#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.

[greentea-and-honey]

frankly a shocking amount of my new gravity falls mutuals are also malevolent fans. ig it shouldn’t be surprising they both got divorcing little yellow cunts in them so

[ask-the-pioneer]

survivor's guilt

[nichiperi]

A few totally-not-cursed drawpile doodles from game night in the Bananapoop server~! They're all so normal and straightforward they need no explanation, I'm sure. (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[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

[monokoitari]

I'm thinking this idea so hard that I definitely have to write it down, but shit!! It's hard for me to capture Shen Yuan's chaotic vibes in a good narrative way

So it begins like this: Shen Yuan transmigrates. Not into Shen Qingqiu. He opens his eyes and there are two massive tits crushing him, a luxurious room, a garish and bitchy System with kaomojis. Well, he's a wife. A Binghe's wife.

Shen Yuan wants to run away, obviously. Get his penis back, get his MASCULINE MALE MANTASTIC body back, and get as far away from Binghe and the harem and their shitty dramas as possible. He doesn't need that, no thanks. The System obviously doesn't let him. [ You're a wife, user!!! You must behave like the original goods until you collect enough points to unlock the OOC!! ]

And the shit begins. Little harem dramas. Uncovering clues like silly children's puzzles. Shen yuan is fed up, bored, moody, hated by many wives (apparently the original goods were not in good standing. Half-demon, which is good- more power and more strength when escaping!!, but not for a harem wife. Especially since that body is 5'10" and is strong as a sword instead of submissive and bendable like the other sweet wives).

Even though the System keeps putting him in shitty situations, the truth is that there is no trace of Binghe during the first week. Nor the second. By the third, Shen Yuan gets a little worried. According to the current storyline, he shouldn't be far away... No wars, no new wives, just a missing Binghe. Shen Yuan snoops around Binghe's office with such bad luck that Binghe definitely shows up at that moment.

And Binghe looks... Tired. He's tired and grumpy, treating the wife with ice-cold kindness, and Shen Yuan treats him back. It's not that he wants to! It's not that he's offended to see his favorite and be horrible to him! It's the fucking shitty System! If Shen Yuan could, he would be on his knees before Binghe being pathetic and pitiful to ensure his protection!!

But he can't. Binghe sends him away after a cold and hostile encounter and Shen Yuan runs away in a dignified manner (running after the corridor where Binghe can't see him anymore is different).

The next morning, Shen Yuan makes a plan: he will do whatever it takes to get his last damn twenty points to activate OOC mode and get the hell out. Nope, no more Binghe for him. One taste was enough. Thanks but no thanks.

What gets complicated is when one of Binghe's personal servants!!! goes to his room. Binghe is inviting this lady wife to have breakfast with him. And Shen Yuan... He can't say no. Partly because of the System, partly because of the ambition for points, partly because he wants to try Binghe's food. And because he wants to... see Binghe. Again. He's his favorite, okay, don't judge him, maybe Binghe was just tired and being hostile to him. The duties of an Emperor are many and Shen Yuan was invading his private territory. Aaaaand he's a wife, after all, he can't treat him like that aaaaaall the time...

Binghe's breakfast is a delight. In his month at the palace, he has eaten nothing more delicious. Binghe is darkly charming: Shen Yuan asks about her (him), how she (he) is, how she (he) has been. Shen Yuan learns two things: the original goods had only been in the harem for a month and week when Shen Yuan usurped his body, and Luo Binghe doesn't know much about his wife, which means he can improvise answers without losing his in-character personality. The System even gives him +5 points for improvising!!

... +5 points that go to hell when Luo Binghe exposes a scroll on the table. Written in the original goods handwriting... it's a divorce application!!

"I was in my office" says Binghe as the System takes 50 points from him of a blow.

Of course Binghe is going to be wrong now. Of course he is believing that Shen Yuan filed for divorce the day before, when he found him in his office!! Damn original goods, why divorce Binghe!? Does divorce even exist in PIDW!? WHY!?

Shen Yuan makes up excuses, loses at least 20 more points, makes up more things again and sadly crawls with only 15 points in his favor and a rather furious Binghe.

Why does this wife want to abandon Binghe? This emperor has been kind, does this wife want something different? Shen Yuan makes up that he never imagined being married to an absent husband, capable of making him feel so lonely in a nest of other lonely women... And Binghe seems genuinely affected by it. Ah, loneliness, the weapon Binghe knows firsthand. An isolated and caring newcomer, being mocked and humiliated by others, seeking to remain resilient. Binghe, this one promises that he didn't use your past traumas on purpose!!

Binghe promises that he will change her (his) mind. He will be a present husband and make her (him) feel comfortable. Which makes Shen Yuan's escape plans go to fuckin hell. Bye bye, xianxia male body! Hello, another weeks of back pain from huge boobs!

And Binghe delivers on his promise, unfortunately. What's it costing you to be a normal man and forget your promises every day, damn protagonist!!

Shen Yuan wakes up with breakfast from Binghe, continues his day with walks with Binghe, ends his afternoon with dinner with Binghe, and dodges the papapa like a champ. Binghe is patient, considerate. Their conversations are charming, but Shen Yuan can see him... Sad. There is an old braid in his hair and deep dark circles under his eyes. Binghe looks exhausted, wasted, and when he thinks Shen Yuan isn't looking, his face shows so much sorrow that Shen Yuan wants to comfort him.

There's not much he can say. Get some random points - holding Binghe's hand at the right moment, discussing an important point about a creature and a hunt, giving recommendations how to best deal with eastern bear demons... Binghe seems to appreciate his company beyond the call of duty, which makes Shen Yuan a little proud. He's spending time with his favorite fictional boy without screwing up.

Then his body gets sick.

Xianxia World! Cultivation! Magic! Nothing? Shen Yuan wakes up with his head spinning like he's just stepped off a roller coaster, vomiting pathetically into an empty vase. The nausea is not getting better. His headache is horrible.

The System offers him to buy a skip plot; it comes out the same points that Shen Yuan has and he has tried hard not to spend them, a ridiculously large amount of points just to avoid a stomach infection. It's hard to complete side quests with the protagonist attached to his hip! Shen Yuan drops the skip plot.

The System insists. If he doesn't skip the plot now, he won't be able to do so in the future. Shen Yuan ignores it again. It's a silly illness. Nothing a little rest won't help.

... a little rest won't make it better.

Shen Yuan is thankful that Luo Binghe is not in the palace on his mission in the east, because he can be fully pathetic. He barely eats, faints from hunger, but as soon as he puts something in his mouth his stomach expels it. Damn demented body, do you want to eat only Binghe's food so much!? Spoiled body.

Shen Yuan sleeps a lot, sobs a lot in pain, growls (his body can growl. It's interesting) to the servants who come to clean, he takes cool showers that relieve his headache, and continues to expel every crumb.

He thinks he was even poisoned. He doesn't let the harem doctors get close. Mostly because he doesn't know them, but also because he remembers a subplot about a doctor who poisoned Binghe's wives to get revenge because Binghe had refused to take his daughter (for reasons that were entirely valid for Shen Yuan: she was a girl of barely twelve years old) in marriage and she had run away from home to avoid the humiliation. The plot ended with the girl hiding in the doctor's basement, who had made everything up, Binghe making a gore chapter out of it to remember the old days, and adopting the little girl to be raised among his many children in the harem... A good subplot for Shen Yuan, without unnecessary papapa even if it was for two chapters and followed by a threesome with massive busty demons.

Shen Yuan doesn't want to take any chances to unlock some gore subplot. So he just endures his nausea and pain until it fades about two weeks later. Suddenly it's bearable. He can snack on fruit and some roasted seeds. Some flavors are still intolerable to him... some smells too. He feels nauseous at the strongest, or even mildest, smells, but if they are too sweet he must run away. And textures on his skin. And tunics squeezing him. And his fucking huge tits hurt. They hurt like, like they're going to burst or break his cleavage. He even believes that from one day to the next they look bigger if that is possible. Wearing clothes is annoying. Having a body is annoying. Is this some fucking PMS that Shen Yuan didn't want to live with?

Wasn't it a ferocious body of a half-demon with a high cultivation level?? Why is he having PMS? He hasn't... bled since he came into this world!

...

. . .

He hasn't bled since he came to that world. The wedding (papapa of the original goods with The Heavenly Pillar) was almost three months ago. Shen Yuan has been occupying that body for almost two months.

...

. . .

That's not fucking happening.

"System, what the hell!?"

[ User was given the opportunity to buy a skip plot! User rejected it!!! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) Congratulations on making it through the first trimester in a healthy way!!! ]

Fucking shit.

[wildflowercryptid]

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

[dazii-kons]

I like the idea of Kon getting LITERALLY sick when he thinks/sees someone who’s romantically attracted to him,like he gets genuinely nauseous -mis it with eating issues and you get a week of not being able to do anything other than puke,and that just makes it all worse

He’s just: like what do you mean you wanna hold my hand and hug me and care for me???that’s not have that works bruh

he’s so used to not being seen as a partner but as a “accessory” or in sexual attraction he can’t handle the idea of someone wanting him and not what he can give them

(Especially when you remember how most his love interests ended up)

then add tim “it’s not that I can’t communicate properly I just don’t want to” drake to it or Cassie “I need to be okay so others can rely on me” Sandsmark

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Sorry, but can I just stress something about Louis that drives me insane? 

In his route where you've saved him, he kills Dorian. Louis directly kills another person. He shot her with a crossbow through the mouth.

It’s unavoidable. 

Sure, it’s considered an accident, and even so, it was also self-defense—Dorian sure wasn’t there for a friendly chat, after all. 

But here's the thing... of the Ericson crew, we know that Clementine, AJ, and Marlon have killed someone. And Minerva if you want to count her, too, since she once was part of the group . But the others? Maybe they have killed before and we just don’t know about it, whether it be out of mercy or self-defense.

Violet in her route had the chance to kill Minerva, but understandably, she didn’t. She opted to shoot her in the shoulder instead… but we never see her kill anyone herself. 

Maybe you could count indirect kills because of the bag of bricks/log that kills Yonatan, and maybe you could consider Mitch’s death as indirectly Tenn’s fault… Speaking of Mitch, he tried to kill Lilly, but we all saw how that turned out, didn't we? 

…but Louis? He killed Dorian. That was his first kill. His first. 

And he feels awful about it! He apologizes to the body as it lays warm at his feet! He’s shaking and can barely speak!! It feels like bile! He doesn't even have time to process it because uh oh, the boat's going to explode!

But he’s also been so hardened over the season by everything that’s happened to him that he comes out of it glad that he has it in him to kill because if that’s what it takes to protect Clementine, AJ, and his family and home, then he’ll do it even if he doesn’t want to.

How does that not drive anyone else utterly mad?

Fandom considers him the funny guy! He's cute and silly! He makes Clementine laugh!

He's also done murder! He's taken a life! Just like Clementine and AJ have! Just like Marlon did!

And honestly, I think this also leads to him forgiving AJ for killing Tenn because at this point, he understands. He hates it, and he wishes it didn’t have to be this way, but he gets that AJ saw something that he didn’t. Louis knows that AJ’s hurting just as much as he is, he even says as much if Clementine says anything other than “AJ saved your life” on the bridge. 

He relived Marlon’s death when Tenn died, but it’s not like his hands are clean, either… and neither were Marlon’s. Clementine’s hands definitely aren’t clean. 

It drives me crazy that best friends Louis and Marlon have each killed someone in TFS but Marlon killed Brody in a moment of panic because he’s a coward who wanted hide what he did while Louis killed Dorian in a moment of panic because he was trying to save Clementine from Minerva and she came up behind him like… hhhhnnnnggggggggg, y’know?

Oh, and don't even get me started on the clouis aspect of this because I'll lose it. He talks to her about it because he knows she'll understand, just like how she's always understood him. How he goes out of his way to tell her that having a home means protecting it and he's going to protect it [that home being her, AJ, and Ericson] no matter what because he wants to build this new life with her aaaaaaaaaaaaaand I've lost it—

[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

[mitwodlemi]

Decided to challenge myself and make an animation for everyday of October! (Anitober as I like to call it. Very original, I'm sure.) Here's the first 7 days!

[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