary arc rather than just being pushed aside so people can write Hal as a space maverick male fantasy (when will Spectre Hal come back from the war).

But like imagine an Arisia year one with me (wherein the writers and the corps aren't creeps):

Arisia is a young orphaned alien girl who is still grieving when she has the responsibility and powers of a lantern ring thrust upon her. While still trying to get a hang of her new powers she is called into OA where she meets the other Green Lanterns. She begins training and becomes the (actual) little sister/kid of the green lantern corps. Crucially no one is weird about her. I would probably make it so that her home planet values really strong familial ties so that as an orphan she is desperately seeking out a family in the green lantern corps, which clashes with some of the other members who initially see the other corpsmen as work buddies at most. In this when Hal and her hang out its because he's her mentor and he radiates cool uncle vibes.

And honestly you could keep the ageing up with the ring idea but instead of making it part of a creepy romance arc it could be used to further explore her own anxieties. Maybe she feels overlooked as a kid so decides to make herself look older to feel more powerful when on missions, but it eventually it makes her feel more self conscious about what she looks like normally. Then it ends with her learning to embrace and find confidence in who she really is. You know, classic coming of age stuff. And after that Hal and Jon decide to introduce her to the Teen Titans so she can be around other heroes (roughly) her own age.

So she ends up on Earth for while where you could have a fun fish out of water dynamic whilst she explores earth life in San Fransisco. Not only is she a member of teen titans as their GL (or Teen Lantern as they probably insist on calling her). She can have a whole side plot about making friends in her civilian identity and wanting to be a normal kid (milkshakes, diners, roller skating, baby gay crushes) while also knowing that at some point she has to go back to OA and to her home sector. Back there she has to embrace this massive responsibility (honestly too big for someone of her age) that she didn't choose, but that was rather an inherited burden from her late father and duty as a member of the corps.

Ultimately it would be about finding confidence in your own heroism, a found family, and having fun coming of age moments. And rescuing a promising female character from being an embarrassing footnote in DC (and Hal Jordan's) history.

DNI INTERACT IF YOU ENJOY HAL AND ARISIA AS A COUPLE. I DON'T KNOW IF THESE PEOPLE ARE REAL BUT IF THEY ARE, LEAVE MY POST/BLOG ALONE.

[mecchantheotaku]

When it comes to Voices designs I have a lot of designs I like but there is one specific trend I am very fond of

I believe in Smol Hunted supremacy.

That is all.

[blood-orange-juice]

You are all going to block me but I just realised that I do low-key ship Aether/Lumine.

Hear me out.

It's the plot of so many myths. The best known is, of course, Izanami and Izanagi's story (the whole reason why siblingcest is so popular in Japan. same level of cultural importance as the madonna/whore complex for Christians), but there are also Fu Xi and Nuwa, Sun and Moon gods of the Inuit mythology, a bunch of Greek gods, a bunch of Egyptian gods too iirc.

Old cultures that had god-kings (some dynasties in Egypt and, as we discovered recently, Ancient Ireland) considered marriages between siblings a norm for them specifically and something to be frowned upon or at least unusual for everyone else.

You can't convince me the twins were not god-rulers in some faraway world (they also found it so boring that they don't do it anymore. actually, I'll stand by this headcanon even without shipping them).

Celestial beings that already are one and the same in some sense. Twin stars.

The symbolism just does something to me.

I wish I could say this is not about boring human sex (they are interstellar eldritch beings anyway. merge your photons my funky little sibcons, as Ray says) but nope, I think their interactions can easily take the form of boring human sex too.

(it's just not the main thing they have going on)

I'll show myself out.

P.S. there's also a bonus: all Traveler ships are now threesomes